let’s meet in our dreams

It's not your fault, it really isn't— how is a woman supposed to act when her man is looking too delicious to not devour.

Despite him being half wolf it really feels like you are the animal here because all day you had been staring at him like a piece of meat being dangled in your face.

You don't need to check your phone to know you were ovulating because there is no other explanation for how you are sitting on his lap while he innocently unboxes his newest keyboard all giddy meanwhile your body and brain were fighting demons.

Little did you know he noticed, you weren't exactly all that subtle with how often you shifted your hips on his lap to "get more comfortable" but he chose to ignore it, wanting to see how far you can contain yourself, he wasn't all that clueless, it was impossible for him to not smell your arousal but even more impossible to not tease you.

"I can finally try out the new switches I got for my keyboard." He quickly got to work arranging all of his things on the desk.

Your eyes follow the furrow in his eyebrows and how he bit hid lip in concentration.

"These are the cherry mx clear switches which should be a little louder than the last ones I got! They have a more clicky sound to them see since they are more tactile, it's because they are not linear." He demonstrated typing into the quiet room that soon was filled with the sounds of the key pads echoing, not in obnoxious way, still, valko was very particular whenever it came to these things though you could swear they sound no different than the last ones he got.

"So what's the difference between these and the other ones?" You ask, half genuinely curious and half trying to distract yourself from jumping his bones like a feral cat in heat.

"They have the same actuation and travel rate but these ones need a little more force." He explained, all animated, fixing his glasses as they slip down his nose.

"The red ones need 20g less force which could be better if you want to prioritize speed but personally I think higher is better so I avoid miss clicking so often without sacrificing speed as much too—"

Your eyes have not left his face for a single moment, you have no idea what the fuck he even said or what any of that means but you nod along nonetheless, there was something about how he talked so confidently and passionately about his hobbies that made you dizzy with need.

He noticed your confused face and let out a quiet laugh that went straight to your core, you subconsciously fidget more, leaning closer to him.

Valko wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you in more.

"Are you even paying attention to me right now?" He pouted, mischief written in his face.

"Of course I was!" You cough, covering up how your face felt hot from how he stared down at you.

"Really?" He whispered against your lips.

You hum acting nonchalant despite your heartbeat roaring against your chest.

"What was I talking about then?" The arm that was wrapped around your waist slowly moved to your hips stopping your movements.

Your eyes widen, not even realizing you had been humping his leg this entire time.

Valko leaned back into his gaming chair, adjusting his hips, purposely thrusting up against you to hear that little gasp leave your lips, amber eyes never once leaving you, tracing your face and body.

"You were talking a-about— nghh— about—" You try to save the last of your dignity but he was quick to tighten his grip on your hips to move you on his lap with practiced ease till you were on top of his hard cock, he hissed.

The soft sounds coming from you were music to his sensitive ears, better than any keyboard switch until he got an idea, smirking.

"How about this, pup." His other hand carefully caressed your cheek watching how you nuzzled into his warmth, his heart swelling.

"How about we test this new keyboard in a different way?" You could almost read his thoughts.

You nod, fully trusting him.

"Words, pup." He came closer.

"Okay." You whisper breathlessly.

"Good girl." He chuckled suddenly manhandling you on his desk, you squeal hands quick to grab at his shoulders.

"You trust me?"

"Yes."

He carefully placed you on top of his new keyboard, your breath hitches.

"You know what to do."

You move your hips hesitantly, scared to break it from your weight.

His pushed you down firmly, not forcing, never that but encouraging you.

You gasp, the only barrier between you and the key pads was your panties that were slick with raw need.

Valko watched, leaning back against his chair, eyes stripping you naked till your soul was bare to him.

Every shift made the pads rub just right against your throbbing clit, your body was possessed with the need for his approval.

"Eyes on me." His command made you dizzy, hazy eyes desperately trying to maintain contact.

"Just like that, so filthy."

"You're just a dumb puppy, aren't you?"

"Look at this mess, you gonna clean it up after, puppy?"

"Fuckkkk, don't stop."

The click sounds slowly start to sound more chaotic and uncoordinated with your peak nearing from his demeaning words, you loved how be talked you through it.

Before you can ask for permission valko moves, stopping your movements, you cry out in frustration, nails digging into his arms until streaks of blood were visible.

"Not so fast." He whispered against your ear, biting and licking until he reached your neck, your scent driving him crazy, it was the most intoxicating and addictive thing.

You try to grab his bulge, his own arousal evident but he was quick to stop you, your whine makes him laugh.

"Not tonight, not before I get a taste."

You shiver.

His fingers carefully trace along your underwear, avoiding where you needed him the most on purpose.

"Val—" You whine.

"Shhh."

"But—"

Your thoughts all crumble when you feel his thumb press down firmly on your clit. Your whimpers were fueling him more.

His thumb adding more pressure, moving in slow and tight circles that made your vision blur. Each time you neared your climax he purposefully stopped his movements.

"Val, please please please—"

He was planning to tease you more but he couldn't wait himself anymore.

Finally giving your clit his full undivided attention you cry out withering around him.

Spots of white scatter in your vision, mouth falling in a silent scream, not fully registering the clear spurts that covered his keyboard and desk.

"There. You. Go." He groaned watching you unfold in front of him.

He lets you catch your breath for a moment, head resting against his chest before he pulled you away slowly, "not done yet." dropping to his knees, free hand pulling you off of the keyboard that was covered in your cum.

Your body felt like puddy, molding to his every will. Your eyes widen when you notice him lick the keyboard clean, his dark eyes watching you like were his next meal, oh how the tables turned.

He moved to take off his glasses but you stop him.

"Keep them, please."

How could he dare say no to you when you use your manners?

He nuzzled against your stomach, breathing you in like you were the most intoxicating drug.

His lips leaving gentle kisses down to your thighs, big hands parting them, a groan leaving his lips at how soaked you were.

"Mine." His possessively mumbled, not really meant to for you to hear but your heart stuttered when you caught his quiet confession.

He wastes no time, diving into your cunt like he was worshiping a goddess. Still keeping your panties, only moving them to the side after he licks a long slow strip from your slit to your aching clit.

You bite you lip trying to stop the embarrassing noises from leaving your lips but he doesn't let you.

"If you keeping doing that you not cumming on my cock tonight, pup." He whispered loud enough for you to hear.

When he finally makes contact with your bare skin your hips buck, he holds you still, devouring you, all messy and sloppy, squelching sounds mix in with your loud whines.

His tongue was on a mission to steal all your oxygen. Your hands quickly find purchase on his hair, pulling it harder and harder and he lets you, feeling an absurd amount of pre stain his pants.

He was completely marked in your scent, nose dumping against your clit in a rhythm that matched the way he ravaged your insides with his tongue.

The way his name became the only coherent word you could let out had him drunk. By tomorrow you knew bruises would appear on your hips from his grip but none of that mattered. You wanted his mark on you too.

The visual of his glasses fogging up while he diligently ate you like you were the sweetest thing had your pussy tightening around his tongue.

"Val!" You cried, pulling his hair harder.

Valko groaned, knowing what you wanted he sealed his lips around your clit, fingers quick to replace his tongue, pumping in and out of you till your breath caught.

"Breathe, pup." He reminded you before diving back in. Your lungs burn trying to remember how to breathe in oxygen, your spread legs wrapping around his head now, too drunk to realize he himself wasn't breathing at all and valko did not care one bit, he loved every second of this.

"C-can't—" You gasp.

"Yes. You can." He encouraged you, fingers never once stopping their pace, hard and deep just how you liked it. He moved, nose against your own now, his lips capture yours, the taste of you on his tongue made your pussy grip his fingers tighter, valko groan at how erotic it all was, finally taking his glasses off to see you better and he swore he could cum just from seeing your eyes roll as you came all over him, messier than ever, more clear liquid splattered everywhere but he didn't stop until you were a crying mess, shushing you with sweet kisses.

"There you goooo."

"So pretty for me."

"So good, so good for me." He praise made you more lightheaded.

He caressed your hair, helping you calm down from your intense orgasm.

"Breathe for me baby, slowly."

"Yeah, just like that." He smiled noticing how content you looked with your eyes closed.

"Better?" He asked.

"So much better." You sighed, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him into soft kisses as he moved you to the bed, holding you in his warm and strong arms for the rest of the night.

──────────────────────

With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.

…you’d booked economy.

Economy.

But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.

“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”

…

Don’t worry about it?

You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.

But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.

Your family.

“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”

“—what do you like to eat?”

You blink, lips parting.

“I—sorry…what?”

“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”

Your brow furrows as you stare at him.

…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.

“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”

“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”

Brow knitting, you frown.

He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.

“That—that can wait. We need to—”

“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”

Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—

“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”

Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.

…when did he get so comfortable?!

“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”

Your lips purse.

“I dunno. Being…”  But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”

His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.

“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”

You sputter into your water.

“Baby?”

You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.

“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”

As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.

…asshole.

Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”

The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.

You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.

…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—

“Hey.”

Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.

“Are you… nervous?”

“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”

Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.

Fuck.

It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.

“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”

His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.

It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.

Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.

By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—

“…better?”

His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.

“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”

He smiles. “Sure.”

That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.

Oh…

He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.

Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…

Ten hours was a long time.

Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.

It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.

“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”

You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”

He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”

And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.

“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”

Later… yeah. Later.

But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.

So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.

Now.

“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"

“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”

The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.

Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.

“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.

No.

No, no, no.

“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"

It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.

…why the hell is she here?!

You were supposed to have more time—

“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”

Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”

The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.

Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.

…great.

Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.

“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”

She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.

Oh, right.

So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.

…good to know there's a line somewhere.

“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”

Your body goes rigid.

Oh no. Fuck no.

Anything but that.

Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.

“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”

Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…

“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”

…

Wait.

Did he just say Gojo?

As in—

Your boss’s family?!

No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.

Nothing comes out.

“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"

Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”

“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”

And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.

You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”

Fuck...

Get it together.

Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.

“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”

“—sorry ma’am, no.”

Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.

“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”

There’s a hitch in your breath

Oh.

So… you’re not invisible?

As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.

He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.

“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”

Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.

The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.

“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”

And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.

By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.

It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.

…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.

But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.

“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”

“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”

He blinks.

“Huh?”

Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.

“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”

Oh...

Right. That.

“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”

And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

Yours doesn’t move.

“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”

You don’t say it like a question.

…is it a question?

Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”

You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.

He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”

Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”

He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.

So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.

“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"

“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”

And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”

You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.

Damnit.

You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.

…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?

“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”

His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”

The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.

And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.

Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.

Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.

Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.

All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.

“Goodnight.”

You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.

…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!

With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—

“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.

“Making myself comfortable?”

…

That explains absolutely nothing.

Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”

“Yup. I do.”

He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.

Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”

Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.

“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”

And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.

For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.

“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.

You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.

…

Or trying to.

You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.

Ugh…

Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.

Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.

“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.

“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”

“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”

Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”

You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”

The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.

…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?

He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.

Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.

“Come up here,” you blurt.

…

Silence.

“Wait… huh?”

Your eyes squeeze shut.

As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.

“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”

…

He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.

“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”

You cover your face with a groan.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”

“—yes ma’am.”

He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.

…too still.

All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.

“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”

Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”

He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”

Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.

A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”

The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.

“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.

The mattress dips.

“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”

…

Fake.

Fake boyfriend.

The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…

“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”

He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”

“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.

You blink into the dark.

“Wait. Sorry… what?”

A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.

Is he… pouting?

The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”

Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.

“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.

“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.

As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.

Beautiful.

“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"

The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.

…yours.

And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.

But…

Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.

And his frown is instant.

“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”

The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.

His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”

“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”

“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...

Why?

Why does he have to look at you like that?

You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”

Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.

Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.

a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭

your parents called it a “small gathering,” even though there were always too many slippers by the front door and too many soda cans sweating on every table. you liked those nights anyway, mostly because they never changed. and especially because you get to hear your aunties and uncles dousing you with compliments about how cute your eyes are.

but they also stayed in their own circles like planets orbiting each other, carrying paper plates and stories they had already told before. meanwhile, all the other younger children drifted wherever they wanted, forming temporary little worlds in corners of the house.

tonight, your world sat cross-legged on the living room carpet. or rather—two boys your age did. you watched them from the armchair nearest the staircase, your chin resting against the cushion while your legs dangled over the edge.

caleb and zayne were sitting side by side beneath the warm yellow glow of the standing lamp, completely absorbed in a puzzle game spread across the floor between them.

they looked nothing alike even back then.

the brown-haired one sat carelessly sprawled on his stomach with his socks mismatched and knees bent in the air as he kicked his feet behind him. he kept stealing pieces from the wrong pile just because he was impatient, humming nonsense under his breath while his hair stuck out in every direction.

“that one doesn’t even go there,” the one with round glasses says for the fifth time.

and the other could only grin at him without shame. “it could though."

“it literally cannot.”

“you wouldn't know that until we try!"

the black-haired one stared at him with the exhausted disappointment of a tired old man trapped inside a ten-year-old’s body. even as a kid, he already had that look about him.

neat posture... neatly combed dark hair... neatly folded sleeves.... he handled puzzle pieces like fragile scientific discoveries, turning each one carefully beneath the light before placing it down with precise certainty. 

you thought they were funny together. caleb was all sunlight, and zayne was all winter mornings. they truly were polar opposites, and yet somehow, they understood each other the most. somehow they still fit beside each other naturally, like they had always been arranged that way from the start.

“you skipped the steps again,” zayne muttered.

“because your steps are booooring.”

“or they’re efficient.”

“same thing.”

zayne sighed the kind of sigh adults usually made after paying bills, and it made you laugh quietly into the couch cushion. both boys looked up immediately at the sound you accidentally let out. it was strange, looking back on it now, how quickly they always noticed you.

caleb brightened first, he always did. “hey!" he called, pushing himself upright so fast the puzzle pieces scattered a little. “come help us!"

“are you losing?” you asked, eyebrows raising.

“we’re winning,” 

“you are objectively losing though,” zayne said, returning his eyes at caleb, as if he couldn't handle the eye-contact with you. 

you slid off the chair and padded toward them then, stepping carefully around abandoned shoes and empty juice boxes. the carpet felt warm beneath your feet from the heat of too many people inside your house.

up close, you could see the difference between them even clearer. caleb’s cheeks looked pink from running around outside earlier, and there was a grass stain near the knee of his jeans with a bandaid on his elbow from some accident nobody had witnessed, but everybody expected. zayne, meanwhile, looked untouched by chaos itself. except for one thing, as there was a tiny pencil mark on the side of his hand.

you pointed at it with a smug look. “hey, you might want to clean that off.”

zayne looked down at his hand like he hadn’t noticed, and caleb bursted out laughing. “wow, didn't know the genius makes mistakes too.”

zayne frowned. “it’s not a mistake, pencils transfer residue naturally.”

“that sounds so made up.”

“it’s literally science, you idiot.”

“better than a nerd.”

you sat between them, eyes following the rhythm of their voices. caleb shifted first to make space for you, all easy warmth and careless movement. your shoulder bumped against his accidentally and he froze for half a second before pretending nothing happened. zayne noticed, he always seemed to notice every single thing. his eyes flickered down once before returning to the puzzle board with suspicious concentration.

you, entirely unaware, picked up a random piece. "where does this go?” both boys leaned in immediately, and for one brief second, their heads nearly knocked together over your shoulder.

those friday gatherings still happened every month, or every other week, like clockwork. same houses. same families. same folding tables lined with food nobody waited long enough to cool down before eating. but growing up was sneaky like that. one day you were all sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the carpet arguing over puzzle pieces, and then everybody started drifting into different corners of the house without meaning to.

especially the three of you.

—

you woke up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

for a few seconds, everything felt soft around the edges. sunlight spilled lazily through the classroom windows, warm and golden against your cheek where you had fallen asleep on top of your folded arms. your vision blurred slightly as you blinked awake, eyelashes sticking together from sleep.

reality returned slowly after that. you're in your classroom, and it's a friday afternoon. you lifted your head with a sleepy frown, hair flattened embarrassingly on one side. there was a faint imprint of notebook rings pressed against your skin.

“seriously?” your voice came out hoarse. “you guys couldn’t wake me up?”

“you looked really dead,” one of your classmates answered from across the room.

another pointed a broom at you accusingly. “plus i didn't know you drool when you sleep. yikes.”

“i do not.” you rubbed your eyes with the sleeve of your uniform, still too drowsy to defend yourself properly. the classroom smelled like dusty chalk, floor cleaner, and afternoon heat trapped between old walls.

outside the windows, the sky had already started turning honey-colored. the prettiest part of school days. you slowly sat upright, stretching your arms above your head until your joints cracked. you pulled out the compact mirror from your bag with a sigh, and you see your hair looking freakingly terrible. one side puffed outward from sleeping while the other remained stubbornly flat against your cheek. you tried fixing it using only your fingers, but it somehow made things worse.

“wow,” it's ridiculous to think how you still look like this at the ripe age of eighteen. after gathering your things, you slipped your bag over your shoulder and stepped outside the classroom into the corridor.

you see students drifting through the pathways in clusters, as their laughter echo faintly between buildings while teachers carried stacks of papers toward the faculty rooms. somewhere in the distance, a whistle blew from the soccer field.

fridays always carried a different kind of tiredness, the kind wrapped in anticipation. normally, friday nights meant the gatherings. the usual routine. your parents dressing up slightly nicer than necessary with trays of food balanced carefully in the car. 

you exhaled quietly through your nose. for some reason, the thought exhausted you today. maybe it was because your body feeling strangely heavy, maybe it was the headache blooming faintly behind your eyes from sleeping awkwardly at your desk, or maybe it was simply one of those days where existing around too many people sounded unbearable.

you descended the school steps slowly, your fingers tracing absentmindedly along the strap of your bag. honestly, locking yourself inside your bedroom sounded much better tonight. and maybe a movie playing quietly in the background while the sounds of the gathering muffled themselves downstairs. you could already picture it perfectly.

a breeze passed through the campus grounds then, carrying the scent of cut grass and approaching evening. you tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear and kept walking toward the school gates, still half-lost in thought.

“i swear, caleb and zayne are literally impossible to approach.” the words floated past you casually, lightly. like paper airplanes tossed through the air. you almost didn’t react at first.

campus gossip traveled fast enough that hearing their names wasn’t exactly unusual anymore. still, something about the sudden shift in voices nearby tugged gently at your attention, and before you could stop yourself, your gaze wandered toward the right wing of the campus.

and there they were. caleb and zayne, walking side by side beneath the amber wash of the afternoon sun.

unsurprising. 

you’d spent nearly your entire life seeing them like this. same neighborhoods, same gatherings, same schools. always somewhere within the same orbit as each other. and yet, every time you looked at them lately, it still startled you a little how much older they’d become. the boys from your childhood memories now had stretched into something sharper and more defined. 

caleb predictably moved through crowds without effort, the way sunlight slips through open curtains without asking permission. taller now—much taller than he used to be—with broad shoulders that filled out the blue-and-white varsity jacket hanging loosely over his basketball jersey, as he smiled at nearly everyone who greeted him along the pathway.

people really greeted him everywhere. a classmate waved, and caleb would grin immediately. someone from the lower years calls his name, and he would point at them in recognition with an easy laugh. even from far away, you could tell how naturally people gravitated toward him. he carried attention like he didn’t even realize he had it.

then there was zayne beside him, quieter. where caleb moved like warmth, zayne moved like still water.

he carried several books tucked neatly against one arm while balancing his phone in the other hand, his attention split somewhere between reading messages and listening to whatever caleb was talking about. his glasses rested low against the bridge of his nose, slightly crooked like he’d adjusted them too many times throughout the day.

his sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms, posture straight despite the weight of the books. everything about him looked composed in that effortless way that somehow made him even more intimidating. still, girls glance at him when he passed, teachers greet him with visible approval, and underclassmen would straighten instinctively whenever he looked their way.

the smartest student in school and the athlete everyone adored—the popular duo.

honestly, it made sense. they looked unfairly perfect walking across campus beneath the falling afternoon light, like characters somebody specifically designed to make ordinary people feel underdressed.

you stared for maybe three seconds longer than necessary. you weren't exactly mesmerized, it's just that familiarity sometimes makes people pause. despite growing up beside them your entire life, you still didn’t really know them at all. you looked away first, adjusting your bag higher onto your shoulder and continued toward the school gates.

it didn’t matter anyway. the three of you were never actually close.

the evening breeze brushed lightly against your face as you quickened your pace down the sidewalk, already thinking about home, about your bedroom, about escaping tonight’s gathering before anyone noticed your mood.

—

by the time you got home, you went straight to your bedroom. 

downstairs, the gathering slowly came alive piece by piece. you heard doors opening, voices arriving, and laughter swelling louder. you could practically predict the entire night without looking.

you rolled onto your back and stared sleepily at the ceiling. honestly, staying hidden up here sounded perfect. your eyelids slowly began growing heavier. you were just about to fall asleep when—

*buzzzzz!*

your phone vibrated beside your pillow, making you abruptly open your eyes. with sleepy reluctance, you reached for it blindly.

the screen glowed against the dim room, and immediately, your eyebrows pulled together in confusion. because the notification said: a text message from caleb!

for a second, you genuinely thought maybe you opened the wrong chat somehow. caleb didn't really text you. sure, you had each other’s numbers. everybody did after years of family gatherings and school projects and parents insisting on “staying connected.”

but your conversations mostly lived in the realm of accidental politeness. text messages like... "happy birthday!", "can you send the assignment?", "your mom said dinner starts at seven." that kind of thing... which made the message sitting on your screen feel oddly out of place.

[18:49] caleb: "hey, wya?"

you blinked. your phone remained warm in your hand while you stared at the message. for some reason, your heartbeat suddenly felt embarrassingly loud in the quiet of your bedroom.

why would he message you that? it felt wrong, so you stared at the message again alongside his icon.

more laughter downstairs rose faintly through the floorboards, followed by the distant clinking of plates and someone calling for extra ice.

you hesitated, then typed back anyway.

[18:50] you: "in my bedroom."

you didn’t expect anything after that. you were already setting your phone down when—

*buzzzzz!*

your eyes flicked back to the screen so fast it almost startled you.

[18:50] caleb: "on my way."

“…on my way?” you whispered to yourself, sitting up so quickly your blanket slid off your lap.

what did that even mean? why would he come up? 

you swung your legs off the bed, already moving. you weren’t sure what you were doing, exactly. you just knew you were doing something. your hands started fixing things instinctively—pushing stray clothes deeper into the laundry basket, straightening a book on your desk that was already straight, and then shoving your charger under the pillow.

what does caleb even want right now?

a knock on your door sounded.

for a second, your brain refused to process it as anything important. it was as if your body had decided to pretend it didn’t hear it at all.

then, another knock, louder this time.

so you had no choice but to slowly reach for the door handle. still hesitating, you twist the doorknob, pulling the barrier open. 

"hey," and there he was standing in your doorway. 

he was taller up close—so much more obvious now than in passing. the hallway light framed him from behind, softening the edges of his varsity jacket and casting a faint glow around his hair. his arms crossed loosely over his chest, smiling. that easy, boyish smile that always made him look like he was about to laugh at something the world hadn’t said yet.

“why'd it take you so long to open?" he casually remarked, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

you didn’t respond. instead, you stared at him. "does mom know you’re up here?” 

caleb blinked once, before letting out a short chuckle, shifting his weight slightly in the doorway. "yeah, of course she does." 

you exhaled. "anyway,” you stepped back into your room, crossing your arms. "what even brings you here?” 

caleb followed you in without hesitation, not even a pause. his hand went straight to your light switch and flipped it fully on, bathing everything in warm brightness.

you turned your head sharply. “why did you do that?”

“uh, so i can see you.”

“you could’ve seen with the hallway light." 

you stared at him, but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. he's already walking further in and glancing around your room. you sat down on the edge of your bed with a controlled sigh. “okay, talk. why are you here?"

caleb held up two fingers immediately, like he’d been rehearsing this. "actually, i'm here for two things.”

you narrowed your eyes. “why are there always ‘two things’ with you.”

“because life is balanced,” 

“that’s not even— never mind. go.”

he leaned back against your desk, shifting comfortably. "firstly, about the sports day fest.”

you blinked. "...that’s it?”

“yup."

you stared at him. "you came upstairs, into my bedroom, during a family gathering, just to ask me about sports day fest?"

“well, you’re on the committee, so why not personally ask you?" he grins. 

you leaned back, processing that for a moment. “okay, then, what about sports day fest?"

caleb immediately straightened, interest sharpening. "okay so,” he moves away from your desk and paced your room, “are we doing the same relay setup as last year?”

“probably revised,” you grabbed your phone from the bed, scrolling through your notes. “the committee’s still finalizing—”

“will we not get those ridiculous team shirts anymore?”

“yea, probably.”

“good,” he said instantly. “last year’s were damn tight.”

you looked up. “they were your size though?"

“way too tight,” he corrected confidently, stopping near your bookshelf and casually picking up one of your notebooks.

your eyes snapped up. “hey, don’t touch that.”

he already opened it. "hmm, why not?”

“because it’s mine.”

“so?”

you stood up again, walking over to him. "don't touch that, i said!"

he didn’t even look guilty. he was flipping through it like it was entertainment. "but this is just your committee notes,” 

“exactly.”

“huh, it’s very organized, i'll give you that,” he whistles. 

you reached for the notebook and took it back. “thank you, now stop touching things that aren’t yours.”

caleb shrugged, unbothered, and wandered toward your window instead. "anyway,” he continued, “are we still doing the obstacle course? because last time someone tripped on the tire thing and it was kind of—”

“caleb,” you cut in and pointed at him. “focus.”

“i am focused.”

“you’re touching my curtains.”

he glanced down, realized his hand was indeed messing with your curtain tie, and let it drop casually. “okay,” he said, stepping back. “i’m focused now.”

you returned to your bed slowly, sitting down again with a tired expression. "sports day is basically the same structure,” you explained more firmly this time. “relay, obstacle course, mixed games, but we’re adjusting the scoring this year though.”

caleb nodded, listening intently. you added, “and no, you can’t ‘fix’ anything last minute like you did last year.”

“that wasn’t fixing though,” he combed his hair back with his fingers. “that was improving morale!"

“by bribing your team with snacks?" you snorted. and he just smiles back, eventually he stopped pacing. which, in your experience, usually meant one of two things: either he was done being chaotic for now, or he had found a new kind of chaos to settle into.

this time, it was the former. he walked over and sat down on the edge of your bed across from you, causing the mattress to dip slightly under his weight. caleb leaned back on his hands, studying you for a moment in a way that made you suddenly aware of your posture, your hair, the fact that you were still wearing your slightly wrinkled shirt from earlier. “huh,” 

you frowned. “what?"

he tilted his head a little. “it’s been a while since i’ve seen you this close.”

you blinked once. "but you saw me earlier at school.”

“yeah,” he said easily. “but not like this.”

you didn’t ask what “like this” meant. you already didn’t like where it sounded like it was going. caleb squinted slightly, like he was comparing something only he could see. "you’ve really gotten shorter, it's like you're growing backwards.”

your face went flat at that. “i have not.”

“you have,” he insisted. “or maybe i got taller. either way, something changed.”

you cleared your throat, trying to avoid the tension in the air. you wonder if he's doing this on purpose, or if he could be a victim to it as well. "so what’s the second thing you're here for?"

caleb straightened himself, resting his elbows on his knees now instead of leaning back. "oh right,"

you waited as he glanced at you, then away, then back again, deciding how casual to make it sound. "well, i’m having a house party next week.”

"of course you are.”

he ignored that. "and a lot of people are coming, literally anyone you could think of, including zayne's clones." 

“also of course.”

caleb watched you for a second, waiting. but you didn’t say anything immediately. it wasn’t surprising, really. not for him. not for caleb. he was the kind of person who collected people without even trying, just by using his charm and looks.

you adjusted your position on the bed, fingers resting on your blanket. "i see," 

caleb’s eyebrows lifted a little at that.

you met his eyes briefly. “i’ll think about it.”there was a pause, as if he was reading your answer and deciding what to do with it.

then caleb smiled, not the usual one, but smaller. he shifted forward and reached out before you could react, pinching your cheek like it was an automatic reflex he didn’t even question. "then... i'll be happy if you come," 

you immediately recoiled. “ah—”

"think about it, okay?"

you rubbed your cheek consciously. “you didn’t have to pinch me.”

“i did,” he stood up now like the conversation was naturally ending. "it was necess-uh-ry, so think about it hard. if you aren't there, i'll burn my house and mom will blame you." 

"is my presence really that important?" you chuckled offhandedly, but the next thing that comes out of caleb's mouth was something you didn't see coming. 

"it is," he glances at you over his shoulder with a cheeky smile. "rest well and drink your meds, pipsqueak." 

and then, just like that, he leaves your room.

—

caleb’s house looked completely different at night, like somebody had taken the familiar shape of it and dipped it into glittering lights and loud music until it became something unreal.

you stood near the front gate for half a second too long, staring at the amount of cars lining up the street. you suddenly understood what caleb meant by “a lot of people.” apparently, “a lot” meant half the school population.

“come on,” one of your classmates laughed beside you, tugging your sleeve. “don’t freeze now—you're the one who dragged us here,"

when you followed them inside, just as instantly, warmth crashed into you. warm lights, warm air, warm noise. and lots of people everywhere! students crowded the living room shoulder-to-shoulder, conversations overlapping into one giant buzzing blur while music echoed through the walls loud enough to rattle your ribs. somebody cheered from somewhere near the kitchen, somebody else was already filming videos with flash on.

you stepped carefully through the chaos, trying not to bump into anyone.

honestly, it was kind of overwhelming. you adjusted the hem of your outfit nervously. you had spent way too long deciding what to wear tonight only to immediately regret every clothing decision the second you walked in. still, your classmates kept talking excitedly around you, so you tried to relax. somewhere in the back of your mind, one thought repeated quietly: where’s caleb?

you hadn’t seen him once since arriving. which, honestly, made sense. this was his environment anyway. of course he was busy.

you glanced around again, seeing unfamiliar faces moving endlessly beneath colored lights. then suddenly—your classmates disappeared on you. one moment they were beside you, the next moment somebody had pulled one of them toward the dance floor while another vanished into the kitchen crowd, and somehow the current of the party separated you from all of them without warning.

you came to a halt. fuck, where are they?

all you could see were moving shoulders, flashing lights, strangers laughing too loudly over music that kept swallowing every thought whole. panic flickered in your chest, enough to make your stomach tighten.

great. now you were alone.

you pulled your phone from your bag, already considering texting caleb, but then immediately paused.

no, he's absolutely unreliable right now. he was probably halfway across the house entertaining fifty different people at once.

you sighed quietly and slipped your phone back away. okay, fine, you could handle this.

you tried moving forward again, weaving carefully through the crowd while searching for somewhere quieter to stand. except every direction somehow looked louder than the last. you attempted squeezing past them, and immediately somebody bumped your shoulder, now another person nearly stepped on your shoe.

the crowd swallowed space way too quickly, pushing and shifting around you like waves. “sorry— excuse me—” your voice disappeared instantly beneath the music. you tried moving faster, and then suddenly—you feel a hand wrap around your wrist. 

you turned, already halfway prepared to elbow some random stranger out of self-defense—only to freeze.

oh, of all people. 

for a second, your brain genuinely forgot how to function properly. because seeing zayne at school and seeing zayne at a house party were apparently two completely different experiences.

first of all—the black shirt. it fit too well, sleeves hugging the shape of his arms in a way that looked unfairly distracting beneath the dim party lights. no rolled-up uniform sleeves tonight nor a neatly buttoned school attire—just dark fabric stretched across broad shoulders that had definitely gotten wider since high school started, whether you noticed gradually or all at once.

he looked taller somehow too... or maybe the crowd just made him stand out more. either way, he looked painfully out of place against the chaos of the party. 

you're only brought back to reality when zayne glanced briefly toward the crowd, letting go of your wrist, the sudden movement startling you out of your daze—he must've been staring at you that long too. his gaze pressed around the two of you before looking back down at you.

then, without saying a word, he motioned lightly with two fingers for you to follow him. and you could only nod.

he stepped ahead first, guiding a path through the crowd while you followed closely behind him. people shifted instinctively when they noticed him approaching, parting easier somehow compared to when you had tried surviving the dance floor alone thirty seconds ago. you noticed the looks too, how most of the girls glanced at him openly. some even whispered things to each other after he passed.

it's annoyingly understandable. especially tonight. especially with that shirt.

you were still internally judging him for the shirt when suddenly, you feel his hand hovering lightly near the small of your back, guiding you in the quietest possible way.

your entire spine immediately became aware of itself, which was ridiculous because technically he wasn’t even touching you. except every now and then, when the crowd tightened too closely, his palm would briefly brush against your back to steer you forward before disappearing again.

you focused very hard on walking normally.

eventually, the music softened as zayne led you toward the corner of the house near the back hallway. the lights here were dimmer and calmer with fewer people crowding the space.

gosh, you could finally breathe again.

you turned toward him at the exact same moment he turned toward you.

“why are you—” “did caleb—” both of you spoke simultaneously, and then meeting at the exact same pause.

a tiny silence settled between you, before you waved awkwardly toward him first. “you go ahead.”

zayne blinked once. and for one brief second, you caught the almost-smile forming in his features. the faintest crack in his usual composed expression, like he was stopping himself from chuckling. unfairly handsome beneath the warm hallway lighting.

“do your parents know you’re here?” he asked.

you stared at him. “…that’s your question?”

“it’s an important question.” you remained silent though, trying to read through zayne's expression. “answer it.”

you crossed your arms. “yes, they know.”

zayne studied your face for half a second longer, like he was checking if you were lying, before nodding once. “i see.”

you narrowed your eyes. “why are you.. acting like my probation officer?"

“because,” he said calmly, “you looked one inconvenience away from getting kidnapped out there.”

you opened your mouth in immediate offense. "i was handling it just fine.”

zayne glanced toward the crowded living room where you had very visibly been fighting for survival thirty seconds ago, then back at you. “…were you?”

you pressed your lips together, which, unfortunately, was basically an admission of defeat. zayne noticed, he had always been annoyingly observant like that. his gaze lingered on your face for a second longer, calm and unreadable, while the music from the other room pulsed faintly through the walls behind him.

you cleared your throat first, mostly because you refused to let him win this interaction. "anyway,” you said quickly, “what brings you here?”

zayne leaned one shoulder against the wall beside you. “caleb invited me.” typical zayne. talking to him sometimes felt like trying to pry information out of a locked vault using emotional guesswork.

with a quiet sigh, you walked toward one of the empty tall chairs near the kitchen island and climbed onto it carefully, resting your elbows against the counter while observing the chaos happening from a safer distance. from here, the party looked less overwhelming. people moved beneath the colored lights like blurry scenes inside a movie montage. 

zayne sat beside you a moment later, close enough that you could feel the quiet warmth of his presence beside your arm.

neither of you spoke for a while. surprisingly, it wasn’t awkward. it was rather comfortable in that strange unfamiliar way silence sometimes becomes when shared with the right person. your eyes wandered idly around the kitchen island before stopping on something abandoned near the fruit bowl.

a deck of cards.

“you’re into those?”

you hear zayne ask, in which you nodded to. “yeah, card games are kinda my thing.”

“hm.”

you tilted your head slightly. “what about you?”

zayne shook his head once. “no.”

“then why do you sound interested?"

his expression shifted almost imperceptibly. "i know a few tricks,” 

“…ooh, what kind of tricks?"

zayne didn’t answer verbally. instead, he extended an open palm toward you. for some reason, the gesture alone made your stomach feel weirdly aware of itself.

you stared at his hand for a second, catching sight of the veins that were faintly visible beneath warm skin under the party lights. without speaking, you grabbed the deck and placed it onto his palm.

zayne’s fingers closed around it smoothly. his fingers flicked through the deck with practiced precision, cards cascading neatly between his knuckles in soft clicking sounds that somehow cut through the distant music around you.

you stared. “since when can you do cardistry?”

zayne glanced at you briefly. “i get bored sometimes.” then his attention returned to the cards. his hands moved with quiet confidence, slender fingers guiding the deck through intricate motions like muscle memory lived in every tiny movement. cards flipped over his knuckles smoothly before disappearing into his palm again, edges brushing against each fingertip.

there was something oddly attractive about the way he handled them. you watched one card spin neatly between his fingers before snapping back into the deck again, making your mouth slightly part. “that was kinda cool.”

“kinda?”

“don’t get arrogant.”

the faintest hint of amusement touched his face. zayne tilted the deck once more, cards fanning cleanly between his fingers like unfolding silk. you suddenly became hyperaware of everything at once. the low music, the warmth of the lights, the elegant movement of his hands.

without looking away from the cards, he asked calmly, “impressed?”

you ignore him, too focused on what he was doing with his hands.

zayne glanced back down at the cards in his hands, calm and composed as ever, before performing another trick—as if elegance simply happened around him without effort. the deck split cleanly between his fingers. one card disappeared, then reappeared tucked neatly between two knuckles of his other hand before flipping itself back into place.

you blinked. "woah, that's shit.”

“language,” zayne finally set the cards down onto the kitchen island, before looking at you properly. from this angle, the neon lights shifted faintly across his face in blue and pink streaks, and his glasses caught the colored light every now and then, reflecting small flashes whenever he tilted his head.

you stared back before you could stop yourself, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. "so do you know more party tricks?”

zayne leaned back against the counter. "a few.”

“seriously?”

“there’s one involving drinks.”

you perked up. “show me.”

"...i haven’t actually tried it.”

your eyebrows lifted. “then how do you know about it?”

“i’ve seen it.”

you frowned instantly. that answer alone felt wrong coming from him. "wait,” you said slowly, “so you regularly go to parties?”

zayne looked almost offended by the accusation. “rarely.”

“but you do.”

he sighed quietly through his nose. “caleb bribes me.”

you nodded, “...that actually makes complete sense.”

“thank you.”

you laughed softly under your breath despite yourself, before leaning forward again. “okay, so what’s the drink trick?”

zayne’s expression changed enough for you to notice. his fingers adjusted his glasses lightly against the bridge of his nose before he glanced away for a split second. “it’s not really appropriate.” he looked visibly reluctant now, which only made this infinitely more interesting. because zayne never got visibly reluctant.

you leaned closer across the counter, curiosity fully awake. "what kind of trick is it?”

“one your mother would disapprove of.”

“that makes me want to know more!"

“that is exactly the problem.”

you grinned, pressing further. "come on, tell me," zayne held your stare, silent and resisting. which only made you more determined. “you can’t just say mysterious things and not explain them.”

“i absolutely can.”

“you coward.”

one of his eyebrows lifted slightly, then sighed once, slow and controlled, like he had finally accepted defeat. except instead of answering—he leans forward, far too close.

one second zayne was sitting beside you normally—and the next he was hovering near enough that your entire brain short-circuited on instinct. his arm braced lightly beside you against the counter with his face inches away. close enough for you to notice the faint scent of clean cologne beneath the warmth of the room. close enough to see the tiny reflection of neon lights in his glasses. close enough that your heart immediately launched itself into full panic for absolutely no reason.

you jolted backward so fast you nearly lost balance off the chair.

zayne paused at that, blinking as he calmly reached past you to grab the beer bottle and empty glass sitting behind your shoulder.

silence. the realization alone nearly killed you.

“…relax,” he said finally, leaning back. “you shouldn’t be that easily rattled, especially if you’re going to keep provoking me.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. "i was not provoking you.”

“you called me a coward.”

“because, you were acting mysterious.”

“and now?” he poured himself a drink while speaking, amber liquid glinting beneath the lights. “now i think you enjoy making me uncomfortable.”

you scoffed. “please, you don’t get uncomfortable.”

zayne only hummed quietly like he disagreed. you stayed suspiciously silent after that, watching him instead. which turned out to be a mistake. because observing zayne too carefully was becoming increasingly dangerous tonight.

he stretched one arm toward the nearby side dishes, long fingers reaching effortlessly for a slice of lemon resting beside the drinks. the movement pulled faint tension across the sleeves of his black shirt, subtle muscle shifting beneath dark fabric before he settled back beside you again. then he held the lemon slice between two fingers and said, very calmly, “open your mouth.”

“…what.”

“hm.” zayne tilted his head. “coward.”

your jaw dropped, "you cannot keep using that against me.”

“seems effective.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, but he only waited patiently. his composure somehow made refusing feel embarrassingly childish now.

you huffed quietly through your nose before finally leaning forward slightly and parting your lips just enough. immediately, warmth crept into your face the second zayne slid the lemon slice, carefully, between your lips.

his fingers brushed against the corner of your mouth for only a second, but your entire nervous system noticed. his gaze lingered there briefly before he looked away first, then he glanced around thoughtfully.

you frowned around the lemon. what is he looking for? 

“one second.” he stood from the chair and walked toward the kitchen drawers nearby, leaving you sitting there in complete confusion holding a lemon slice in your mouth like somebody’s deeply humiliated house cat.

you watched him pull open one drawer, then another. until finally, he grabbed a small glass jar of... salt? unscrewing the lid, he dipped two fingers lightly into the salt. and only then did realization begin crawling horrifyingly into your brain.

he returned to stand between your knees before you could escape properly. he's way too close like this.

"you said you wanted to know the trick,” and before you could argue again, his fingers brushed lightly against your collarbone—cool grains of salt scattered softly over warm skin.

you sucked in a tiny breath when his hand settled against your hip, steady enough to keep you still. and then he leaned down, licking the salt from your clavicle—his warm tongue grazed along the surface of your skin, for a second longer than necessary, he sucked on it. 

your breath caught instantly, a tiny sound escaping you before you could stop it, soft and startled and humiliatingly real.

zayne paused for the briefest second afterward. then slowly—far too slowly—he lifted his head again, his face close enough that the lemon scent mixed faintly with the warmth of his breath. without meeting your eyes, he leaned forward once more and carefully took the lemon slice from between your lips using his own.

zayne still refused to look directly at you. instead, he reached for the glass calmly, closed his eyes once, and drank the alcohol in one smooth swallow.

the music still played somewhere behind you, and people still laughed. but everything around you felt strangely muffled, as if your brain had wrapped itself in cotton after what just happened. your collarbone still tingled faintly, the memory of his saliva and tongue against the skin ghosting over it.

did that seriously just happen? you couldn't even focus on your own internal monologue, as you noticed the way zayne's brows pinched together ever so slightly as he swallowed hard after the drink, setting the glass down against the counter with a quiet clink. then he coughed once into his fist.

the image of calm, composed, terrifyingly smooth zayne abruptly cracking because of alcohol was so unexpected that your brain physically stalled trying to process it. “hey, are you okay?”

zayne straightened almost instantly. "i’m fine." except his voice sounded rougher now, the faintest flush spreading beneath the sharp line of his cheekbones.

you stared harder. “...are you used to drinking?”

there was a tiny pause, before zayne adjusted his glasses and answered with complete honesty, “this is my first time.”

what? 

he looked away briefly, clearing his throat once more. “i said i’d only seen the trick before.”

your eyes widened, "zayne!” he winced faintly at the volume of your voice. “you made it sound like you knew what you were doing!”

“i did know what i was doing.”

you stared at him in disbelief, a course of guilt rushing down your face. now that you were really looking at him, he genuinely seemed affected. not drunk exactly, but definitely warmer around the edges than before. his composure still sat perfectly in place, yet there was something subtly looser about him now.

"sorry,” you started quietly. “i didn’t know you’d never—”

“zayne!” both of you looked up at the interruption.

a guy from the caleb's team was waving from the other side of the kitchen, already halfway approaching through the crowd. “there you are,” he said breathlessly. “caleb’s looking for you.”

zayne blinked at him, composure slipping neatly back into place. “why?"

“something about the speakers. nobody else understands the setup except you.”

of course. even at parties, zayne somehow got assigned technical support duties against his will. he sighed through his nose before standing properly from the chair. for one second, his gaze flickered back toward you. and suddenly the air felt warm again. "don’t disappear,” and, before you could answer—he was already gone back into the crowd.

—

ever since then, for reasons you were oblivious to, both zayne and caleb started treating you like someone they actually knew—which was strange considering you had technically grown up together your entire lives. but before, there had always been distance, you know, the careful kind. now, somehow, they stayed.

you, meanwhile, remained catastrophically unaware. because in your mind, this was normal. right? they were childhood friends. technically. and childhood friends probably acted like this all the time.

unfortunately for you, everybody else at school possessed functioning pattern recognition, which became increasingly obvious.

but they had always bickered, hadn’t they? except now the arguments felt oddly targeted. caleb would interrupt conversations just to steal your attention away from zayne, and then zayne would correct caleb’s exaggerated stories while looking directly at you instead of him.

during the friday gatherings, caleb suddenly insisted you sit beside him during karaoke nights while zayne quietly occupied the chair on your other side before anybody else could. they acted normal individually. but together? strangely competitive. but somehow, you never really fully noticed.

until... the campus practically vibrated with excitement that morning.

music blasted through giant speakers across the field while students flooded the grounds wearing brightly colored team shirts beneath the hot sunlight. you could hear the whistles echoing from afar and how somebody was already yelling into a megaphone because everybody isn't exactly organized.

you, unfortunately, were suffering. committee duties meant running around with clipboards while surviving on pure stress and iced coffee.

“where’s the relay list?”

“who moved the cones?”

directly in the center of it is caleb and zayne being on opposite teams. the universe found it hilarious, because the second the games started, things became unbearably obvious.

caleb played like a man personally offended by the thought of defeat itself, incredibly fast and competitive. he truly is all effortless athleticism beneath the glaring afternoon sun, his jersey clinging slightly from sweat while crowds screamed his name every five seconds.

on the other hand, zayne is somehow equally terrifying. it made no sense because zayne wasn’t even the sporty one. yet there he was, calm and calculating beneath the heat, playing with the same frightening precision he approached everything else in life.

they kept watching each other, constantly, like two academically gifted wolves. every single time one of them scored, their eyes immediately searched for you afterward. you noticed that part eventually, mostly because it kept happening.

still, you remained mostly confused rather than enlightened, then came the foul that happened during one of the final basketball rounds, fast enough that everybody gasped at once.

caleb deliberately blocked zayne harder than necessary near the court line, the collision sharp enough for sneakers to screech loudly against polished flooring.

whistles exploded instantly. “foul!”

“watch it!” the committee members beside you stood up immediately, except neither caleb nor zayne looked at the referees.

they looked at you. both of them. like somehow your reaction mattered more than the actual game. you stood there clutching your clipboard in complete disbelief. "...what are they doing,” 

one of your friends beside you snorted loudly. "fighting over you, obviously.”

you turned so fast you nearly dropped the clipboard. "no they aren't?”

he stares at you for a long moment. “you... actually don’t know?"

after that, it became impossible to unsee. impossible for literally everyone else. once somebody pointed it out, the pattern started unfolding everywhere. in your defense, both boys behaved in ways that were just plausible enough to deny. maybe— maybe —you were simply unlucky enough to exist directly between both personalities at once.

—

summer is nearby.

the afternoons stretched longer, with the concrete outside shimmering faintly beneath the heat. even the trees beyond your backyard fence looked sleepy, their leaves barely moving whenever wind passed through.

your laundry basket sat beside you, half-empty now, while damp clothes hung heavily across the clothesline one by one. sunlight warmed the back of your neck as you clipped another shirt into place, fingers smelling faintly of detergent and fabric softener. somewhere nearby, a radio played old music from another house. you liked days like this, days where nobody expected anything from you except folded laundry and watered plants. except lately, your brain had refused to stay quiet.

you clipped another shirt onto the line harder than necessary. 

the two guys weren’t even trying to hide it anymore. and almost everybody seemed to notice it now. even your own mother noticed, judging by the increasingly suspicious smiles she’d been giving you lately whenever either boy visited.

honestly, it stressed you out. because the problem was you didn't dislike them. rather, you cared about both of them too much to treat any of this lightly. which was exactly why you refused to bring it up first.

because if there truly was something there—something real—then it should come from them. right? and selfishly, you didn’t want the burden of dragging confessions out into daylight only to ruin whatever fragile thing currently existed between all three of you.

you sighed and reached for another damp shirt. inside the house, your mother suddenly called your name.

“coming!” you shouted back.

the screen door slid open as your parents peeked outside together, your mother already holding her purse while your father jingled car keys impatiently beside her. “we’re leaving for the whole day, okay?” your mother called out. “there’s food in the fridge!”

you nodded. “okay!”

“don’t forget your laundry outside later!”

“i know!”

a few moments later, you watched their car disappear slowly down the street while cicadas buzzed lazily in the afternoon heat.

silence settled over the house afterward. so you returned to your laundry basket with another sigh. and, unfortunately, immediately started thinking again. about caleb’s lingering touches, about zayne’s stares, about the sports day, about that stupid lemon trick.

your face warmed at the memory. “this is so annoying,” and as if summoned directly from your thoughts—

the doorbell rang.

you froze, frowning suspiciously at the gate. you're pretty sure your parents didn't inform you earlier of anyone visiting at this hour...

you wiped your damp hands hurriedly against the sides of your shorts before making your way through the house and toward the front door. the second you opened it, you regretted everything instantly.

because standing outside your gate were caleb and zayne, together.

huh, talk about a coincidence.

your eyes flicked towards the two plastic bags filled with fruits hanging from caleb's arm while zayne carried another smaller bag beside him. sunlight poured over both of them harshly enough that you had to squint. “heya, pips," caleb greeted first, smiling easily the second he saw you.

zayne gave a small nod beside him. “good afternoon.” you stared blankly for approximately three whole seconds before your brain suddenly remembered your current appearance.

oh, this was horrible.

you were wearing an old white tank top slightly wrinkled from heat, loose boy shorts, and your hair was tied messily on top of your head in the kind of rushed bun that made you resemble an exhausted suburban mother halfway through a sunday cleaning routine!

your entire body now became aware of itself, and judging by the brief silence afterward—they probably noticed too.

zayne adjusted his glasses lightly, gaze flickering away for one suspicious second before returning to your face with entirely too much composure. "we brought fruits,” 

caleb lifted the bags. “our parents bought too much again.”

“and your mom mentioned nobody would be home,” zayne added.

your eyebrows lifted slowly. “…my mom told you that?”

“she saw us outside earlier,” caleb answered. “then she basically assigned us delivery duty.”

that sounded unfortunately believable. you glanced down at yourself again instinctively. big mistake. because when you looked back up, caleb was very visibly trying not to grin.

“what?”

“nothing.”

“you’re smiling.”

“because you look—” zayne elbowed him before he could finish, causing a cough out of caleb to correct himself instantly. “—busy,” 

you stepped outside instead, the concrete warm beneath your slippers as you approached the gate. the metal latch clicked when you opened it halfway, enough for you to reach over and take the plastic bags from their hands. the fruits inside shifted heavily against your arms.

“thanks,” you said, avoiding eye-contact for a second because you were still painfully aware of your appearance.

caleb leaned against the fence immediately after handing the bags over, sunlight catching against his hair in uneven gold streaks. “that’s it?”

you blinked. “what do you mean, that’s it?"

“aren’t you gonna let us in?”

you stared at him. “why would i let you in?"

“because we carried fruits all the way here under the tragic heat of the sun,” he pressed a hand against his chest. “we’re basically your heroes.”

“you live just three houses away.”

before caleb could continue arguing, zayne’s gaze shifted past you toward the backyard. more specifically, toward the laundry lines swaying gently beneath the summer wind. he noticed the basket first, then the enormous remaining pile of unfolded clothes still waiting beside the basin.

“so you’re doing laundry,” he observed.

you looked over your shoulder, “obviously.”

there was a small pause before zayne adjusted his glasses and said, in the calmest voice possible, “we can help you.”

you turned back around so quickly you nearly dropped the fruit bags. “…what? no—"

“yeah,” caleb chimed in, straightening from the fence with alarming enthusiasm. “we have nothing else to do anyway."

“you do not need to help me with laundry.”

“why not?”

“because it’s laundry.”

caleb frowned. that wasn’t a valid argument at all. zayne remained standing quietly beside him, somehow already looking committed to the task. you opened your mouth to refuse again, but when you glanced back toward the backyard, toward the mountain of clothes still waiting, your shoulders visibly deflated.

caleb noticed. “see? she needs us.”

“don’t sound so happy about it.”

still, you found yourselves walking through the side path toward the backyard together while sunlight filtered warmly through the trees overhead. you set the fruit bags down onto the small outdoor table near the clothesline, pushing loose strands of hair away from your face as the boys surveyed the situation.

“this is a ridiculous amount of laundry,” caleb commented.

“we’re entering summer,” you replied. “the bedsheets multiply during summer somehow.”

“scientifically impossible,” zayne murmured.

“tell that to my mother." 

caleb carries the heavier basin closer to the line while zayne organized the clothespins into neat little rows because apparently even laundry required structure in his mind. you couldn’t help glancing at them every now and then in faint disbelief. it felt strange, domestic in the oddest way. it's the kind of scene that would’ve looked completely normal if you were all ten years old again.

except now, both boys were taller than the clothesline poles and looked unfairly attractive beneath the afternoon sun.

“zayne!” water splashed suddenly across caleb’s side.

zayne paused, one sleeve still damp from where he’d accidentally flicked water while wringing a shirt. “that was unintentional,”

caleb looks down at himself. “…bro.” before you could even react properly, he lets out a troubled snicker and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion—only to show underneath was only a fitted white sleeveless undershirt clinging against his frame from the heat.

now you understand why almost the entire female population of your school acted clinically insane around him.

you turned your face away. far too late, unfortunately, as caleb definitely noticed your reaction. his grin widened. “why are you looking away?”

“i’m not.”

“mhm.”

you focused aggressively on clipping towels onto the line. surprisingly enough, the boys weren’t fighting today.

zayne just sighed quietly and rolled his sleeves upward toward his elbows before eventually pushing them all the way near his shoulders. the motion revealed clean forearms lined faintly with veins beneath warm skin. he reached for another shirt. “if you keep teasing her, she’ll stop letting us help.”

caleb laughed. “she likes us helping.”

“i never said that.” you cut in.

“well, you didn’t have to.”

you ignored the dog's remark and crouched over the basin with a tired sigh. things always had a different plan for you, though.

one second you were lifting it carefully from the ground, and the next, cold water came crashing against your front with a sharp splash that made you gasp aloud. the weight of it soaked through your tank top instantly, thin white fabric clinging embarrassingly fast against your skin.

“shit—” you completely froze as you felt it—the damp cling of fabric, the cool air against exposed skin underneath, and the way your brassiere is now far more visible than it had any right to be.

slowly, you looked up, only to find both boys staring. caleb had gone unusually quiet. his easy smile disappeared somewhere between surprise and something else entirely, his gaze lingering for half a second too long before darting upward again. beside him, zayne looked equally caught off guard, though his reaction was quieter. his hand still held a clothespin loosely between slender fingers, unmoving, while his eyes flickered downward once before carefully returning to your face.

neither of them spoke. and the silence made heat rush violently into your cheeks.

you crossed your arms over yourself instinctively, suddenly aware of every inch of your body beneath the sunlight. the backyard no longer felt breezy or playful or safe. it felt small. “i’ll just go get another shirt,” you muttered quickly, already turning toward the house before your embarrassment could fully consume you.

except zayne spoke first. “i’ll come help you.”

your steps halted, turning to him. “help me… change?” the second the words left your mouth, caleb choked on air beside him.

zayne blinked once, gathering his words much more carefully. “that’s obviously not what i meant.”

before you could answer, caleb suddenly stepped forward and grabbed the shirt he’d tossed aside earlier. his white undershirt stretched faintly against his chest as he walked to you. “or,” he holds the shirt out toward you, “you can just wear mine.”

you stared at him, then unfortunately at his big arms for one treacherous second before forcing your eyes upward again. “caleb—”

“it’s clean,” he added quickly. “well, mostly.”

zayne’s gaze shifted toward the shirt in caleb’s hand, expression unreadable. then, without a word, he began unbuttoning his own overshirt.

your eyes widened. “…what are you doing?"

“offering a better option.”

caleb let out a laugh of disbelief. “you’re kidding.”

“hers is soaked,” zayne rolls his sleeves downward again before shrugging the dark overshirt from his shoulders. “mine actually covers properly.”

the air changed after that, just enough for you to feel it settle heavily between them. both boys met each other's eyes, and suddenly you felt less like a person and more like the center of a very polite war.

caleb returned his gaze towards you, shirt still held loosely in one hand while the other rested against his hip. “take mine, it’ll be more comfortable.”

before you could even process that, zayne moved too, closer to your other side. “mine is larger, you’ll feel less exposed.”

your heartbeat stumbled stupidly, because now they were both standing close enough for you to feel heat radiating from either side of you. close enough that their voices dropped lower naturally beneath the summer stillness. somewhere above, the laundry fluttered softly in the wind while water continued dripping from the hem of your soaked shirt onto the concrete below.

you looked between them helplessly. it's really ridiculous how both of them were standing in your backyard wearing sleeveless undershirts, how your soaked tank top clung colder against your skin as you glanced between the two shirts again.

if you were choosing purely based on practicality... zayne’s was the obvious answer. it was larger, plus it wasn't damp. trying very hard not to think about the implications of literally wearing one of their clothes, you slowly reached toward zayne’s offered shirt.

*buzzzzz!*

all three of you paused.

zayne reaches into his pocket, already looking mildly irritated by the interruption. he checked the screen.

caleb leaned slightly. “who is it?”

“my tutor.”

you and caleb both stared at him. “…right now?” 

“tutor advance classes,” zayne answered flatly, “i forgot.” he really had always been terrifyingly academic. the type to voluntarily attend extra classes during the last few months of school while the rest of humanity tried surviving the heat without collapsing. still, there was the faintest tension in his expression. one of reluctant annoyance, subtle enough.

“is it important?” you asked.

zayne looked at the screen for another second too long before finally answering, “yes.” he didn’t sound too happy about it.

caleb whistles, "that's brutal."

for one tiny moment, zayne’s eyes flickered back toward you, toward the hand that had almost reached for his shirt earlier. something unreadable crossed his face. quiet satisfaction, maybe. or maybe you imagined it.

without another word, he slowly slid his overshirt back on, rolling his shoulders once as the fabric settled neatly against him again. somehow, watching him button it back into place felt oddly intimate too. “you should change before you catch a cold,” he said.

“in this scorching heat?”

“still possible.”

typical zayne answer.

he adjusted his glasses before turning toward the side gate, but not before giving caleb one brief glance, meaningful enough that you instantly became suspicious. “i’ll see you later.”

just like that, the genius left.

you watched him disappear past the front yard while warm wind stirred softly through the hanging laundry around you.

slowly... very slowly... you turned back toward caleb—who was already looking at you. who looked amused, deeply amused. you narrowed your eyes. “aren't you going to follow after zayne and have the courtesy to leave as well?"

caleb leaned casually against the outdoor table, arms crossing over his chest, the shirt that he had offered earlier dangling from one of his hands. “have you always been this feisty since you were a kid, pips?”

“only towards you.”

his grin widened. "you really were gonna pick his shirt, huh."

“because it was bigger!” you faced your back towards him, hanging the last batch of clothes.

“mhm.”

“and it covered more.”

“sure.”

you stared at him in offense while he laughed softly under his breath. the worst part was how unfairly pretty he looked doing it. summer sunlight caught against the loose strands of hair falling over his forehead while his shoulders shook lightly with amusement. and then, his gaze drifted downward for a split second toward your still-soaked shirt before immediately lifting back to your face. the shift was quick, respectful even, but you still caught it.

by the time the last batch of laundry was finally finished, the afternoon sun had softened into something warmer and slower. the backyard smelled faintly of detergent and sun-dried fabric now. bedsheets swayed overhead in lazy motions while the remaining drops of water glimmered along the concrete beneath the clotheslines. 

you bent down with a small sigh, reaching for the empty basins stacked beside the faucet. your shoulders ached slightly from standing too long. “finally,” you muttered. “i’m never washing clothes again...” you glanced back to find caleb watching you from beside the outdoor table, amusement tugging lazily at the corner of his mouth. his hair had dried messily beneath the heat.

you looked away immediately. before you could properly walk past him, caleb stepped into your path.

you look up at him with a curious gaze. “move.”

“no.”

“caleb.”

“you’re still so soaked.”

you frowned down at the wet shirt sticking annoyingly to your frame. “i’ll just change inside.”

“let me do it for you.”

“no need, cay.” before you could sidestep him, caleb leaned closer, close enough to make your pulse trip over itself.

instinctively, you stepped backward, and he kept on trapping you until your back bumped lightly against the screendoor, the sound making both of you pause.

“sit down for a second.” he said. despite yourself, though, you glanced toward the small wooden chair nearby. caleb's grin softened into something quieter. “c’mon.”

you huffed softly through your nose before finally setting the basin aside and dropping onto the chair with reluctant defeat. “such a bossy old man,” 

“you love it.” caleb laughed under his breath before crouching slightly in front of you. then his fingers caught the hem of your soaked tank top.

you freeze at the gesture, eyes widening at him.

“can i?” the question should’ve embarrassed you more than it did. maybe it was because this was caleb, or maybe it was because the summer heat had melted your common sense hours ago.

either way, after a second, you gave the smallest nod. almost awkwardly now, he guided the damp fabric upward while keeping his eyes shut tight like it physically pained him to peek. you helped tug the wet shirt free before quickly pulling his shirt over yourself afterward.

the fabric smelled like him. it made you warm.

“okay,” you mumbled weakly. “you can look now.”

caleb opened his eyes slowly, smiling. he crouched lower until he was nearly eye-level with you, one knee pressed against the concrete while he wrung your soaked shirt carefully between both hands. water dripped steadily onto the ground beneath him.

out of the blue, caleb laughs under his breath, though it didn’t sound entirely happy. “you know,” he started, twisting the fabric tighter, “i don’t really like how you are around zayne.” caleb kept his eyes lowered toward the shirt in his hands. there was still a smile on his face, but it looked strange now, thinner around the edges.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

he shrugged one shoulder. “i don't know, you listen to him more.”

“no, i don't.”

“yes, you do.” his voice stayed light, casual almost, but something underneath it tugged too tightly. “when he tells you to sit still, you sit still. when he says something, you get all quiet and nice. you even looked so ready to wear his shirt earlier without arguing.”

he glanced up finally, brown eyes warmer than the afternoon sunlight spilling across the backyard. “but with me…” he smiled faintly. “you’re really mean.” the smile on his face remained there stubbornly, but now it looked almost brittle. like he was trying very hard to keep things playful even while something heavier sat underneath every word.

the distant hum of cicadas still filled the spaces between words. for a while, caleb only stared at the fabric, listening to it. and then he laughed softly to himself. “you know what’s crazy? that party i threw a few weeks ago?”

your stomach immediately tightened. “...what about it?"

his fingers stilled against the shirt. “did you really think i didn’t see?”

“see what?"

caleb stared at you for a long second, the smile disappearing from his face entirely. and suddenly—suddenly he didn’t look playful anymore. he looked serious in a way that made your heartbeat stumble. “zayne,” he said quietly. “with you.”

your breath caught.

caleb leaned back against his heels. “i saw him take you away from the crowd, and i saw him touch you. you think i didn’t know what he was doing?” his jaw tightened faintly before he continued. “i went looking for you because you disappeared. then i found the two of you in the kitchen.” his gaze dropped briefly toward your neck. “and i saw him licking you off,” 

the bluntness of it made heat rush violently into your face. caleb looks away, running a hand through his hair roughly before laughing again under his breath. “god, i was so pissed.” you stared at him, because you couldn't say anything. anything at all. what else is there to say? deny what he saw? you knew it was true. tell him it was an accident? both of you and zayne were fully sober. he looked hurt, really hurt. “i wanted to punch him.”

your eyes slightly widened at that.

“i’m serious,” he said, looking back at you. “but i couldn’t even bring it up because what was i supposed to say, huh? ‘hey, i saw the girl i like with my best friend and it made me feel insane’?” he exhaled sharply through his nose before leaning closer, close enough that your breath caught on instinct.

“do you know how hard it was pretending i didn’t care after that?” his eyebrows deeply furrowed, purple eyes holding yours. “watching you act normal around him after he did something like that to you?” his voice lowered further. “and the worst part is…” his fingers loosened from your shirt completely, dropping the damp fabric beside the chair before his left hand settled against your waist instead. “would it be unfair if i wanted the same thing?”

your breath hitched when his grip tightened ever so slightly before he leaned in further, head tilting slowly toward the side of your neck. you could now feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, but apart from that, you also felt the hesitation. unlike zayne, caleb was expressive and emotional. you could practically hear the conflict happening inside him.

wanting. waiting. holding himself back.

his lips ghosted just barely against your skin, and your fingers instinctively caught against the edge of the chair beneath you. and then suddenly—caleb forms a crooked smile, and pulled away.

you blinked at him in stunned silence while he leaned back again, laughing quietly under his breath like he was mocking himself. “see? i can’t do it.” he murmured. “because i’m not like zayne.” his hands slid slowly from your waist, trailing down your arms with unbearable gentleness before settling briefly against your knee. “he’s calm when he wants something, he thinks first, plans first.”

his thumb brushed lightly against your skin, drawing lazy circles across the surface. “but me? i just feel everything." you didn’t know what expression you were making. maybe none at all. maybe that was the problem.

while caleb sat crouched in front of you with his hands still lingering against your knee, your face remained unreadable beneath the soft sunset light. your heartbeat was loud enough to make your chest ache, but outwardly, you only stared back at him. somehow, your silence seemed to unravel him more than rejection would have.

you could practically see the conflict worsening behind his eyes, messy and emotional and far too honest to hide. caleb had always been terrible at concealing feelings. even as a child, everything he felt used to spill out immediately through expressions, through gestures, through the way he hovered too close.

“say something,” he murmured.

you swallowed softly but didn’t answer fast enough, before caleb’s hand tightened around your knee. “because i don’t get it.” his other hand rose until it settled against your shoulder, fingers curling there with growing tension. “you let zayne do things i can’t even imagine doing to you, but then you look at me like i’m just…” he shakes his head. “i don’t know. easier?”

you frowned. “that’s not true.”

“then look at me.” his grip tightened slightly. “look at me when i’m talking to you.”

you finally lifted your eyes fully toward him, and immediately wished you didn't. he looked vulnerable in the ugliest, rawest way possible. like jealousy had been eating at him quietly for weeks and he’d finally lost the ability to keep swallowing it down.

“i’m different from him, you know that, right?” his thumb pressed lightly against your shoulder as if trying to anchor you there with him. “zayne acts like he’s in control all the time. but me? i’ve been trying so hard not to lose my mind over you lately."

“caleb, you're..."

“i’m serious.” he leaned closer again, eyes searching yours desperately. “if you’d just give me something— anything —i swear i’d—”

his hand around your knee tightened again unconsciously, but pain bloomed sharply this time. “caleb, that hurts.”

and then, everything stopped. his expression changed so fast it almost startled you. the frustration disappeared first, followed by the desperation. then whatever reckless emotion had been pushing him forward moments ago.

caleb looked down at his own hand gripping your knee like he genuinely didn’t recognize it. like he didn’t recognize himself. and suddenly he let go so quickly it was almost panicked.

“shit.”

he pulled back, both hands dropping away from you entirely as though burned. horror crossed his face in slow motion while he stared at the faint pressure marks already beginning to form against your skin.

“shit,” he repeated quieter this time. “i didn’t mean to—” he stopped speaking halfway through.

because what explanation was there? what excuse could possibly make that better?

you rubbed your knee instinctively while he stared at the motion with visible guilt twisting across his features.

“christ,” the words sounded directed entirely at himself, as he stood up, fast enough that the wooden chair creaked faintly beneath the movement. caleb drags a hand down his face before stepping away from you altogether, embarrassment and self-disgust radiating off him so clearly it made your chest ache.

“i’m sorry,” he bent down immediately afterward and grabbed the abandoned basins near the faucet, almost too quickly, like he needed something physical to focus on. “i got carried away,” he muttered while stacking them together. “that was shitty.”

you opened your mouth slightly, but no words came out. seeing caleb like this felt strangely awful. he’d gone from intense and overwhelming to withdrawn within seconds, every bit of earlier confidence collapsing inward now that he realized he’d frightened you.

he kept his back turned afterward while carrying the basins toward the side of the house. and for the first time since this strange complicated thing between the three of you began—caleb looked genuinely ashamed of wanting you so much.

—

the basins were stacked back into their corners, and the faucet had stopped dripping. the laundry danced beneath the evening breeze while the last traces of sunlight melted into warmer shades of orange across the neighborhood rooftops.

you stood quietly near the gate, fingers curled loosely around the metal bars as you watched caleb leave. he walked with his hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched beneath the fading sunlight as he made his way back toward his own street a few houses away. from behind, he looked strangely boyish again despite everything that had happened earlier. not the school’s golden athlete, not the loud charming boy everybody loved, but just caleb. your childhood neighbor.

you looked down afterward. the faint marks around your knee had already begun fading beneath your skin, barely visible now unless you focused on them carefully. you knew what happened earlier should’ve unsettled you more. it should’ve frightened you—the way caleb lost control for a second there.

but strangely enough, fear never came, for all you could remember was the expression on his face afterward. 

everything between the three of you had become so complicated lately. and somehow, you felt guilty too. guilty because part of you understood why caleb was unraveling. guilty because you kept letting both of them stay close while pretending not to notice the obvious. guilty because maybe you did treat zayne differently.

you groaned under your breath. “this is so messy.”

that evening, normalcy returned little by little. your parents came home carrying grocery bags and stories from wherever they’d spent the day while the house filled with the comforting smells of dinner cooking in the kitchen. you helped prepare the table while your mother talked endlessly about traffic and your father complained about the heat.

it felt ordinary and safe again.

the soft yellow lamp near your bedroom desk cast warm light across the walls while the curtains fluttered gently from the open window. outside, summer night hummed through the neighborhood—distant barking dogs, cicadas hidden somewhere in trees, and the faint sound of somebody’s television drifting from another house.

you exhaled the second your bedroom door shut behind you. your body practically melted with exhaustion as you walked toward your bed, already reaching for your phone when suddenly—

*buzzzzz!*

your brows furrowed, glancing down at the screen.

you genuinely wondered if you were hallucinating, because zayne rarely called people, he barely even texted first unless it was academic or medically necessary. and more importantly—he had never called you before.

your thumb hovered uncertainly over the screen before curiosity won. you answered the call and lifted the phone toward your ear while sitting down onto your bed. “hello?”

for a moment, only soft static answered. then, zayne’s voice came through the line, low and slightly hoarse. “did i wake you?”

you immediately sat straighter for absolutely no reason. “no, what’s up?”

there was a brief pause on the other end before he spoke again. “i think i left my watch there.”

“…your watch?”

“i took it off while helping earlier.”

your eyes drifted toward the window, as if the watch might magically appear outside in the dark backyard. it was probably still near the laundry area—except the thought of going downstairs again felt genuinely devastating. you groaned softly and fell backward against your pillows. “can i just give it back tomorrow morning?”

another quiet pause. then, “that’s fine.” you could practically picture him nodding to himself on the other side of the call. “thanks,” he added afterward.

your fingers reached automatically toward the small nailcare basket sitting near your bedside table. absentmindedly, you pulled it onto your lap and started sorting through tiny bottles and nail files while balancing the phone against your shoulder. “sure, no probs,”

the silence afterward should’ve ended the conversation. normally, zayne would’ve hung up already. that was how he worked, oh so efficient and straightforward. except when you thought he already ended the call, you noticed his caller id still ongoing after several seconds passed.

you frowned. “…anything else?”

a soft sound came from the other end. a hum, maybe. “what are you doing?” your hand paused midair over the nail polish remover. for a second, you genuinely thought you misheard him. because this was not a zayne question, at all.

this was the kind of question normal teenage boys asked when they wanted conversations to keep going. meanwhile, zayne is a teenager, but he usually spoke like every sentence had been academically pre-approved beforehand.

“…i’m cleaning my nails,” you answered slowly.

another hum. you could also hear faint rustling on his side of the line too, like sheets shifting softly. and the image of zayne lying on his bed with his glasses slightly crooked nearly distracted you.

what a dangerous thought. you focused aggressively on your cuticles, before his voice came again.

“did you eat already?”

your fingers stopped moving, staring blankly at your nail file. “uh, yeah, during dinner.”

“good.” 

silence settled again afterward, but strangely enough, it didn’t feel awkward. through the phone, you could hear the faint sound of his breathing every now and then. it was strangely calming beneath the soft nighttime sounds drifting through your bedroom window.

“you sound tired,” you murmured.

“i am.”

“how were your classes?”

zayne sighed on the other end, and the sound traveled straight through your chest for some unfair reason. “long.”

you smiled faintly to yourself while pushing back your cuticles. “that sounded miserable.”

“indeed it was.”

“poor zayne.”

“don’t mock me.”

“i’m being supportive.” you laughed quietly before catching yourself. unbeknownst to you, miles away in the quiet dimness of his own bedroom, zayne had stopped doing work a long time ago.

his textbooks remained abandoned near the edge of his desk, untouched for the past twenty minutes while warm lamplight spilled across scattered papers and half-written notes. instead, he sat leaning back against the headboard of his bed in an oversized white shirt and dark sleeping pants, one knee drawn upward beneath the blankets.

his phone rested against his ear. and despite himself—he hadn’t hung up yet. the pen between his fingers rolled habitually over his knuckles while he listened to the soft sounds on your side of the line. your quiet breathing, and the occasional rustling whenever you shifted against your bedsheets.

zayne liked you most in moments like this, in unguarded moments. “i should apologize.” zayne broke the silence.

your hand paused over your nails. “hm? for what?”

“the party,” he answered. “for how i acted.”

ah. the lemon trick. why would he apologize for that now? 

your face warmed, “oh."

“i crossed a line.” despite the memory, his voice remained calm, but there was still something restrained underneath it. “if you felt uncomfortable, i can keep my distance from now on.”

your brows furrowed immediately. “what? no." the answer came out far too fast, and you realized it a second later. so did he.

still, you hurried onward before your embarrassment could consume you. “i mean—it’s fine. i was the one provoking you anyway." 

“…so you weren’t uncomfortable?”

you sat up straighter against your pillows. “that’s not— i mean—” a nervous laugh escaped you instantly, trying to dissolve the weight of your own words. “you’re making it sound weird.”

“am i?” through the phone, you heard the faint sound of his pen stopping completely. somehow, that tiny detail made your heartbeat worsen. 

the next words that come out of zayne's mouth were so out of place that it almost had you considering the end call button. 

“you should be more careful around caleb.”

“what?”

zayne’s tone remained even. “caleb isn’t who you think he is.”

"what does that even mean?”

another brief silence followed, like he was debating whether to continue. “you think he’s harmless because he acts open about everything, but he’s not.”

your confusion only deepened. “zayne, you’re being really vague.”

“he hides things better than people realize.”

“like what?”

the pen clicked once between his fingers. “he keeps photos of you.”

that made you still. "sorry?"

“i've seen them in his room.” your brain stalled completely, and all you could recognize is the familiar gush of mixed emotions piercing through your stomach. “photos from school events, family gatherings, random pictures from his phone.” zayne paused briefly. “...sometimes printed.”

“that’s not…” you tried to find the right words, as if you're looking for a scapegoat to make sense of caleb. because right now, to you, he didn't seem like the boy you knew all along. “that’s not weird, isn't it. we’ve known each other forever.”

zayne hummed, not agreeing, and yet not disagreeing either. “he looks at you differently when nobody notices, but you don’t see it because caleb acts the way he is all the time.”

your fingers curled tighter around the nail file in your lap. for some reason, the image of caleb earlier that afternoon flashed into your head immediately. his hands gripping your waist, the jealousy in his voice, the look on his face after hurting you.

outside your window, summer wind began to stir harshly through the trees. you watch a few of the resting birds fly away.

“you’re not slow, y/n,” zayne spoke once more over the phone. “i know you notice things quickly.” you sat frozen against your pillows, fingers still loosely holding your nail file. “so don’t let caleb fool you, whatever he says about me.”

wait.

your brows slowly met. “what do you mean whatever he says about you?”

zayne ignored the question entirely. “i don’t like how you are around him.”

there it is. the exact same words that was spoken under the summer heat and the swaying clotheslines were now spoken again into the tranquility of the summer's night. 

“with caleb, you’re different.” your grip tightened unconsciously around the phone. “you laugh louder around him, and you say whatever comes into your head. because you're more comfortable around him. but with me,” the silence afterward lasted too long. “with me, you act too polite. you're careful around me, like i’m not someone you grew up with.”

caleb had said the same thing earlier, almost exactly the same thing. you stared blankly at the wall across your bedroom while your thoughts slowly started connecting themselves together in horrifying little pieces. caleb saying he didn’t like the way you acted around zayne. zayne now saying he didn’t like the way you acted around caleb. both of them sounding bitter in nearly identical ways.

zayne had forgotten his watch, which meant he probably came back. your mind replayed the afternoon immediately. because if zayne returned for his watch—then how much did he hear? did he hear caleb talking about the party? about jealousy? about wanting you? did he hear everything?

the silence on the call stretched longer and longer while realization settled heavily into your chest like stones sinking underwater. the worst part wasn’t the possibility that zayne overheard. the worst part was realizing he sounded jealous enough to care.

you pressed your free hand against your forehead slowly. this was getting out of control.

everything between the three of you had started tangling together so tightly that you couldn’t even breathe around it anymore. you suddenly missed when they were just boys playing puzzle games at family gatherings, before stares started lasting too long.

“zayne,” you finally said something, closing your eyes. your thoughts were too loud, your chest felt too crowded. and for the first time in a long while, you genuinely didn’t know what to say anymore. so instead, you laughed weakly beneath your breath and murmured the only honest thing left in your head.

“you two are seriously exhausting.” you ended the call.

—

ever since that night, you started keeping your distance, but not in a way that anyone can outright accuse you of avoiding them.

you just stopped lingering after conversations, replied later than usual in group chats. and during friday gatherings, you stayed closer to your parents or the younger children instead of wandering naturally toward wherever caleb and zayne happened to be. at school, you busied yourself with committee work or classmates before either of them could pull you aside into another strange emotionally loaded interaction.

it felt safer that way. 

lately, everything around the three of you had begun feeling too intense for no reason at all. honestly, part of you still refused to believe it was really about you. you kept telling yourself there had to be another explanation.

maybe caleb and zayne were simply competitive by nature, or maybe years of growing up side by side had turned everything between them into some unconscious rivalry that eventually extended toward you too. after all, the three of you weren’t even inseparable childhood best friends. you didn’t grow up attached at the hip. they were always closer to each other than they ever were to you.

so maybe you were overthinking this entire thing. their jealousy wasn’t really jealousy, you just happened to be standing in the middle of whatever strange tension existed between them. that explanation felt easier to carry, so you chose it. and gradually, over the next few weeks, the distance became noticeable.

caleb still waved at you across campus sometimes, but less brightly now. his texts became more occasional, more restrained, almost like he was forcing himself not to reach for you too often. while zayne returned to acting composed and unreadable, though every now and then, you’d still catch his eyes lingering toward you during class assemblies or committee meetings before calmly looking away again.

by the time june started creeping closer, summer heat had fully settled over the campus grounds. electric fans spun uselessly against the humid cafeteria air while students crowded noisily around tables with melting iced drinks. 

you sat near the corner windows during lunch, quietly scrolling through your calendar app while picking lazily at your food. 

committee deadlines, sports fest inventory, mother’s grocery reminder, finals exam week...

you were halfway through reorganizing your weekend errands when suddenly somebody dropped into the seat across from you. “hey.”

you looked up from your phone.

an acquaintance from the sports committee leaned toward you with wide eyes already full of gossip.

“…hello, yes?" you said cautiously.

“have you heard?”

your brows furrowed. “heard what?”

she lowers her voice despite the cafeteria already being loud enough to drown entire conversations. “the sports committee funds went missing.”

your eyes widened at the news. “what?”

“that's what everyone’s talking about right now.”

you straightened in your seat so fast your spoon nearly clattered against the tray. “wait, seriously?”

she nodded quickly. “apparently a huge portion of the budget’s gone.”

that's really bad, especially with sports fest preparations still ongoing. “no way, how does money just disappear?”

your acquaintance shrugged helplessly before leaning even closer. “the last person who handled it was the committee auditor.”

“mace?”

“yeah. but she’s saying somebody must’ve stolen it.”

your mind immediately started spinning. the sports committee funds weren’t small amounts. there were receipts, records, signatures involved. things like this became messy incredibly fast. “is the faculty involved already?” you asked.

“probably soon.” she grimaced. “people are already accusing each other.”

you stared down at your untouched lunch. somehow, deep in your chest—you felt a strange sinking feeling already beginning to form.

the entire walk back to your classroom felt strange afterward.

students were already whispering about the missing funds in clusters along the hallway, their voices blending together. every now and then, you caught fragments of conversation drifting past.

“—heard it was stolen—”

“—someone from the committee—”

by the time you reached your classroom, your mood had already soured completely. you slid into your seat near the windows with a quiet sigh before pulling out your notebook and reviewer for the next subject.

this didn’t involve you anyway.

or at least, that’s what you thought.

you had barely opened your notes when suddenly, the classroom door opened. 

your brows furrowed as one of the sports committee members hurried inside, breathing hard like he’d sprinted across campus. you recognized him instantly—mace’s close friend and the current treasurer assistant. his face looked tense in a way that made your stomach twist.

before you could even greet him, he made a direct beeline toward your seat. “do you have the committee funds?”

your confusion deepened. “what?”

“the missing funds,” he said quickly. “are they with you?”

you blinked at him in disbelief. “no, it's not with me...”

his jaw tightened. “are you sure?”

your expression hardened a little at that. “obviously i’m sure.” around you, classmates had already started subtly turning in their seats. the atmosphere inside the room shifted almost instantly, curiosity spreading faster than fire.

the guy rubbed a hand over his face before lowering his voice slightly. “you were one of the last people who handled the money.”

you frowned. “because i was helping audit it.”

“exactly.”

“that doesn’t mean i took it.” he looked unconvinced. suddenly, irritation started crawling up your spine. 

sure, a few days ago, you had helped organize records with mace after committee hours, but that wasn’t unusual. multiple officers handled budgeting paperwork all the time during sports fest season. “you're reaching,” you said calmly, keeping your voice level despite the growing attention around you. “a lot of people had access to the funds.”

“but you were there during the last audit.”

“and so were you.”

that made him pause, then his eyes dropped toward your bag beside the chair. “…can i check your bag?”

the classroom went completely silent.

you stared at him. “you're joking.”

“i just need to make sure.” his expression remained stubborn and tense, almost desperate beneath the pressure of the missing money situation. “if you didn’t take it, then there shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

whispers immediately started bubbling around the room. you could feel everyone staring now.

jesus.

your face burned slightly beneath the attention, but more than embarrassment, you felt offended. angry.

still, you knew refusing would only make things worse. so after a long second, you exhaled sharply through your nose and shoved your bag toward him. “fine, go ahead.”

your classmates then leaned forward openly.

the guy crouched beside your desk and started searching through your bag while you sat there stiffly, arms crossed tightly over your chest. 

this entire thing felt really insulting. 

you watch his movements stop, before slowly pulling out a thick white envelope from the bottom of your bag.

your brows furrowed immediately. wait, what?

the guy stared at it for one second before quickly opening the flap. “i knew it.” within a second, gasps erupted around the classroom, but you could only feel your heart dropping straight into your stomach.

“no way, y/n—”

“that’s the envelope—”

you stared at the money inside like your brain physically could not process what it was seeing. because that envelope—that envelope should not have been there.

“what the hell?” you muttered under your breath.

the guy stood up abruptly, clutching the envelope tightly in one hand while looking at you with outright disbelief. “you're a liar and a thief, huh.”

you abruptly shot to your feet. “i am not!”

“this is literally the missing funds!”

“that's not mine!” the whispers around the room exploded louder now. some classmates were openly staring while others were already pulling out phones. your pulse thundered violently in your ears, but even through the panic rising inside you, one thought stayed terrifyingly clear—you know someone put that there. 

someone must've framed you.

you looked directly at him, jaw tightening. “i don’t know how that got into my bag.”

“seriously?” he snapped. “you expect people to believe that?”

“yes,” you shot back. “because i didn’t steal anything.”

his expression only hardened further. “then explain why it was inside your bag.”

“i can’t explain something i didn’t do!” your voice rose louder this time, frustration finally cracking through your composure while the entire classroom watched like spectators at a live show. “this is insane, somebody obviously planted that there.”

but nobody looked convinced. not him. not your classmates. not anyone. oh how terrifyingly easy it was for people to turn against someone once suspicion had already settled in the room.

it didn’t matter how firmly you defended yourself. eventually, the gossip spread anyway.

by the end of the afternoon, it already felt like the entire campus knew your name for all the wrong reasons. whispers followed you through hallways and conversations suddenly stopped when you passed by. even people you barely talked to were staring at you now with that same awful mixture of curiosity and judgment.

it hurt more than you expected it to, because you knew you were innocent.

you walked toward the faculty building with your jaw clenched tightly enough to ache, forcing yourself to keep your posture straight despite the heaviness building in your chest. students lingering outside the offices glanced at you openly as you passed, and you hated how conscious it made you feel. 

inside the faculty room, the air-conditioning felt unbearably cold against your skin. your adviser sat across from you with a troubled expression while the sports committee moderator stood nearby flipping through paperwork and transaction records. the missing envelope rested on the desk between all of you like physical evidence in some crime investigation.

you stared at it with growing frustration. “sir, i promise, i didn’t steal steal anything,”

your adviser sighed. “we understand you’re upset, but you have to understand why this looks serious.”

“because someone put it in my bag.”

the moderator looked up. “do you have any idea who would do that?”

“...n-no,” you answered. “but, sir, why would i even steal committee funds in the first place?”nobody answered that. and somehow, that silence hurt.

they didn’t fully believe you either.

you rubbed your hands together beneath the table, trying to steady yourself while the moderator continued asking questions. where was your bag during lunch? who had access to it? why didn’t you notice the envelope sooner? were you struggling financially? did you owe anyone money?

each question felt more humiliating than the last, but you answered everything anyway. calmly at first, then desperately. little by little, you started realizing how terrifying this situation actually was.

this wasn’t just rumors anymore. of course this was a disciplinary issue. a record.

your throat tightened painfully. “please,” your voice cracking despite your efforts to keep composed. “i’m telling the truth.” your adviser’s expression softened a little at that. unfortunately, that kindness nearly made you cry harder. you weren’t someone who got into trouble.

you followed rules. you worked hard. you stayed responsible. and now suddenly you were sitting here defending yourself against something you didn’t even do while half the school probably already thought you were guilty.

your vision blurred, and you looked down immediately, embarrassed at yourself for tearing up in front of faculty members.

god this was awful.

“i would never do something like this,” you whispered, helplessly.

the room fell quiet for a moment. 

but the faculty room door opening hard enough to make everyone look up broke the silence. 

you wiped quickly at your eyes as someone stepped inside.

he looked like he’d come straight from running across campus. his usually neat hair had fallen slightly out of place while his tie hung loosened beneath his collar. in one hand, he carried his laptop bag and several printed papers.

your adviser blinked in surprise. “zayne?”

he barely acknowledged the room before looking directly at the moderator. “she didn’t steal the funds.” the certainty in his voice made you stare at him.

the moderator frowned. “and how exactly do you know that?”

without another word, zayne crossed the room and placed several printed screenshots onto the desk. “because the envelope was planted in her bag during lunch period.”

the moderator immediately picked up the papers while your adviser leaned closer in confusion. from where you sat, you recognized blurry still images from security camera footage near the cafeteria hallway.

zayne continued speaking calmly. “there's a security camera outside the student council corridor,” he explained. “most people forget it exists because it only records the lockers and hallway benches.”

your brows slowly knitted together.

“during lunch,” he continued, “her bag was left unattended for several minutes while she bought food.” he tapped one of the screenshots. and there-there was mace’s friend. the same guy who accused you earlier, caught crouching near your bag.

“what…” you whispered.

the moderator’s expression darkened while flipping through the timestamps. another screenshot showed him slipping something white into the slightly opened zipper compartment before walking away casually.

“he planted it himself,” zayne finished.

nobody spoke for several seconds.

your adviser looked completely stunned now while the moderator’s face hardened with growing anger. meanwhile you sat frozen in your chair, staring at the evidence.

zayne found proof. he actually found proof.

“how did you even get this?” your adviser asked.

zayne adjusted his glasses lightly, though you noticed how slightly out of breath he still seemed. “i checked the hallway footage after hearing what happened,” he answered simply. “the timestamps matched the period before the accusation.”

simple. it's as if he hadn’t just saved you from a disciplinary record. 

the moderator stood up afterward, already calling for another faculty member while muttering angrily under his breath about suspension and investigations.

everything around you suddenly became blurry noise, because relief hit all at once. violent relief. your hands started trembling slightly in your lap while you stared down at the papers on the desk.

so you weren’t crazy, you weren’t guilty.

your eyes lifted toward zayne again. and he was already looking at you, quietly concerned in that restrained way of his.

for a long moment, you couldn’t say anything at all.

the faculty room buzzed faintly around you with movement and conversation—the moderator speaking urgently to another teacher, papers being gathered, chairs shifting against the floor—but all of it blurred somewhere far into the background.

because your eyes remained fixed on zayne. and his stayed fixed on you. a quiet eye contact stretched impossibly long beneath fluorescent lights and cold air-conditioning. it felt more intimate than every charged conversation you’d ever had with him before.

you looked at him like you were trying to say thank you without words. and zayne looked back like he understood every single thing you couldn’t bring yourself to say aloud.

his emerald eyes stayed steady against yours, meaningless and unreadable to most people. but after growing up beside him for years, you had slowly learned how to recognize the subtleties hiding underneath his composure. the way he watched you carefully, like he was quietly checking whether you were still holding yourself together.

it made your chest ache. but as always, you looked away first.

a little while later, after the faculty settled things enough for you to finally leave, you stepped out into the hallway alongside zayne. late afternoon sunlight poured through the corridor windows, warming the polished floors gold.

you walked side by side in silence.

the thoughts within your head still felt tangled from everything that happened earlier. from embarrassment, and relief, and anger to exhaustion. they all sat too heavily inside your chest to untangle properly.

“are you okay?” zayne's voice came out softer than usual. you nodded automatically, even though you knew you weren’t okay yet. your throat still hurt from trying not to cry earlier. your hands still trembled slightly from adrenaline. and beneath all of that, there was still the lingering ache of realizing how quickly people turned against you.

you swallowed and kept your eyes ahead. for some reason, speaking suddenly felt impossible.

zayne noticed. but unlike most people, he didn’t rush to fill the silence. he didn’t push you to explain yourself or force comfort onto you just because the quiet felt heavy. instead, he simply slowed his pace to match yours better, and stayed there beside you.

the warmth of the afternoon sun filtered through the windows in soft stripes across the hallway, catching faintly against the edges of his dark hair and glasses. beside you, his hand shifted slightly at his side.

before it lifted.

for one brief second, it looked like zayne was going to touch you. his fingers hovered uncertainly near your shoulder, hesitant in a way that felt strangely unlike him. 

but it paused midair, before slowly curling back toward himself instead.

the smallest flicker of restraint crossed his face before he adjusted his glasses, putting that careful composure back into place. “i should go,” he said. “i still have errands to finish.”

you looked at him finally.

up close like this, he looked tired. probably from running around campus gathering evidence for you all afternoon instead of resting or studying like he normally would. your chest tightened again. “…okay,” 

zayne gave a small nod, stepping back slightly. “i'll see you later,” 

you nodded once more and watched him walk away down the hallway.

—

you went home with an empty head and a heavy chest.

the entire walk back through the neighborhood felt muted somehow, you only listened to the way the world had lowered its volume without telling you. you also watched the children still playing outside, somebody’s dog barking lazily down the street. life continued normally around you despite how strange the day had become.

you hated that.

you hated how quickly people looked at you differently over one accusation. even now, your stomach still twisted remembering it.a part of you wanted desperately to fix everything—to stand in the middle of campus tomorrow and scream the truth until everyone finally believed you. but another part of you knew it wouldn’t matter. once rumors spread, they stayed.

you learned that today.

so instead, you kept your expression blank and quietly entered your house like nothing happened at all.

your parents greeted you from the kitchen while evening news murmured from the television nearby. you answered absentmindedly, slipped out of your shoes, washed your hands, and wandered toward the counter where a bowl of apples sat waiting.

normal things. you needed normal things.

the knife moved carefully beneath your fingers as you peeled an apple in long curling strips, trying very hard not to think about school.

...or zayne.

except unfortunately, your thoughts circled back to him anyway, to the way he walked into the faculty room without hesitation and to the way he looked at you afterward. your chest tightened at the memory. he really went through all that effort for you; the same boy who acted quite distant for years despite growing up beside you. before you could overthink it further, you suddenly set the knife down onto the counter.

your mother looked up. “where are you going?”

“outside for a bit,” 

“outside where—”

but you were already halfway out the front door.

warm evening air hit your face immediately as you hurried down the street, sandals slapping lightly against pavement while your heartbeat thudded strangely hard inside your chest. you weren’t even entirely sure why you were rushing this much.

you just—you needed to thank him properly.

the neighborhood blurred around you as you walked faster through familiar streets lined with glowing porch lights and flowering plants. eventually, the familiar houses came into view.

caleb’s house first, then zayne’s right beside it.

you slowed near the gates. for some reason, your eyes drifted briefly toward caleb’s house. the lights inside were dimmer than usual tonight.

strange. you hadn’t really seen him around since the accusation incident started earlier. but before your thoughts could linger there too long, you shook your head lightly. that wasn’t important right now.

you walked toward zayne’s front porch and pressed the doorbell.

your pulse suddenly felt ridiculous. why were you nervous?

after a few moments, footsteps approached from inside the house before the door finally opened.

zayne looked exactly the same as earlier. same loosened tie and same slightly tired eyes behind his glasses.

had he only just gotten home too?

you noticed the genuine surprise crossing his face upon seeing you standing there. you immediately felt awkward. “uh, hi.”

zayne blinked once, before stepping aside. “come in.”

once you reluctantly entered, he shut the door gently behind you and turned back toward you again. “what’s wrong?” there it was again. that immediate concern. his first instinct was always checking whether you were okay.

“i didn't get to thank you properly earlier,”

and before you knew it, words started spilling out of you all at once.

“sorry, i just— i really wanted to thank you properly because what you did earlier was really...,” your hands twisted together nervously. “you saved me in there and i don’t even understand how you managed to gather all that evidence so fast, and if you didn’t show up i genuinely don’t know what would’ve happened to me because they were already looking at me like i was guilty and—”

you barely even paused to breathe.

“and i know you probably think it’s not a big deal, but it is to me because nobody else believed me and somehow you just... you just immediately knew i didn’t do it. so thank you. seriously. i don’t think you understand how much that meant to me.”

finally, your rambling slowed—mostly because zayne was faintly smiling at you and the sight completely stole the rest of your words.

you had seen zayne smile before, technically. small amused smirks and quiet little reactions hidden behind sarcasm. but this was different. soft and tender, almost. the kind of smile that made him look suddenly less untouchable somewhat. 

“hush,” zayne stepped a little closer then, gaze gentler than you’d ever seen it before. “it’s okay,” the single word settled over you so gently it nearly melted every remaining ounce of tension still trapped inside your chest. “you don’t have to thank me that much,” he murmured. “i was going to help you either way.”

his words came to you like a pencil attempting to sketch the smile lines across your features, and you smiled the kind of smile that came naturally after somebody caught you before you shattered. it was small, tired around the edges after the terrible day you’d had, but genuine enough that it softened your whole face beneath the room's light.

and, for all that you are, zayne's expression changed so subtly most people would have missed it. but you didn’t, not anymore. 

the faint curve of his lips slowly disappeared as he looked at you, almost like the sight stunned him more than he expected. his emerald eyes lingered on your smile for a second too long, darkening with something quieter than surprise and far more dangerous.

affection, raw and unguarded.

it hit him hard enough that he actually had to look away. you watched his throat move in a slow gulp before his gaze drifted briefly toward the floor, one hand tightening faintly at his side like he was collecting himself.

zayne never lost composure. and yet here he was, undone by nothing more than your smile.

“thank you,” you said again softly, almost laughing beneath your breath now. “seriously.”

zayne exhaled through his nose before looking back at you. “it’s to make up for what i did.”

“what did you do?”

he gives you an uncertain stare. “the call.” your heartbeat slowed strangely, as you remembered how the late-night conversation went, and the memory settled heavily into the room between you. zayne’s gaze flickered briefly over your face before dropping somewhere near your shoulder. “i pressured you that night.”

you opened your mouth. “zayne, i—” but the words never fully came out.

suddenly, his hands found your waist, warm and firm.

your breath caught at the sudden gesture, as zayne stepped forward until the space between your bodies disappeared entirely, his arms wrapping around you with a restraint that somehow made the intimacy worse. like he was holding himself back even now, like this was already more than he’d allowed himself to take.

you froze, you didn’t know what to do with how badly your body reacted to it. he was so tall that your chin tipped upward instinctively, your fingers barely brushing his chest as he leaned down and buried his face against the curve of your neck. warm breath spread against your skin through the collar of your shirt, and the sensation made heat rush violently into your face.

his grip around your waist tightened almost imperceptibly, a telltale sign that he needed the contact more than he wanted to admit. “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he murmured near your ear. his voice sounded rougher from this close, much deeper.

it slid through you slowly, dangerously.

your fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt. “y-you didn’t,” 

zayne inhaled at that, the sound brushed warm against your throat. “with you, i don’t really know how to act anymore.” you feel his forehead rested lightly near your shoulder now while his arms remained secure around your waist, and for one dizzy second, you let yourself melt into it, into the warmth of his body, into the quiet intimacy of being held so carefully by someone who spent years pretending not to want you this much.

your eyes slowly fluttered shut. everything felt so soft and close... and dangerously tender...

until the front door opened.

“zayne, where’s—” 

your eyes snapped open instantly. 

and the sight of caleb, who stood by the doorway, hit you all at once.

caleb was there, there behind the man who's hugging you into an embrace. his uniform was half undone, white shirt wrinkled and untucked with dirt streaked faintly across the fabric, and bruises darkened visibly along his arm, his cheekbone, the corner of his lip.

he looked exhausted. beautifully, painfully exhausted. somebody who had finally reached his limit. but none of that compared to the expression on his face when he saw the two of you.

his hand remained wrapped tightly around the doorknob while his tired, lilac eyes locked onto zayne’s arms around your waist.

then... slowly—to you.

you watched caleb’s jaw tighten faintly beneath the bruising near his mouth as his heavy breathing slowed. his eyes dragged downward briefly to where zayne was still touching you before lifting back to your face again. and god, that look nearly hurt to survive through. caleb looked like he had walked into the exact thing he feared most.

his fingers tightened harder around the doorknob until the muscles in his forearm flexed visibly beneath bruised skin.

and when he finally spoke, his voice came low and rough around the edges. “…didn’t know you had company.”

immediately, you stepped away from zayne. the warmth of his arms disappeared from your waist too quickly, leaving behind a strange lingering heat against your skin as you stared at caleb standing by the doorway.

up close, he looked worse than you initially thought.

the bruises weren’t small. one darkened the edge of his cheekbone while another bloomed faintly beneath the collar of his wrinkled uniform. his knuckles looked scraped raw, reddened skin stretched tight over bruised fingers that was surely caused by hitting something far too many times. even his lip had split slightly near the corner, dried blood staining against pale chapped skin. despite how rough he looked, caleb still looked devastatingly beautiful in that messy, ruined sort of way.

zayne’s brows furrowed beside you too, his expression sharpening the longer he examined caleb’s condition.

“what happened to you?” you asked before you could stop yourself. worry flooded through your voice instantly as you walked toward him, brows pulled together while your eyes searched over every bruise scattered across his body. “caleb, did you get into a fight?”

he didn’t answer. he just stood there staring at you. his tired eyes dragged slowly across your face, memorizing something before losing it completely. the muscles in his jaw flexed beneath the fading blood near his lip. 

“caleb?” 

his throat bobbed once. before suddenly, his gaze dropped downward and the faintest broken sound escaped him.

almost a whine.

completely unlike the confident golden boy everyone else knew.

you blinked in surprise, waiting for him to finally explain himself. but instead, caleb lifted his eyes back toward you and asked quietly, “when are you gonna understand?”

you stilled. “…what?”

“when are you gonna understand,” he repeated, “that i like you so fucking much it actually hurts?”

the room went completely silent behind you.

caleb laughed softly then, but the sound carried no humor at all. only exhaustion. only frustration stretched too thin after holding itself together for too long. “i beat him up. that asshole who framed you.” his jaw tightened sharply as he spoke. “he made you cry, humiliated you in front of everyone when you didn’t do anything wrong.”

you could only stare at him, because you couldn't bring yourself to believe it. caleb was capable of something like this? caleb was capable of harming someone just for your sake? 

“and i couldn’t stand it,” he admitted, biting his lip. “i couldn’t stand hearing people talk about you like that.” you watch caleb look away briefly, running a bruised hand through his messy hair before sarcastically smiling again. “i was looking for you afterward, wanted to make sure you were okay.” his eyes flickered toward zayne, and the softness disappeared instantly. 

“and then i walk in here and see this.”

the jealousy in his voice sliced through the room, but it was the kind that came from heartbreak instead of anger. 

caleb’s gaze returns to you, it looked even worse. you could practically see the years of suppression slowly rotting underneath all his teasing smiles and playful touches, how exhausted he must’ve been carrying all of this alone.

his lips parted slightly before he spoke again, quieter this time. “i don’t know what else i’m supposed to do anymore.”

he stepped closer. just one step.

“i always look for you everywhere. and i get jealous over stupid things. and i literally beat somebody up because they made you cry.” his eyes searched yours desperately. “and you're still looking at me like you don’t get it?”

his gaze flickered briefly toward your mouth before lifting back to your eyes again.

“do i seriously have to kiss you before you understand how much i love you?”

no. no, you already understood. that was the worst part.

you stood between them, too warm beneath the dim yellow lights of zayne’s living room, too aware of every breath being taken around you. caleb’s confession still echoed inside your head in painful waves, mixing together with the memory of zayne’s arms around your waist just moments ago.

everything made sense. every argument that carried hidden bitterness underneath it. every strange moment where the air between the three of you became too intimate for childhood friendship alone.

they loved you. both of them.

and you no longer can run away from it.

your lips pressed together, gaze dropped toward the floor. you couldn’t look directly at caleb right now. not when his eyes were fixed on you like that—dark and exhausted in a way that felt unbearable to witness.

you couldn’t turn around either. because behind you stood zayne, silent.

you didn’t know what expression he wore now. you didn’t know if he looked angry or hurt or completely unreadable the way he usually did when emotions threatened to spill too close to the surface.

you were too afraid to find out, too afraid to face either of them fully. all you knew was this awful aching certainty sitting inside your chest: you couldn’t choose. you didn’t want to.

“i...” you started weakly, but the words dissolved before forming properly.

everything felt... tangled. so you stepped backward instinctively, because you always believed that distance might somehow save you from the intensity pressing in from both sides.

but caleb moved first.

the front door clicked shut behind him with a sound that made your pulse jump. then suddenly he was close again, towering over you with tired eyes and a face that looked heartbreakingly ruined from wanting too much.

his hands came up, one against your cheek, the other cradling your jaw. warm palms against burning skin.

from this proximity, you could see the tiny split near his lower lip more clearly now. dried blood swelling near his cheekbone. he looked really messy in a way caleb never usually allowed himself to be.

he whispers into your lips, “i’m sorry.” and before you could even process the apology—

he kissed you.

it was almost devastating how unsteady it felt.

caleb crashed into your mouth like a man depraved of everything he was supposed to have.

”mmph!“ your eyes widened instantly as his lips pressed against yours with all the desperation he’d been holding back for years, roughened breaths shaking faintly between every second of contact. trembling, your fingers clutched at the front of his dirt-stained uniform, wrinkling the fabric tighter beneath your hands as your body struggled to catch up with what was happening.

he kissed you with his eyes shut tightly, brows pulled together like he physically could not bear the thought of you pulling away from him now. every ounce of restraint he usually carried so casually had disappeared, leaving behind something painfully naked underneath.

pure, humiliating desire.

you feel his hand tremble against your face as he deepened the kiss for one brief reckless second, breathing you in desperately like he was trying to memorize the feeling before it disappeared from him forever. and god—you could feel every ugly, yearning emotion tangled inside him.

somewhere behind you, the room remained silent. way too silent.

the realization sent another rush of heat through your body so intense it almost hurt.

caleb must’ve thought about that too. because his grip tightened slightly against your jaw, and a broken sound escaped him into the kiss itself—half sigh, half ache—as though even this moment didn’t feel enough. 

“ungh...” he knew this was selfish, but he couldn’t stop anyway. or maybe he just simply refused to.

you couldn’t tell anymore.

all you knew was that your thoughts were dissolving frighteningly fast beneath the weight of his mouth against yours. his kiss carried none of the polished confidence people usually associated with him. it was too desperate for that. 

and now that it was out, he was drowning in it.“mmgh- shit..” caleb whined against your lips, making your knees weaken embarrassingly beneath him.

the warmth of his body crowded closer while his hand stayed firm against your jaw, thumb brushing shakily along your cheek. your fingers remained tangled tightly in the front of his ruined uniform, wrinkling the already dirt-stained fabric further.

without realizing it, you kept stepping backward underneath the pressure of him. but caleb followed instantly every single time, taller and broader in a way that slowly consumed your sense of balance altogether. the room blurred behind your closed eyelids while his mouth moved against yours with aching urgency, it almost felt like there was nothing else left except him.

...almost.

you thought, as your back hit something solid, warm.

your breath caught sharply into the kiss itself.

caleb paused for the briefest second, enough for confusion to flicker weakly through your haze, but before you could fully pull away or understand what was happening, another hand rose slowly against the side of your neck from behind you.

long fingers, cooler skin.

they brushed your hair carefully over one shoulder, gathering the loose strands away from your nape with a touch so calm it contrasted painfully against caleb’s desperate grip on your face.

your pulse stumbled violently, because you knew those hands. 

your eyes remained shut instinctively, overwhelmed too quickly by warmth and the terrifying awareness of both of them surrounding you now. 

you should’ve stepped away. you should’ve stopped this immediately. but instead, your body betrayed you by leaning further back into the warmth behind you.

a soft inhale brushed the back of your neck. then, another pair of lips touched your skin.

”haa-”

zayne moved differently. his mouth barely grazed the sensitive curve of your nape at first, almost like he was testing your reaction before letting the warmth of his lips linger there properly. the restraint in it somehow made it worse. 

a helpless sound escaped you—“hmngh-”—a small whimper swallowed directly into caleb’s mouth.

caleb’s reaction to it was immediate, his entire body tensed against yours before a shaky breath left him, almost pained, almost wrecked by the sound you made for them. behind you, zayne stayed terrifyingly calm—the way his teeth sunk into the supple flesh of the slope of your neck had you unconsciously pressing yourself against him. 

zayne noticed. and it made him halt in his tracks. for a moment, his hands stilled on you and pulled away slightly, eyeing you from behind. "y/n,"

the mention of your name also had you woken up from the daze you were starting to get lost into, while caleb's eyes flickered towards his bestfriend who's behind you, slowly pulling away. 

"y/n,"

the air between the three of you was strangely suffocating, charged with something that made the fine hairs on your arms stand on end. you felt a sudden, pulsing warmth beginning to bloom deep in your core, a heavy, liquid sensation that seemed to radiate outward from... there. 

what was happening to you? 

zayne's eyes narrowed, his gaze dropping from your face to the subtle, frantic rise and fall of your chest. he could see the way your pupils had dilated, swallowing the dark iris until your eyes looked like bottomless pools of desire. 

“you're flushed.” zayne murmured, he didn't pull his hand away from your arm; instead, his thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles against your pulse point. caleb noticed it too, his gaze following zayne's. the raw, jagged pain in his expression smoothed out into something much more... predatory. 

“you're... burning up,” he didn't care about the fight or the blood on his lip anymore; all he could see was the way your lips were slightly parted, glistening and inviting.

the tension snapped like a taut wire. zayne’s fingers tightened around your shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor you as he leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "it's not just the fever of the moment, is it?" he whispered, and the implication hung in the air, as he let his gaze wander down the curve of your neck. 

you can't help it. the heat was becoming too much to bear. ”no,” you gasped, the word feeling small and fragile against the overwhelming intensity of their gazes. 

you forced yourself to step back, stumbling away from the magnetic pull of their bodies. you could feel your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. “this is... it's wrong. we can't. you're best friends, and this... this isn't right,” your voice trembled with a desperate attempt at denial. 

you tried to wrap your arms around yourself, to shield the growing warmth in your core, but the logic felt flimsy in comparison to what was actually going on. 

zayne and caleb both froze, the sudden distance between you feeling like a physical wound. they watched you with a look of profound, aching reverence. to them, you weren't just a girl; you were something sacred, a masterpiece of soft curves and delicate skin that they had spent years worshiping from afar. 

the thought of bruising your skin or marring your perfection with their need sent a shiver of hesitation through them. they wanted to devour you, to just lose themselves in the heat of your body, but also, they were terrified that their very touch might ruin the precious thing they loved so much.

“is it wrong?” caleb whispered, his voice a ragged, broken thing. he took a tentative step toward you, his hands hovering in the air as if he were afraid to reach out and break a spell. “because it feels like the only thing that's ever been right.” 

he reached out, not to grab you, but to let the very tips of his fingers graze the underside of your jaw, a touch so light it was almost a ghost of a sensation. it made your breath hitch in a way that betrayed your protest.

zayne, seeing caleb's approach, felt a surge of competitive desperation. he didn't want to be the one who stayed in the shadows. so he moved to your side, yet there was still a visible tremor in his hands. he reached for your waist, his palms barely skimming the fabric of your clothes, tracing the curve of your hip with a reverence that felt like a prayer. 

“if it's wrong, then let us be wrong together,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive velvet. he leaned in, his lips not quite touching your skin, but the warmth of his breath against your neck was enough to make your toes curl in your shoes. 

ugh, he's doing it again...

this is ridiculous. you tried to hold onto your denial, to tell them to stop and tell them that this was madness, but your body was a traitor. 

every time caleb's lips teased your earlobe, a fresh wave of liquid heat flooded your thighs. and every time zayne's fingers traced the dip of your waist, an involuntary moan escaped your lips. you were being pulled apart by two different kinds of worship, one frantic and one deliberate, and the more you tried to resist, the more your body craved the very thing you claimed was wrong.

they were both so careful, so agonizingly hesitant, as if they were handling the finest porcelain. they watched your reactions with wide, hungry eyes, terrified of overstepping but unable to pull away—like caught in a loop of wanting to ruin you and wanting to preserve you.

but as you felt the weight of their worship, something shifted inside you. the vulnerability that had been making you tremble somewhat changed into a sharp, jagged spark of defiance. 

maybe it's the insistent teasing, maybe it's something else entirely. you didn't know. 

“stop,” you raise your hands. 

you just found yourself stopping and instead forcing them to look you in the eye. “if... if you insist on going this far,” you tried, even though you knew deep down how much they affected you. “can you even handle what comes with it?” the question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. you saw the flicker of confusion in caleb’s eyes, the way his brow furrowed as he tried to parse your meaning. 

you didn't stop there. you leaned in slightly, your gaze sweeping over both of them, challenging their masculinity. “i'm not just talking about the consequences of what we do to each other,” you punctuated. “i'm talking about you. if i stop being the girl you're so afraid to break... if i actually take what i want from you... could you even handle it? could you handle me?”

the effect was instantaneous. 

the air seemed to vanish from the room as both boys froze, their hands hovering inches from your skin like statues. 

was it just that easy? 

they had been treating you like a fragile thing, but you had just reminded them that you were also a woman with a hunger that could rival their own. 

zayne felt a tremor of genuine uncertainty ripple through his chest, his dark eyes squinting as he realized... you weren't just a recipient of their lust. because you were also capable of undoing them.

a nervous, triumphant smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you forced it. you could see the doubt creeping into their expressions, the way their bravado was being replaced by a sudden, frantic rethinking of the entire situation. 

“well?” you prompted, your voice a teasing lilt that mocked their hesitation. “don't just stand there looking like you've seen a ghost. you were so sure of yourselves a moment ago. you were so hungry.” you reached out, your fingers grazing the fabric of caleb's shirt, then zayne's wrist, a mocking reminder of the contact they had been so terrified to initiate. 

“touch me, then. if you're as brave as you're acting, prove it.”

the silence that followed was deafening. 

caleb's frown remained deeply on his face, his eyes slowly moving down the swell of your breasts, gulping, but he couldn't even bring himself to extend his hands. 

the boys, who had been so bold in their intentions, were now suddenly behaving like hesitating little boys. caleb snapped his eyes away from your chest, his face flushing a deep, embarrassed crimson—while zayne’s gaze drifted away for a split second, his usual stoicism crumbling into a visible uncertainty. 

all you could do was watch them, because the tension was no longer just about lust; it was about the exhilarating unknown of what would happen if you truly let go. 

you had thrown down the gauntlet, and now, the ball was in their court.

it was already evident though. you already knew the answer.

they were sinful enough to want you, but not enough to touch where sin waited most. 

“never mind,” you whispered into the thickening silence. you made a reluctant, jerky movement, stepping back once more. before they could find their voices or their courage, you turned on your heel, your heart thundering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, and walked away. 

you practically ran, your lungs burning as you navigated the familiar streets between zayne's house and your own. the cool night air hit your flushed skin, but it did nothing to dampen the fire still smoldering in your core. 

you didn't stop until you had burst through your own front door, fumbling with the lock before slamming it shut behind you. leaning your back against the wood, you finally released the breath you realized you had been holding since the moment the tension had snapped. the house was silent, your parents are probably upstairs. 

your heart was still a wild thing, drumming a frantic, uneven beat in your ears. 

fuck.

you breathed, sliding down the door until you were curled on the floor. what would have happened if you hadn't walked away? if you had stayed, if you had let them touch you, there would have been no turning back. the boundary between friendship and something sinful would have been erased in a single, feverish moment.

a heavy sensation settled in your stomach, a feeling that was difficult to name. 

you felt... dirty. 

but as you sat there in the dim light of your hallway, you realized the sensation had nothing to do with the way they had looked at you or the way their hands had hovered near your skin. it wasn't because of them; it was because of yourself. 

because you hadn't just been willing to let them touch you; you had been craving it.

the thought of indulging in both of them made a hot blush creep up your neck. the idea of being caught between them felt scandalous. you knew, with a terrifying certainty, that you would have enjoyed it. you would have relished the way they looked at you, the way they fought for your attention, and the way they would have worshipped your body.

“jesus christ,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands, your fingers digging into your scalp. 

you hated it. 

you hated how easily your resolve had crumbled, how quickly your mind had drifted toward the delicious, dark possibilities of what could have been. you were supposed to be the one in control, the one who kept the boundaries intact, yet here you were, trembling in the dark because you had realized how much you wanted to be ruined by them.

unbeknownst to you, that very same night, you had deeply embedded yourself within caleb and zayne's heads. and their wounds had only gotten deeper. 

the silence of caleb’s bedroom was a lie. 

the air was thick with the sound of his own ragged, desperate breathing. he had practically stumbled through his front door, his mind a chaotic storm of your scent and the memory of your beautiful eyes. 

he felt like he was drowning, the pressure in his chest so immense that he felt he might actually suffocate if he didn't find some way to release the tension coiling in his gut. he didn't even bother turning on the lights, moving through the shadows of his room like a man possessed until his hand found the hidden stash in his bedside drawer.

his fingers curled around the soft fabric of your underwear, the one that he had stolen and kept in his pocket when you were doing laundry together. 

a silent, shameful theft that had become his most private ritual. 

he pulled them out, the fabric feeling like a holy relic in his trembling hands. he brought them to his face, burying his nose in the material and inhaling deeply. he breaths you in, and a pained sound escaped his throat, a sob that was half moan. it felt like he was trying to pull your very soul into his lungs just to stop the ache.

“i should've...” slowly, he got onto his sheets, the friction of the fabric against his skin feeling like nothing compared to the phantom sensation of your body. 

and he pressed the underwear against himself, pressing the stolen fabric against his hardening length. his movements were frantic and uncoordinated, driven by a desperation that bordered on madness. he was moaning, a series of broken, whimpering sounds that filled the dark room, each one a testament to the agony of his restraint. 

"fuck... y/n..." he choked out, the name a prayer and a curse all at once. he was haunted by the memory of how close he had been to you, how he had felt the heat radiating from your skin, and the crushing weight of his own cowardice. 

he should have reached out. his fingers tightened their grip around his dick, forcing the pre-cum out of the slit. 

he should have grabbed your waist and pulled you into him before you could even think of running. he should have been the man you challenged, not the boy who stood paralyzed by the fear of ruining you. tears began to sting his eyes, blurring his vision as he worked himself toward a release that felt more like a surrender than a pleasure. 

he felt pathetic, whining into the empty air of his bedroom, jerking himself off until his muscles ached. to keep from crying out too loudly, to keep from biting his lip until it bled like he had earlier, he reached for the silver dog tag hanging around his neck. he bit down on the metal, the cold, hard surface grounding him even as his mind drifted back to the curve of your hips and the defiant tilt of your chin.

every stroke was a reminder of what he had lost in that moment you turned away. the "should have's" looped in his mind like a mantra, and it only drove him to a fever pitch of frustration. 

he wanted to be the one to consume you, to prove he could handle the fire you had promised, but instead, he was left alone in the dark, clinging to a piece of your clothing and the ghost of your scent.

caleb’s hand was a blur of motion, his grip tight and demanding as he worked himself up. he pressed your underwear harder against the head of his cock, the soft lace and cotton teasing his most sensitive nerves.

he was lost in a fever dream of you, his mind conjuring the sensation of your soft thighs wrapping around his waist and the way your breath would feel hot against his neck. every slide of his palm, every desperate tug, was a frantic attempt to imagine you, to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't been a coward earlier.

“please... y/n... please,” he whimpered, the words dissolving into a guttural, choked sound as the first wave of climax began to crash over him. 

his body stiffened, his back arching off the sheets as he felt the sudden, violent surge of release. he came with a force that left him gasping, a heavy, pulsing eruption that felt like his very soul was being poured out of him. but instead of collapsing into the exhausted peace of a finished act, caleb found himself unable to stop. his hand, still slick and trembling, didn't fall away. he couldn't let it. 

oh what would have happened if he touched your breasts? how would it feel against his hands? 

“hmnnhg....” he began to stroke himself again. his dick was hypersensitive, but he didn't care about the slight ache or the overwhelming sensation. he was chasing the high, chasing the memory of your scent.

he kept going, his movements becoming slower, and even more desperate as he tried to force his body to find that peak again, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to drown out the reality of his loneliness.

he bit down on his dog tag again, the metal clinking against his teeth as he let out a long, low whine. 

would you unbutton yourself for him? so he could have better access inside? “ahh... would you have....?”

no matter how many times he came, it would never be enough to fill the void you had left behind. he would keep stroking, he would keep yearning, until his muscles gave out or the sun rose to expose his shame.

but caleb wasn't the only one doing this. there was also somebody else. 

zayne was a silent, simmering furnace of controlled agony. he didn't retreat to the comfort of his bed. instead, he found himself in the cold sanctuary of his bathroom, the moonlight filtering through the small window to cast long shadows across the tile. 

he stood with his back pressed hard against the cool wall, his head tilted back so that his throat was exposed, a vulnerable line of pale skin in the dim light. his eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth slightly ajar as he fought to regulate the heavy, uneven rhythm of his breathing.

his hand was wrapped tightly around his thick cock, his movements precise and rhythmic, yet fueled by a simmering resentment. he wasn't just seeking release, he was punishing himself. every slide of his palm was a silent accusation, a tell of the regret that was eating him alive. 

he should have been the one to bridge the gap. he should have ignored the logic and the caution that usually defined him, and instead, he should have reached out and claimed you. he should have pressed you against the wall and shut you up with a kiss so deep and so demanding that the very thought of running would have vanished from your mind.

the thought of your lips the way they had been parted, glistening and inviting, sent a jolt of desire through him. but as the thought deepened, it was tainted by a bitter, poisonous jealousy. 

you hadn't even kissed him. you let caleb kiss you. you let him taste you. the memory of caleb’s lips grazing your skin, of the way caleb had been the one to actually make contact, made zayne’s jaw tighten until it ached. 

it made zayne’s strokes grow faster, more aggressive. the jealousy drove him to push himself harder than he ever had before, like he was stroking to erase the image of caleb's lips on you, to replace it with the sensation of his own.

his breathing became a series of manly gasps that echoed off the tiled walls. he imagined his hands gripping your hips with a firm, unyielding strength, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left for doubt or denial. he imagined the taste of you, the way you would moan his name if he finally broke his restraint and took what he so desperately craved.

the friction was becoming almost painful, a searing heat that centered in his groin and radiated outward, but he welcomed the sting. it was a distraction from the mental image of you running away, leaving him standing there like a fool, a spectator to his own desire. he needed to feel you. 

as he neared the edge, his movements became frantic, his hand a blur of desperate motion. he let out a low, guttural groan, his head thumping back against the wall as the first wave of climax hit him. 

and then he stood there, slumped against the wall, chest heaving, with the only thought of what could have been if he was brave enough to get rid of that tank top off of you. 

for the rest of the night, they didn't stop thinking about you. 

but the universe has a cruel way of turning a moment of into a fading echo, and for the three of you, that moment was the beginning of the end. 

as the sun rose the next morning, neither caleb nor zayne knew that the feverish connection they had shared in the dark would be the last time your souls truly touched. the electricity that had crackled between you in that room didn't ignite a fire that burned forever. instead, it acted like a flash of lightning blinding, terrifying, and then gone, leaving only a lingering darkness in its wake.

the distance didn't happen all at once, though. it was a slow, agonizing erosion. myou were the one who initiated the retreat, driven by a cocktail of shame, confusion, and a desperate need to reclaim the pieces of yourself you felt you had lost that night. you began to build walls, brick by heavy brick. 

you stopped answering the late night texts, and you became a ghost at the friday gatherings where they were present, and eventually, you simply stopped showing up altogether. 

for caleb and zayne, the silence was a deafening weight. they both waited, hovering in the periphery of your life, hoping for a sign, a glance, a single word that would bridge the chasm you had created. they both felt the same hollow ache in their chests, but neither of them had the courage to chase a girl who was so clearly running away. 

they could only watch you vanish from a distance, both of them wondering if they had been too slow, too scared, or too much of the “little boys” you had mocked.

the inevitable arrived with graduation. the day should have been a celebration of beginnings, but for the three of you, it was a silent funeral for what might have been. as you walked across the stage, your eyes scanned the crowd, perhaps searching for a familiar face, but you found only strangers. there were no congratulatory texts, no flowers delivered to your door, no lingering glances exchanged in the hallway. 

the three of you, who had once been so intimately entwined by desire and tension, had become nothing more than names in a yearbook, memories tucked away in the dusty corners of your minds.

you vanished into your own pathway, throwing yourself into studies, work, and new cities, trying to drown out the memory of the two boys who had once looked at you like you were a god. you told yourself you had forgotten. you told yourself that the heat, the sweat, and the desperate, lonely nights they spent thinking of you were just a fever dream of youth.

it was all just a part of youth. 

Sylus and Caleb inappropriately use their evols the most. They love restraining and manhandling you and Zayne while they're biting, licking, sucking, etc. But! Zayne isn't above retaliating with a bit of blue balls (or blue nipples) from time to time.

Even though Caleb can be a bit bossy, Zayne is undoubtedly the one you guys obey the most, his voice is basically a leash for all of you, it's hard to resist (i may be projecting)

Example: Caleb has you writhing and begging in the throes of overstimulation? He finally stops (reluctantly) and gives you time to catch your breath when Zayne commands him to ease up.

I think Sylus resists and challenges Zayne the most (like, will he actually stop biting yours and Caleb's neck and thighs? No. But maybe he'll make sure the bites no longer draw blood to the surface). Zayne usually has the last word though.

Zayne 100% weaponizes this in public and private situations btw, one well-placeed 'behave' in That Tone at any of you will have all of you biting your lips in anticipation.

If you're not in the picture (which is basically only like... 10% of the time lbr), Caleb spends the most time inside Zayne, Sylus spends the most time inside Zayne's mouth, and Zayne spends the most time inside Sylus. The rest of the time everyone quite literally revolves around you.

The ones who like to watch most are you and Sylus. Sylus because he loves to... backseat fuck? and throw out goading little commentary like 'c'mon colonel, you know our doctor likes it more rough than that' and see the dominoes fall before him.

You love it because there's nothing more satisfying than seeing Mr. Know It All Caleb and Mr. I'm In Control of Every Situation Sylus reduced to pleading, sweaty messes at Zayne's feet.

Sylus brings the most toys into the bedroom and Caleb is the most reactive to them until it gets to a point where Sylus is only buying toys with the intent of using them on Caleb.

All three of them have 1000/10 aftercare abilities, but Zayne enjoys and does it the most because Caleb is usually too spent and Sylus is usually to caught up in kissing you to move.

Caleb has, at one point, been able to restrain all 3 of you with his evol.

Domestic life

Caleb is absolutely the designated cook and baker. All of you get personalized lunches packed for you (but only you get a little note from him in yours).

Caleb also gets a lunch but it's catered to his Fleet desk everyday courtesy of Mephisto lol

As soon as things become semi-official, Sylus and Caleb unknowingly set up their own spyware cybersecurity on everyone's devices. It takes them probably less than a day to realize this and do the spider-man finger pointing thing. This is what gets them to actually team up to engineer probably the most egregious and thorough spyware in existence all so they can monitor protect each other and you and Zayne.

Sylus also took a huge interest in Caleb's model planes, that's something they build together now while you and Zayne read or do a puzzle together.

Zayne is of course the health habit monitor, gets on you and Caleb for your hours of screen time while gaming and he gets on Sylus for his sleeping habits and the amount of time he spends straining his eyes to tinker with things.

You, Sylus, and Caleb retaliate against him by reducing the amount of sugar and sweets in the house (by eating it or stashing it away from his eyeballs) and by scheduling dentist appts for him against his will.

Sylus, of course, spoils everyone rotten by lavishing them in their favourite things.

Zayne and Sylus are the most difficult to take care of when sick, Caleb's had to use his evol on them many a time to make them listen and stop trying to work.

If it were up to Zayne, Caleb, and Sylus, your feet would literally never touch the ground. You genuinely debate sometimes on creating a schedule with how much time you're spending in a lap, on a chest, or carried around.

There's no assigned sleeping position but the one you guys most commonly find yourselves in is Caleb spooning you, Sylus spooning Zayne, and you and Zayne facing each other with your hands linked.

Less comfy but honourable mention sleeping position: You asleep on Sylus' chest with Caleb and Zayne on either side of him.

Miscellaneous

The group chat is primarily driven by you and Caleb sending memes or making fun of each other. Zayne and Sylus like to read and be entertained but usually only chime in if they're defending someone, themselves, or if there are plans being made.

Caleb and Sylus have tried to sneak Clopidogrel home on multiple occasions only to be thwarted by you and Zayne.

All of you have adopted Luke and Kieran. They love it because they play mind games with you guys all the time so they can get permission to do things they know they're not allowed to do, and so they can get stuff that they know they're not allowed to have. They also hate it because when they're caught there are now four adults to scold them instead of just one.

Caleb is even meaner to Gideon after this relationship is official because he and Zayne really click and Caleb is not okay with that.

All three of you have gone to the hospital with a fake injury just so you can spend some time with Zayne.

everything after that feels like a story someone else told you.

“—i’m saying, if she wakes up and hears that, she’s gonna think we’re terrible people.”

there’s a laugh, the kind that sounds like it belongs to someone leaning back in a chair, feet hooked around the legs.

“she already thinks that,” another voice replies. calmer and much more precise. “this would just confirm it.”

“wow, loyal.”

“accurate.”

you frown, or at least you think you do. it’s hard to tell if your face is actually moving or if you’re just imagining it. the conversation continues without urgency, without hushed panic. it sounds… normal. almost lazy. like this is a place they belong, not somewhere they’re borrowing.

“did you sign the excuse slip yet?” the first voice asks. “because if we’re skipping chem for this, i at least want it documented.”

“i signed it,” the second says. “and you’re not ‘skipping.’ you were just asked to leave.”

“semantics.”

there’s the faint scrape of a chair moving closer. you feel it more than hear it—a shift in the air near your bed, a new warmth edging into your already overheated space.

“hey,” the first voice says, softer and closer now. “still out cold.”

someone hums in acknowledgment, then papers rustle.

you want to open your eyes. you really do. but your body treats the idea like a suggestion it can safely ignore. instead, you stay still, listening, letting the sounds arrange themselves.

when you finally manage to peel your eyes open, it’s only a slit at first. the ceiling swims above you, white and freckled with tiny cracks you don’t remember being there. fluorescent lights hum like tired insects. a school clinic, then.

you shift your gaze to the side and find zayne first.

of course you do.

he looks exactly like he belongs here, which is unfair, because he doesn’t belong anywhere else nearly as well. he’s standing near the counter, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. there’s a clipboard in his hands, already half-filled, his pen moving with steady confidence. the prodigy. the future doctor. the kind of person teachers trust instinctively, even when they shouldn’t.

his expression is composed, but his eyes keep flicking back to you, like he’s monitoring a machine that might alarm at any second. when he notices your lashes flutter, he stills. “she’s awake,”

the other presence turns immediately.

caleb is harder to miss. he always is.

he’s sitting too close to your bed, one elbow braced on the mattress like he claimed the space without asking. his jacket is slung over the back of the chair, hair a little messy, smile already halfway formed even before he’s sure you can see him. he looks wrong in the clinic as if someone brought sunlight indoors by mistake.

“hey,” he says, and there it is. that warmth. it lands on you before his hand does. his fingers brush your wrist, checking, not pressing. “welcome back, sleeping beauty. you scared everyone.”

“that’s an exaggeration,” zayne says, but he’s already at your other side, setting the clipboard down. he reaches for your pulse with clinical efficiency, thumb resting just so.

you try to speak. what comes out is… something. a sound, at least. both of them react instantly, which should probably tell you something, but your head is too full of cotton to follow the thought to the end.

“don’t rush,” zayne says. “you collapsed from a fever. your temperature’s still elevated.”

“translation,” caleb adds cheerfully, “you overdid it and your body threw a tantrum.”

you blink at him. “school?” you manage.

“school,” caleb confirms. “hallway near the science wing. dramatic timing, by the way. very on-brand.”

zayne shoots him a look. caleb grins, unrepentant, but his hand doesn’t move from where it rests near yours. he doesn’t squeeze, he just stays.

it takes a few seconds longer than it should for something to click. “…you were talking,” you say slowly.

“were we?” caleb tilts his head, feigning innocence badly. “wow, busted.”

zayne clears his throat. “we didn’t realize you were conscious.”

ah, they weren’t just here. they were also talking about you.

the surprise feels distant, like noticing rain on a window rather than on your skin. you don’t question why they’re both here, or how long they’ve been. your brain accepts it the way it’s accepting everything else today.

you remember the phone before you remember why you want it.

it sits on the small desk beside the bed, and the idea of time crawls into your head like an itch. how long have you been here? minutes? hours? your arm feels heavy, but you make the effort anyway, fingers stretching toward it with slow determination.

you don’t make it, because zayne’s hand catches your wrist first, just enough pressure to stop you mid-reach. “don’t. you’ll get dizzy again.” his thumb rests where your pulse beats, steady and undeniable. he doesn’t move it away.

a second later, caleb leans in from the other side, blocking your line of sight to the desk entirely. “doctor’s orders,” he adds, voice light, almost teasing. “and before you argue—yes, he outranks you right now.”

you blink between them, caught. “i just wanted to check the time,”

zayne exhales softly, like he’s been expecting that. his grip loosens but doesn’t disappear, fingers still curled around your wrist as if he’s weighing whether to let go. “you don’t need to,”

that should be reassuring.

instead, it makes your chest feel oddly tight.

your gaze slips past them, toward the window.

the sky has dipped into that slow, burning orange that only shows up when the day is already halfway gone. the sun hangs low, stretched thin across the horizon, bleeding light into the glass. shadows are longer now, softer. the room is dimmer than it was before.

“…it’s late,” you murmur.

caleb follows your gaze, then lets out a quiet laugh under his breath. “yeah, guess it is.”

“we’ve been here longer than we planned,” zayne says, though he doesn’t sound surprised. if anything, he sounds resolved.

you look back at them. “why are you still here?”

“you weren’t stable,” zayne answers. “someone needed to monitor you.”

“someone,” caleb repeats, holding up a peace sign. “or two someones.”

he straightens slightly, but his knee remains pressed against the side of the bed. when he looks at you now, the playfulness doesn’t fully mask what’s underneath it. his eyes soften, then sharpen again, like he’s catching himself.

“you really scared us,” he says, quieter. “you know that, right?”

zayne’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly at the word us. his attention flicks to caleb for half a second before returning to you, more focused.

“you collapsed,” he says. “you pushed yourself too far. next time, you tell someone before it gets to that point.”

“tell who?” you ask.

caleb opens his mouth, then closes it again, a smile tugging at his lips like he’s choosing restraint over instinct. zayne, on the other hand, meets your gaze directly, unflinching.

“me,” he says. “or him.”

caleb leans closer, resting his forearm on the mattress near your shoulder, careful not to touch—but close enough that you feel the intention anyway. “preferably both,” he winks, “we’re good at teamwork.”

“sit up,” suddenly, zayne intructs you, but it isn’t a suggestion.

before you can protest, his hand slides behind your shoulders, guiding you upright. the motion is slow enough to keep your head from spinning, but firm enough that you don’t mistake it for optional. his palm stays there longer than necessary, steady heat against the thin fabric at your back.

“against the headboard,” he guides.

caleb stands as you’re repositioned, stepping closer to help. his hand grips the metal rail at the side of the bed, not you — but the proximity is deliberate.

“oof, easy...” he murmurs.

zayne’s knee brushes the mattress as he settles beside you. close. too close for a school clinic. the space between you disappears in practical increments: a pill cup placed on the tray, a thermometer nudged aside, his shoulder aligned with yours as though this is simply the most efficient configuration.

“open,” he holds the small paper cup near your mouth.

the medicine smells faintly sweet, artificial cherry, and your lips part automatically.

his thumb comes up first.

it presses lightly at the center of your lower lip — not rough, not forceful — just enough to guide. his touch is clinical in theory, but his eyes are not. it seemed they’re darker now, tracing the exact line of your mouth as though memorizing the shape.

“tilt your chin up,”

and you do.

caleb inhales softly from somewhere near your shoulder.

“you know,” he says conversationally, but there’s something threaded underneath it. “she doesn’t even try. they just look like that.”

zayne doesn’t look away from you. “come again?”

“her lips,” caleb's voice is closer now that you can feel the warmth of it along the side of your face. “naturally pink, and soft, it’s unfair.”

your pulse stutters.

zayne’s fingers adjust, sliding from your chin to rest briefly at the corner of your mouth as he tips the medicine in. the liquid touches your tongue, and he watches your throat as you swallow. “don’t spill,”

and then caleb’s hand appears in your peripheral vision — not touching, hovering just shy of your jaw like he’s resisting the urge. “if she does, you’re the one who’ll have to clean it up,” he points out.

“i don’t mind,” zayne answers evenly.

you cough slightly at the aftertaste. immediately, zayne’s thumb presses again at your lower lip, catching a stray drop before it can slip. the pad of his finger lingers there before he wipes it away with the edge of the tissue.

caleb laughs under his breath. “careful, zayne. you’re staring.”

“so are you,”

“mm,” caleb hums. “right.”

he leans in then, finally closing the distance he’s been circling. his hand settles on the mattress beside your thigh, caging you without touching. his eyes flick from your lips to zayne’s hand and back again.

“you should see her from this angle,” caleb says quietly, not to you — to him. “it’s kind of distracting.”

zayne finally glances at him.

there’s no surprise there, no denial.

“focus,” zayne says, but it doesn’t sound like a reprimand. it sounds like a reminder.

caleb’s gaze shifts back to you. “i am.”

you’re acutely aware now of how trapped you are between them — headboard cool against your back, their bodies creating heat at either side. neither is touching you inappropriately, neither has crossed any obvious line.

and yet,

zayne takes the empty cup from your hand, but instead of setting it down immediately, his fingers slide over yours first, unthreading them from the paper edge one by one.

“how do you feel?” he asks.

caleb answers for you. “overstimulated.”

“dizzy?” zayne clarifies, eyes never leaving yours.

you nod faintly.

“good, means you’re still here with us.”

zayne checks your pulse again, even though he doesn’t need to. you know he doesn’t.

but his fingers circle your wrist anyway, slower this time. you feel his thumb presses lightly into the inside of your palm, tracing the faint lines there as if mapping something delicate. “still fast,” he murmurs.

“it’s because you’re hovering,” you manage, your voice steadier now. “both of you.”

caleb laughs softly from your other side. he hasn’t moved far. “hovering?” he echoes. “we’re sitting.”

“you’re crowding,” you insist.

zayne finally releases your wrist, but instead of retreating, his hand slides upward — brushing along your forearm as though it’s incidental. “you’re feverish, your perception might be distorted.”

“yeah,” caleb adds easily. “delirious and hallucinating two incredibly handsome guys taking care of you.”

you glare weakly at him, but he just grins, and it falters just a fraction when you shift, trying to create space between yourself and zayne’s shoulder. the movement is small. they both notice.

caleb’s hand lands on the mattress behind you. “careful, you’ll slip.”

you freeze.

zayne adjusts the pillow again — unnecessary, controlled — his arm sliding behind your head. this time his fingers brush the nape of your neck. not a mistake. his touch lingers there, thumb grazing the sensitive skin just below your hairline.

your breath catches.

he notices.

of course he notices.

“see?” he says quietly. “still lightheaded.”

“that’s not—” you start, then stop. because caleb’s hand has shifted. it’s no longer braced behind you.

instead, it’s on your waist.

your eyes drop to it.

he follows your gaze and tilts his head, mock-innocent. “what? you were swaying.”

“i was not.”

“you were,” zayne cuts in.

they exchange a glance. and this time, there’s no hiding it. it isn’t playful. it isn’t teasing.

caleb’s thumb presses slightly into the curve of your waist — testing reaction. when you inhale sharply, he smiles, “you’re really sensitive today,” he comments. “must be the fever?”

“or maybe you’re both being weird,” you say.

there’s a pause.

zayne leans in closer, close enough that you can see the faint shadow beneath his eyes from staying here all afternoon. “define weird,”

“you keep touching me.”

silence.

then—

zayne’s lips curve faintly. “we’ve been touching you all day,” he replies. “you only just noticed.”

your stomach flips, before caleb chuckles under his breath. “finally,” he mutters.

“finally what?” you demand.

“you’re looking at us like you see it,”

“see what?”

“that we don’t do this for everyone.”

you are still propped against the headboard like instructed. your spine aches faintly from holding yourself upright, but neither of them suggest you lie back down.

they prefer you like this.

alert. visible. between them.

“you’re both acting strange,” you say again, trying for firmness and landing somewhere softer.

caleb exhales through his nose like you’ve accused him of something minor and amusing. “we’re not.”

“you are.”

“you’ve got a fever,” he replies easily. “everything probably feels dramatic.”

zayne doesn’t contradict him. he’s watching you instead — studying the flush in your cheeks, the way your throat moves when you swallow, the way your eyes flicker toward caleb’s hand still resting along your side as if you’re trying to decide whether to acknowledge it again.

“open your mouth,” zayne says.

you blink at him. “what?”

“temperature check,” he clarifies, already reaching for the thermometer from the tray with the same controlled efficiency he’s used all afternoon. “i need to confirm it hasn’t spiked.”

you hesitate, and that hesitation stretches thin between the three of you.

caleb shifts beside you. his knee presses more solidly against the mattress, grounding his weight there. “relax, we’re not going to bite.”

you shoot him a look.

he smiles, unbothered.

zayne brings the thermometer up, his fingers steady. “lift your tongue.”

you do. it feels strangely intimate, obeying him like this, even for something so simple. he slides the thermometer into your mouth carefully, his thumb brushing against your lower lip as he adjusts the placement.

“don’t move,” he says quietly.

you sit there between them, forced into stillness. the beeping timer begins its soft countdown. caleb leans back a fraction, enough to look casual, but not enough to create space.

“you know,” he says conversationally, gaze drifting to your mouth, “she looks like she’s about to say something when her lips are parted like that.”

your eyes narrow at him around the thermometer.

he grins again, unapologetic.

zayne doesn’t respond verbally, but his fingers tighten slightly before he withdraws his hand, as if reminding himself of something.

the seconds feel longer than they should, and you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

finally, the thermometer beeps.

zayne removes it slowly. his fingers brush your lip again as he slides it free, and his gaze drops to your mouth — openly this time, not even pretending it’s part of the examination. “still elevated,” he murmurs.

caleb leans in at once. “let me see.”

“there’s nothing to see,” you protest, instinctively turning your head away.

“just checking,” he says lightly, already reaching.

his fingers curl under your chin — not forceful, but firm enough to guide you back. the movement is small. you react on instinct, turning again to escape the scrutiny —

but then your lips brush his.

it is the softest collision. barely pressure. a whisper of warmth.

caleb stills as if someone has cut the sound out of the room. his hand remains under your chin, your faces inches apart. you can feel the warmth of his breath mixing with yours, the faint trace of mint on it.

your eyes widen.

his don’t.

“…oops,”

it does not sound surprised at all.

caleb leans back an inch. “your lips are so pink,” he whispers, eyes dipping back to them as if assessing the evidence. “hard to tell from a distance."

before you can answer, before you can create distance —

he tilts your chin again.

this time, harsher.

and his mouth meets yours properly.

his lips press against yours with a confidence that suggests he has imagined this before — maybe more than once. his hand at your chin steadies you, thumb brushing lightly along the curve of your jaw as if anchoring you in place. your fingers curl into the front of his shirt without you telling them to.

for a brief, suspended second, you forget to breathe.

caleb pulls back slowly, not far, just enough that your lips separate with a faint, quiet thread of saliva that makes your stomach flip. he looks at you as if memorizing the expression on your face — the confusion, the heat, the realization blooming there.

“see?” he murmurs. “not so dramatic.”

zayne looks at caleb.

“well?” he asks calmly. “did you successfully confirm whether her mouth was warm?”

the question lands with deliberate neutrality.

caleb’s grin spreads slowly, lazily, like he’s savoring it. he leans back a fraction, hands lifting in mock consideration. he hums, tilting his head as if reviewing data. “definitely warm. responsive too.”

“i see,” zayne replies, before his gaze drops from your lips to your throat. “if we’re being thorough, the neck should be checked as well. fever radiates there.”

“that’s not necessary,” you say quickly, trying to tug your wrist free.

he doesn’t let go.

“stay still,"

caleb shifts beside you, interest flickering openly now. he doesn’t interrupt. he watches.

zayne leans in.

there is no pretense this time of reaching for a thermometer or adjusting a pillow. his free hand comes up instead, fingers brushing the side of your jaw, guiding your chin upward. your head tilts back against the headboard without you meaning for it to.

your pulse jumps under his hold.

“relax,”

his breath touches the column of your throat first, and the sensation alone makes your shoulders tense.

then his lips press there.

the warmth of his mouth against the sensitive skin just below your ear sends a shock straight down your spine. your fingers clutch at the sheets instinctively, your body reacting before your thoughts catch up.

a soft, startled sound escapes you — high and involuntary.

caleb lets out a low whistle under his breath. “there it is.”

zayne’s lips linger.

he shifts slightly, pressing more deliberately now, the faint scrape of his breath across your skin making your knees weaken where they rest beneath the blanket. his hand tightens subtly at your jaw to keep you from ducking away.

your reaction is immediate — your shoulders draw in, chin tilting helplessly, a small, almost helpless sound slipping from you again.

“so sensitive,” zayne murmurs against your neck, voice lower now. “very warm.”

you squirm like a startled kitten, trapped between wanting to push him away and not having the strength — or the clarity — to do it.

caleb watches the entire thing with darkened eyes. “neck confirmed, but that’s just one area.” his hand returns to your waist as though steadying you from tipping over. “you know,” he muses, gaze dragging along you. “there are other places heat collects.”

he smiles faintly. not stopping.

“we should be thorough,” he continues. “right?”

zayne doesn’t disagree.

caleb’s fingers flex lightly against your side. “tell me,” he says, eyes locking onto yours. “where else are you warm?”

your heart pounds so hard it feels like it might bruise your ribs.

they are both watching you, waiting.

your mouth opens, then closes again without sound. your thoughts feel sluggish, sliding over one another without forming anything coherent. you don’t know if it’s the fever still simmering in your bloodstream or something else entirely, something far less innocent.

all you know is that your body feels unbearably aware, aware of the heat at your neck where zayne’s mouth had pressed. aware of the ghost of caleb’s kiss still lingering on your lips.

aware of how close they both are — how their knees bracket yours, how their hands remain placed with deliberate casualness that isn’t casual at all.

“i—” you start, but the word dissolves. your thighs shift under the blanket before you consciously decide to move them. a small adjustment. almost nothing.

except it isn’t nothing.

because the fabric pulls slightly. because the mattress dips. because your knees press together instinctively — tightening, as if your body is trying to contain something.

they both catch it immediately.

caleb goes very still.

it’s not the sharp stillness from before, not possessive or triumphant. it’s something else entirely — startled, almost boyish.

his gaze drops, then jerks back up to your face as if he’s been burned.

“…oh,” he breathes.

for the first time since this started, he looks genuinely taken aback. there’s a flush creeping up his neck now, betraying him in a way he clearly isn’t used to.

his carefree mask slips just enough to reveal something softer underneath. inexperienced. uncertain. his hand retreats slightly from your side, hovering instead of gripping.

zayne doesn’t move away. he doesn’t look startled.

his gaze lowers deliberately, following the subtle shift of the blanket, the tension in your thighs as they press together again without your permission. he studies it the way he studies everything, absorbing the information.

then his eyes lift back to yours.

“are you also warm there?” he asks quietly.

his hand finally releases your wrist, only to settle instead on your thigh — above the blanket, respectful in placement, but undeniably close to the tension beneath it.

“it’s a legitimate question,”

caleb makes a small, strangled sound beside you — somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief. he drags a hand through his hair, eyes darting anywhere but directly at where the blanket rises and falls with your uneven breathing.

“hey,” he mutters, almost shy now. “you don’t have to answer that.”

zayne’s gaze flicks to him briefly — assessing the crack in his composure — before returning to you.

“you don’t,” zayne agrees. “but if you are, you should tell us.”

“is it the fever?” caleb asks quietly, almost to himself.

your cheeks flame as you squirm uncomfortably under the blanket, the warmth between your thighs growing more insistent by the second. the fabric of the blanket feels too thick, too heavy, the heat of your skin rising dangerously every time it grazes against your sensitive flesh.

"i— i'm just hot," you stammer, voice hitching. "the fever, yes."

caleb remains silent, but his eyes are hard to read. he's watching you, assessing you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed. it's almost like he's waiting for something, like he's fishing for a reaction from zayne.

zayne glances at caleb, something unspoken passing between them. then his gaze swings back to you, and there's a dilation of his pupils, a subtly darkened look that sends a shiver down your spine.

"is that so?" zayne asks softly, almost silkily. before you can respond, before you can deny it, he's standing up straight. the blanket lifts away from you as he tugs it down, fully exposing your bare legs to the cool air.

your breath catches in your throat as you feel it — the whoosh of cool air against your heated skin. the instant relief is almost painful in contrast to the searing warmth building at your core.

you shake your head, trying to protest even as your body arches subtly, instinctively, seeking more. "it's nothing, i don't - i don't need-" but the words dissolve into a strangled gasp as zayne's fingertips find the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

he's not touching your sex, not directly. but he's close. close enough that you can feel the heat of his touch radiating through you, setting your nerves alight until your entire body feels like a wire pulled taut, ready to spark.

zayne looks at you, then. really looks at you. and in the darkened intensity of his gaze, you see a reflection of a hunger you've never seen before — a ravenous, insatiable want. it steals your breath away.

"shh," he murmurs, and his thumb traces a calming circle over the hot, sensitive skin. his touch is maddeningly gentle, maddeningly soft. it's not touching the place where you burn the most, but you can feel the ache of it, the throb, growing more demanding with each passing second.

zayne glances at caleb, "kiss her, caleb," he instructs, "make her forget about being shy."

caleb stares at you, taken aback by the sudden command. for a long moment, he just gapes, his brows knitted in surprise. but as he looks into your eyes, you see the moment understanding dawns in his gaze, replaced swiftly by a flare of desire.

almost hesitantly, he leans in, pausing a breath away from your lips. your heart pounds wildly as he hovers there for a second that feels like an eternity. then, with a sudden burst of desperation, he closes the distance and captures your mouth in a searing, horny kiss.

caleb's tongue delves into your mouth, tangling hotly with your own as he explores you with a fervor that makes your head spin.

you're still lost in the swirl of his kisses, your world narrowed down to the slick slide of his lips and tongue against your own, when you feel zayne's fingers. they slip beneath the hem of your skirt, stroking with maddening gentleness up the inside of your thigh.

it makes your hips jerk automatically at the unexpected touch, a strangled moan catching in your throat. before you can even process the sound, zayne's fingers encounter the slick, dripping proof of your arousal.

"caleb," zayne breathes, the single syllables landing heavy and low. "she's very soaked."

caleb wastes no time, urged on by zayne's crude comment. he kisses you harder, deeper, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he eats at your lips like a starving man. his hand fists in your hair, holding you in place as he ravages your mouth.

and beneath your skirt, zayne's fingers work you with an expert's skill, stroking with precision over that swollen area hidden at the apex of your slit. he circles it, teasing the tender flesh until your hips are undulating in desperate little jerks, chasing his touch.

but you gasp as you feel zayne's fingers retreat from your aching, soaked folds, the sudden emptiness leaving you throbbing and empty.

before you can register the loss, you feel his hands gripping firmly under your knees. with a sudden tug, he spreads your thighs apart, the movement pulling an instinctive yelp from your lips. your legs fall open, knees bent, as zayne positions himself between them.

he settles his hips over yours, the heat of his body radiating against your sex. you can feel his presence looming over you, his intense gaze boring into you as he meets your eyes.

caleb, sensing the shift, buries his face into the crook of your neck. his lips find your pulse point, suckling almost desperately at the racing beat of your heart. but your focus is on zayne, on the dark promise in his eyes and the bulge now obscenely straining against his fly.

with deft, almost casual movements, zayne reaches for his belt. the leather rasps as he unbuckles it, the sound making your nerves stand on end. his fingers find the button of his jeans, popping it open with a flick of his wrist.

your breath catches, chest constricting with anticipation. you watch, transfixed, as zayne's zipper hisses down.

and then his cock springs free. the thick, angry red length bobs heavily against his belly, already leaking and twitching with need. it pulses with a fast, erratic heartbeat, the swollen head an angry purple, flushed with blood.

you can only stare at it, eyes widening at the sheer size. it's bigger than you expected, bigger than your untrained, inexperienced mind could have ever imagined.

he drags you closer, pulling you right up against him, until the engorged head of his dick tumbles against your folds.

you gasp, back bowing as you feel the hot, hard length of him pressing insistently against your entrance. zayne doesn't hesitate, doesn't pause to let you adjust.

he buries himself in you with a single, brutal thrust. a scream tears from your throat as he slams into you, the breath punching from your lungs in a rush at the sudden, overwhelming intrusion.

zayne sets a perfect rhythm, plunging into you with deep, powerful thrusts that make your entire body jolt with the force. he's a quiet lover, but the grunts that escape his clenched teeth speak volumes - raw, primal sounds that fill the small clinic room.

each drag of his hips against yours sends shivers racing up your spine, your back bowing off the thin mattress with each fierce drive of his cock into your core. the lewd squelch of your dripping pussy being split open on his thick length fills the air, mingling with your desperate cries and the creaking of the bed beneath you.

caleb pulls back from your neck, head spinning to watch the debauched scene unfolding before him with wide, almost dazed eyes. his gaze is glued to where zayne's hips meet yours, over and over, the brutal pace never wavering. you can see the jealousy simmering in those depths - the aching, hunger-filled longing to trade places with zayne.

zayne seems oblivious to his friend's stare, lost in the slick, clinging grip of your cunt. he drags your legs back, bending your knees to press against his chest as he looms over you. "just breathe," the new angle allows him to bury himself even deeper, his cock slamming against your cervix with each brutal thrust. "that's it, just let us do this for you..."

his muscles flex under the strain, the corded lines of his abdomen rippling as he fucks into you with single-minded focus. rivulets of sweat prickle his brow and cortex, his skin flushed and slick in the chilly air of the clinic room.

zayne's grunts grow more frequent, more urgent, his hips pistoning into yours with a relentless rhythm. he's lost in his own world, focused solely on chasing his release. no more words pass his lips, only the primal sounds of a man consumed by pleasure.

leaning upright, he looms over you, muscles flexing and glistening with sweat as he drives into you with increasing fervor. his green eyes blaze into yours, dark and hungry, reflecting the desperation building within him.

with a last, brutal thrust, zayne hilts himself deep. your eyes roll back in your head, a silent scream caught in your throat as you feel the hot, thick spurts of his release painting your insides. he pulses and jerks within your clutching heat, filling you with his seed.

panting harshly, he meets your gaze, satisfaction darkening the look in his eyes. he glances at caleb, who hasn't moved from his position beside you, his own arousal straining against his pants.

gathering his strength, zayne carefully removes himself from your trembling form. you can feel the gush of your mingled releases seeping out of your abused pussy, trickling down the cleft of your ass.

zayne settles beside you, his hand already reaching for the sweat matting your brow. he brushes the damp hair away, his fingers trailing over your skin with a gentleness at odds with the rough, demanding lover of moments before.

his other hand, the one that had gripped your hip with punishing strength as he rode out his climax inside you, is offered now to your lips. you hesitate for only a second, glancing at caleb who hovers over you, his eyes dark with the same deep-seated hunger that had burned in zayne's.

caleb looks nervous, almost shy and hesitant. but it's clear from the prominent bulge tenting his pants that he's just as aroused as zayne had been. his breath comes quick and fast, chest pumping as he stares down at you with a mixture of longing and apprehension.

caleb, after a few moments of hesitation, finally reaches for his belt. with trembling fingers, he unbuckles it, the leather rasping loudly in the quiet room. your eyes widen as he frees his cock from the confines of his jeans.

to your shock, you realize caleb's length is even more daunting than zayne's. thicker and longer, it bobs heavily against his belly, the bulbous head an angry purple, already glistening with pre-cum. veins pulse along the thick shaft, betraying his racing heart and building arousal.

before you can fully take in the impressive, almost frightening sight, caleb is settling between your spread thighs. he doesn't sit upright like zayne had, but rather drapes his body over yours, the heat of his skin searing against your own.

his hands find the mattress on either side of your head, fingers sinking into the thin pillow as he braces himself.

then he's pushing forward, the engorged head of his cock nudging demandingly at your entrance. he doesn't tease, doesn't wait. with one brutal thrust, he's sheathing himself inside you, splitting you open on his massive length.

a guttural, almost feral sound tears from his throat as your pussy struggles to accommodate his girth. it's a sound of relief, of desperate, aching satisfaction. your walls strain, stretching obscenely around the thick intrusion.

caleb starts moving before you can adjust, before your body can adapt to the sudden, overwhelming fullness. he sets a messy, almost erratic rhythm, hips slapping lewdly against yours as he fucks into you with wild abandon.

each thrust is sloppy, inelegant, his cock plunging into you with wet, squelching sounds. the clinic echoes with the crude noises of your coupling - the slap of skin against skin, the creaking of the mattress, and caleb's ragged, panting grunts.

"fuck, so fuckin' tight," caleb growls, voice ragged and breathless. "can't - fuck - can't believe i'm finally in you..."

tears prick your eyes as you feel yourself stretching to accommodate his girth, trials of pleasure and pain. you bite down hard on zayne's offered hand, and he stares down at you with that same clinical look he has.

caleb's frenzied thrusts grow increasingly erratic, his hips pounding into yours with a desperate, almost panicked fervor.

unlike zayne's rhythm, caleb's pace is wild and uncontrolled. his cock plunges into your stretched pussy with a messy, almost sloppy urgency. you can feel every ridge, every throbbing vein of his massive length scraping against your tender walls as he takes his pleasure from your body.

"fuck, she's - holy shit - so fucking good," caleb grunts out between clenched teeth, his voice strained and tight with pleasure. "i can't - i mean, zayne, I don't know if i can hold back..."

he gasps out, his words breaking off into a guttural moan. his hips jackknife forward with a particularly vicious thrust, slamming against yours as his cock jerks and pulses.

your pussy convulses around him, gripping and milking his length as he hilts inside you. the sensation of his release flooding your insides, painting you with thick ribbons of his hot seed, pushes you over the edge.

you scream against zayne's hand, your vision whiting out as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. light bursts behind your eyelids, your back arching sharply.

but even as he spills inside you, caleb doesn't stop. he can't stop. with a cry tearing from his throat, he continues to rut into you, chasing his pleasure through the aftershocks of your own orgasm.

"can't... can't fuckin' stop," caleb pants, "feels too fucking good...gonna cum again!"

his cock jerks and throbs as he makes good on his promise. with a hoarse moan, he empties a second, even larger load inside your used hole. your stomach bulges slightly with the sheer volume of his release, stuffed to the brim with caleb and zayne's combined seed.

throughout it all, zayne watches with narrowed eyes, his expression inscrutable. he doesn't pull his hand away from your bruising bite, letting you use his skin as a distraction from all the using they've done on you.

they’ve known each other their whole lives. every little nod, every wink, every smile between them had a meaning, likely originating from childhood. 

so you choose to ignore it, focusing instead on the way your eyelids grow heavier with each passing signal. 

and even if dr. zayne had confirmed you were out for only a day, your body feels as if it had been much longer. your limbs ache with deep exhaustion, your muscles tremble faintly just from trying to remain upright, and your eyes burn, practically begging for some shut eye.   

“you’re so in love, you could-” 

it was still a rough twenty five minutes from the hospital to your apartment. plenty of time to let yourself succumb to the persistent whispers of sleep, and slowly enough, you lower your arm from where it props up your head and let your temple rest against the cool glass of the car door. 

with the faint vibrations of the road humming beneath you and the faint lights turning on as the sky fades into dusk, the rest of the song drifts through the car, distant and muffled. you allow it to lull you away, closing your eyes with a faint breath leaving your lips. 

what you don’t see is caleb’s gaze lifting to the rearview mirror, eyes settled on you with his brows furrowed and jaw tight. 

and he doesn’t dare rip his eyes away until the light in front of him turns green. 

the car must’ve stopped at some point. 

you don’t remember when, but it did. 

you barely register the sudden warmth that settles with the gentle dip of movement beneath you and the fabric by your cheek being replaced by the coolness of the glass window. 

your brows knit faintly, your lashes flutter, but you can’t bring yourself to open them. not when your world feels thick, still reeling heavy with sleep. 

then his cologne overwhelms you.  that’s the first sign. 

steady, strong hands hold you, and the shuffling accompanied by a slight grunt gives way to piecing everything together. 

it’s him. caleb is carrying you in his arms. 

you could recognize the scent of sandalwood and apple anywhere. you know the way his touch wraps around you, making your body respond before your mind does. 

you can’t help but lean into his touch, fingers unconsciously moving to curl faintly into the material beneath them. 

oh, that traitorous heart of yours. 

it takes him no effort to move you out the car, suddenly feeling the cool night air, while the slam of the car door is heard. a soft jingle of keys. 

you should really stop yourself from indulging in this little fantasy. you're well aware that it’s going to make your illness worse. 

“caleb...?” your voice comes out barely above a whisper, sustaining the strength within you to peer at him. 

those ametrine eyes you adore so much look down, landing on you with a fondness you swear has only ever been directed to you a handful of times.  

“hey,” he pauses, reaching down just slightly to turn the key in the knob of your door. “i’ve got you.” 

“caleb.” you try again, but this time he stops. you’re inside now. 

the scent of vanilla laced with a twinge of lavender, surrounds you as he stands with you cradled in his arms. 

for a fleeting moment, you debate whether pushing yourself free by jumping out of his hold was too drastic a move, especially considering your still-healing body. 

the thought barely settles before his grip tightens. 

as if he heard you. as if your thoughts were on display for him to see. if anything, he holds you tighter in his arms, securing you firmly against him like there was no room for argument. 

“no.” he says, not even a second later. 

you swallow. 

for someone who is so attuned to you, who can read you like a book, know what you’re going to do without even saying it, you can’t stand how oblivious he is to the feelings you harbor for him. 

or maybe he knows and he still doesn’t want you. that stupid, self-loathing voice rings in your head again. 

remember your place. 

“you can put me down, i promise i can walk,” you try to protest, but he ignores you. one foot already moving in front of the other, leading him straight to your bedroom. 

“it’s okay,” he says your name as a whisper, and you can’t help the way your heart thumps. “we’re already here. see?" 

pushing the door open, he crosses all the way to your bed, lowering you into the mattress with such tender care that the familiar ache returns for just a moment.  

the sheets beneath you are cool to the touch. but his hands? 

not so much. 

he adjusts the pillow beneath your head, movements slow and deliberate, leaving you blinking up at him, vision becoming more detailed, and you can’t help your brows furrowing, or the pout you give him. 

“are you serious right now, xia?” pushing yourself upright, already shifting as if to refuse his help. “i’ve got this. i don’t need you hovering.” 

“i’m not hovering.” he replies. 

you turn your head with a scoff. “then what are you doing?” 

“i’m helping my best friend from face planting after she was just discharged from the hospital.” 

“and?” 

“and that’s not reason enough?” he sounds exasperated. you barely catch it, but it’s somehow overshadowed by the teasing undertone. 

oblivious bastard. 

always making you think, just for a second, that maybe you have a chance.  

and you’re really trying to find reason to hate him for it. you really do.

drawing in a steady breath, you reach for the blanket at the foot of your bed, avoiding his lingering gaze. 

“okay. you mission accomplished. i think i’m good for tonight. thank you for...that.” you pull the blanket up to your chest. “you should probably get back to mae.” 

but the words taste bitter on your tongue. 

“i dropped her off at a friend’s place for now,” he says, pausing briefly. “and don’t do that.” 

“do what?” 

he’s still close. close enough that you can feel the warmth of him without physically touching. 

too close...if he leaned in the slightest bit forward then-

“redirect the topic elsewhere.” 

heat rushed to your face and your shift away, forcing yourself to create distance. “i’m not.” 

his brows knit together, and the amber in his eyes catch the faintest of light as they lock onto yours.

“you are,” he sighs. “you’ve been doing it so much lately and you think i don’t notice.” but i’m catching on is left unsaid. 

you look away. he sighs. 

“okay fine, you don’t wanna talk about it, so i’ll drop it,” he shifts close again. “under one condition." 

you narrow your eyes, that playful banter you’ve missed lately, bleeding through. “i’m scared to even ask.” 

“no, no. it’s not bad.” 

he chuckles, and suddenly you’re transported to a time before any of this occurred. before the day you sat in your doctor’s office waiting a diagnosis. 

you try and hang on to how light this moment feels. 

“hmm,” you bring a finger to your chin, tapping it for effect. “okay, i’ll hear you out. what’s your condition, xia?”

“let me stay the night. it’s the only way i’ll be able to breathe tonight.” 

you refrain from letting a huff of disbelief escape you, afraid it might ruin the moment, because it was the very last thing you expected to come out his mouth. 

“yeah. no.” 

“what? why not?” 

“because that means you’ll be hovering, even though you just said you weren’t!” you let out an airy laugh as your features scrunch up, bringing your hands up to push his stupid face away. “besides, you have your own place, and your own responsibilities!” 

“well yea, but don’t you know you’re one of them.” 

a beat.  

it doesn’t last a second before the resounding ache in your chest appears like a warning.

you widen your eyes and clamp your mouth shut, releasing your hold almost immediately.  

when he turns his direction back to you, you hope he doesn’t catch it—don’t think he does—but the lighter part of his iris’s burn into yours, and he gives you the best kicked puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen. 

you shake your head. 

“that won’t work on me, caleb.” you pull your gaze from him, but it’s so hard to avoid it when he moves along with your line of sight, doing enough to unfortunately elicit a small, growing smile from you.

“please.” he drags out the last syllable. 

“no.” 

“but you can’t just kick me out like i’m nothing? we’re besties, hello?” he raises the pitch in his voice to somehow mimic yours. repeating the same words you told him months ago. way before any of this. 

it warms your fragile heart. 

“okay, i really have to think-” 

you don’t get to finish your phrase when the vibration of a phone cuts you off, and the ringtone that follows after startles you both. 

your gaze drifts toward the nightstand, seeing the way it’s his phone that lights up against the dark of your room causing your eye to involuntarily twitch the moment you see the photo paired with the name on the caller id. 

because of course it doesn’t take a genius to know who it was.

being ripped away from the very alternate reality you've created, you move farther from him, placing yourself deeper in your bed while he clears his throat. 

“you should take that.” you say, voice slightly hoarse. 

you’re suddenly very parched. 

he hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering between you and his phone, but he doesn’t make a move, not right away. he just stays there as if waiting for it to ring a few more times.

it’s almost ironic—like a test crafted by astra himself. 

but he fails. he always does when it comes to choosing between you and her. 

because he doesn’t think to delay it any longer after the third ring. 

“this isn’t over. just...let me take this and i’ll be back.” 

you press your lips together, already bracing yourself for the inevitable, the confirmation that no matter what, he will always pick her first. 

and you’ll have to remind yourself as you watch him walk out of your room—finger quickly sliding across the screen—that you're okay with that. because you are his best friend, and she will always be more to him.

so much more.

when the call ends, he lingers for just a moment, staring at the darkened screen a bit longer than he should’ve. 

her voice still echoes faintly in his mind, assuring him that he doesn't need to pick her up. she’s already been invited to stay the night at her friend’s. 

only then does he remember where he is, that he’s standing in your living room. 

and for a brief second, his gaze falls upon a single wilted petal lying at the side of an old vase, sticking out like a sore thumb. 

probably some flowers you had thrown out and hadn’t bothered to clean up the rest. he tells himself. 

but then the rest of the realization sets in about the space he occupies. about how there’s something that feels off. 

his drags his eyes around the room, slow and searching, something he failed to notice when he carried you in earlier. 

your apartment seems less...inhabited compared to the last time he paid you a visit.

he swears there used to be a picture frame of you and your parents on the shelf near the tv. and the night he spent drying your hair, there was definitely a stack of books lying on the coffee table. he had remembered it so vividly. the smile you gave him when you told him how excited you were to start the series, how you rambled on about the first chapter, stumbling over your words because you couldn’t get them out enough. 

he finds himself missing that. 

misses how easily you used to talk to him. how often minutes would stretch into hours while conversing with him about anything and everything. 

how you’d sit at the kitchen island, head perched on your hand lazily with stars in your eyes, watching as he maneuvered around your kitchen like it was his. how the corners of your eyes creased as the smile on your face grew and grew whenever he said something stupid just to hear you laugh. 

and then...

things changed. 

he pinpoints it back to the moment you returned from the doctor’s, brushing him off by saying all you had was some “benign” cough. 

he can confirm that’s when everything shifted. that’s the moment you began pulling away. 

then without much of an explanation, you got quieter. 

the circles under your eyes darkened. you brushed it off as being tired. 

your hacking, dangerous and violent haunt him. you said your illness wasn’t that serious?

the blood he saw escape your lips as you lied unconscious in his arms. that’s not something that occurs from just a coughing fit. 

you made excuses to avoid him. 

you’re already gone off to campus during the mornings he stops by to pick you up. 

even now. nights spent with sleepovers you would never refuse, has you pausing before giving him an answer. 

then he remembers the way you were at the hospital, pale and unconscious, appearing barely alive. 

recalls the way zayne’s eyes never fully met his outside your room offering explanations that never really answered anything.

the way the nurses assigned to you quietly whisper among themselves, and careful—too careful and tactful about keeping your chart out of his reach.  

and then the promise. 

the way he had to wait for you to link your pinky finger around his, and still. there was something off about the way your eyes flickered, something that resembled guilt crossing deep behind your eyes. 

even now, you avoid his gaze more often than not. 

it doesn’t mean anything. right?

his jaw tightens as he lies to himself by reassuring that you’re just going through a rough patch, and that’s why he needs to be at your side now more than ever. 

even though he knows your messages before tonight have been coming in less and less, with responses so clipped, it left him with nothing for him to continue the conversation. 

like you don’t want him around anymore.

still, he tells himself that you’ll explain. or, he’ll figure it out on his own. because caleb xia is nothing if not perceptive. 

especially now, when the pieces are beginning to fall into place. 

because he knows there’s something zayne isn’t telling him. 

there’s something you refuse to voice. 

and there’s something mae is aware of, but has chose to keep to herself. 

the thoughts lie heavy in his chest, but he’ll be persistent. he'll keep showing up, and he’ll keep suffocating you with his care and attention the only way he knows how.  

even if it means trying to hold onto a version of you that no longer seems to exist—the one who used to look at him with tenderness he never quite knew what to do with.

then, his phone chimes, announcing the arrival of a new message, and he takes a glance, opening it. 

okay, you can stay the night. on the couch - 10:56 pm. reads your text.

he exhales, shaking the thought from his head and shoves his phone back into his pocket. 

already turning on his heel, he makes his way down the hall into your room, only to find you curled beneath your comforter, sleeping soundly. 

seemingly untouchable and slipping farther away from him more than ever. 

you wake to the kind of darkness that lingers before dawn—the hollow quiet of 3 a.m.

for a moment, you don’t remember where you are.

then the ceiling comes into focus and the faint outline of your dresser. the dim moonlight bleeding through the curtains and onto the carpet. 

you rise slowly, turning your head around towards an empty room, and you can’t help but bite back the slight feeling of disappointment, remembering the last thing caleb told you before he stepped out to take the call. 

despite the message you sent allowing him to stay, he probably left anyway, and didn’t bother waking you to announce his departure. 

that’s fine. you think, burying the disappointment. he doesn’t need to tell me. 

still. your mouth feels unbearably dry, your throat feeling lined with cotton, so you push yourself off the bed slowly, careless of the lingering weakness of your limbs. 

your apartment is silent with nothing but the sound of the analog clock that sits in the kitchen. 

you keep your hand trailing along the wall for balance as footsteps pad down the hallway, wanting to beeline straight to the fridge because frankly, a crisp cold bottle of water is all you can think about in an attempt to satisfy your thirst. 

but the moment you reach the living room, you stop. 

curled awkwardly along your couch, with nothing but a thin blanket draped over him, lies caleb. 

he has one arm resting across his chest while the other hangs loosely at his side, fingers just barely brushing along the edge of the cushion, with the faint glow from the streetlight outside casting a soft sheen over his features. 

he looks younger like this. like he’s at peace. 

beautiful in a way that makes the vines tighten, even now. 

you’re grateful for the medication dr. zayne had given to you before your release, and despite the gnawing symptoms, not a single itch for an outburst has occurred the entire time caleb has been here.

you’ll have to thank him for that later.   

finally, having the courage to tiptoe over, cold water entirely forgotten by the time you near him, you move to lower yourself onto the floor beside the couch, your back resting against it. 

but you turn your head in order to take him in fully. to count the number of times his chest rises and falls. even shifting your eyes to the faint part of his rosy lips as he breathes. 

you let yourself selfishly admire him. 

“oh, caleb,” you whisper, not even trying to hide the way the corner of your lips twitch upward. “you stayed.” 

you soak him in, just as you did at the hospital, but now in darkness, with only faint trickles of light seeping through. 

“do you know,” you murmur softly, “you’re going to be the absolute death of me.” 

a pause. 

“literally.” 

you wince faintly at your words, they sound absurd when spoken aloud. 

primarily because they ring true, and because there’s nothing humorous about them. 

“you don’t even know—you couldn’t even know,” you drag your eyes to trace the curve of his jaw, “you’re killing me, and i can’t even bring myself to hate you.” 

your throat tightens. 

“because if i did—if i brought myself to hate you—maybe it could cure me and i wouldn’t have to go through the procedure...or accept death as the alternative.”

heavy silence settles between your words. 

“and i wouldn’t have to forget you,” you continue more quietly, your fingertips ghosting just above his lashes, before retreating. “or wouldn’t have to let you go for good.”  

he shifts suddenly, and your breath catches in your throat. 

every muscle in your body goes rigid, heart pounding exceedingly loud at the realization. 

he heard you.

he isn’t sleeping.

but you don’t move. you keep incredibly still, afraid of what will happen if you shifted even the slightest.  

you wait.

but after a moment, all he does is turn slightly, moving his hand from his side to rest over his chest, adjusting beneath the blanket before settling again, you exhale quietly. 

his own exhaustion saved you. too tired to be a light sleeper, just like he had been at the hospital.  and you're grateful for that. at the fact that he hadn't heard you, that he's still in the dark. 

the steady rhythm of his breathing resumes.

relief washes over you, as you sullenly place your palms to the ground in an attempt to push yourself of the floor.

finally standing upright, peering down, you hover over him. 

“thank you,” you whisper after a moment. “for being my best friend. for always thinking of me. for loving me in your own special way...even if it isn’t the kind this stupid heart of mine yearns for.”

and you walk away, wiping away the single teardrop that threatens to fall.

⏾

a/n: just to clarify, this is my personal oc named caleb xia who is NOT to be confused/affiliated with the caleb xia from the game love and deepspace.

The revelation was truly disheartening. The day you confessed to him, you were sixteen at the time. It had been a good day. A really good day, actually. The rays from the sun fell on Caleb’s face so perfectly that it was practically enough to convince you that the light had been a paid actor. You had gotten ice cream with him, and his flavor was so enviously delicious that you had more of his cone than your own. It had just been you two that day. You and Caleb. Caleb and you. At the time, it felt so right. This was the way things should have always been, all this time.

You decided that the only way to make a good day even better was to finally confess to him, once and for all, at a park bench. Just you and Caleb, and two ice cream cones. The perfect start to a high school sweetheart romance, one that’ll have all the critics raving at the sight.

That day, you fell into your feelings the same way it felt like falling into deep water–headfirst, breathless, and far before you even knew how to swim. But you dived into the pit anyway, hoping that Caleb would reciprocate in the form of saving you and bringing you back to shore.

(Spoiler alert: you drowned. So much for that. Unfortunately, the promised romcom quickly turned into a tragedy, and it was not pretty. His ice cream flavor that was so delicious that day became a repulsive one that you’d now avoid at all costs.)

MC had been your first friend and partner in crime for absolutely anything, but even she had a grimace on her face as she listened to you rant and cry and sob about her older brother. That night, over the phone, you called him so many names, to the point that you made her solemnly swear that your conversation with her would never see the light of day, let alone the ears of the source himself. The source, who, unfortunately, was still your childhood best friend and was still somebody you deeply cherished because of how much he cared about his younger sister. About his friends. About you, even though his blatant rejection made you second-guess everything that you knew about Caleb.

“I – I just don’t understand! Where did it all go wrong, MC?”

It was a rhetorical question, because frankly, she didn’t know either. MC had gone quiet on the other end of the phone a long time ago. At some point during your seemingly endless tirade about her brother’s stupidity, your sniffles, and the increasingly creative insults you’d hurled at Caleb’s name, she had simply listened. Occasionally, she’d make a small noise – a hum, a soft “yeah, I get it” (even though she really doesn’t; because what did you even see in her brother, anyway? It doesn’t seem like anything good, especially considering all of the names you’ve called him for the past hour). But for the most part, she let you spiral until eventually, your voice gave out.

The first thing to fizzle out of your body was the anger you felt. Then, the embarrassment crept in like a slow fever, and all you felt was a heavy mix of shame and sadness. You take another tissue from your third box tonight and wipe your tears, discarding it onto the seemingly neverending pile on your bed. And then, you sigh. A sigh of surrender, exhaustion, or what, you don’t know. You just do it.

“You can’t tell him,” you muttered, pressing the heel of your hand into your eyes. “Promise me you won’t tell him anything I said tonight. Please.”

“I wont,” she said, almost immediately. And that was that. Despite it all, you stay faithfully true to your word, and never mention that fateful day to him ever again. He never brought it up after, so neither did you. Surely, there was no elephant, no shaken-up soda can bursting at the seams waiting to be addressed after all of it, right?

The fact was already clearly written: Caleb did not like you, and that was that. There was no need to readdress this matter.

Surely, right?

Right, of course.

It was such a stark contrast that you were left reeling. Six months into your marriage, reality bore little resemblance to the life you had once imagined.

You had once thought your home with Zayne would be warm with laughter, shared meals, and soft conversations lingering late into the night—a place that breathed with comfort simply because the two of you were in it together.

Instead, the halls of the grand mansion granted by the emperor were cold—spacious, immaculate, and lonely.

“My lady, here.”

The voice startled you out of your daydream, snapping you back to focus as your handmaiden, Yvonne, wrapped the shawl around you.

Oh, right. Today you were accompanying your lord husband for his audience with the emperor.

. . .

The journey to the palace was smooth. You sat demurely within your palanquin, lulled by the steady rhythm of the horses’ steps. Now and then, Zayne’s voice carried through the air as he issued clipped commands to his troops.

And before you knew it, your entourage had arrived at the royal palace. The palanquin doors swung open, and the first thing you saw was your husband’s stoic expression.

“My lady,” he muttered, grayish hazel eyes stern, offering his hand to you to assist you out.

Your heart pricked at the sight before you. Zayne had always been steadfast—but before all this, he was never rigidly formal with you like this.

“One day… I will become the greatest general in the land. Will you wait for me until then?”

The memory rose then: a younger Zayne, red-faced, thrusting a jasmine flower into your hands as he stumbled through his confession. It made your chest ache even more.

The things he saw in the wars turned him into this version before you, you believed. Maybe, to him now, the tenderness you once shared during your childhood no longer held any meaning at all.

You took his hand.

“Thank you, my lord,” you replied with equal stiffness, gripping his hand. You didn’t dare look at him while he led you forward.

Yet you still took comfort in one thing—his hold over your hand never wavered, not even as the two of you came to stand before the emperor himself. It was only when he had to let go of you that he did.

“What a pleasing sight it is to see you, Lord of Anlan!”

The emperor was headstrong yet a jolly individual. From his elevated dais, he greeted the two of you with open warmth. Zayne answered with a restrained bow, and you quickly followed his lead.

The emperor’s attention then shifted to you. “And I trust the Lady of Anlan has been well?”

“I am well, Your Majesty,” you replied, fixing a polite smile in place. “Thank you.”

However, you had a feeling that the emperor didn’t actually care about you at all, as the way his sharp gaze lingered on you sent an uncomfortable chill down your spine each time.

He soon turned his attention back to Zayne, and the two spoke at length about matters concerning the fief. Then—

“Is something troubling you, Your Majesty?” Zayne asked, putting on a mask of a concerned subject.

“Oh, yes—yes,” the emperor said with a faux chuckle. “There is something that has been bothering me...”

“And what might that be?”

“Well, the princess royal is still in search of a husband. It’s giving me a headache as she insists on someone just like you… It’s such a pity you turned down my proposal back then, Lord of Anlan...”

You could feel his hot stare on you, and he continued, “Had you accepted the princess’ hand, you would be part of the royal family by now.”

You clenched your fists. It was not the first time this had been mentioned, and each time it was brought up, it always left a bitter taste in your mouth. Zayne had indeed refused a royal marriage decree and chosen you instead—but did he somehow regret that choice that it left him cold and distant to you all this time?

If so… why hadn’t he broken off his betrothal with you back then?

. . .

By the emperor’s command, both you and Zayne were to remain in Yunshao for a time—residing within the imperial palace itself.

The two of you were showed to your temporary chambers, and the moment you stepped inside, you let out a sigh. Behind you, Zayne paused, noticing your weariness.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words halted. And in that hesitation, something in your expression must have betrayed you.

“You look unwell,” he observed, tone thoughtful. “If the travel has strained you, I will have the physician summoned.”

“That isn’t necessary,” you replied quickly. “I am fine.”

The silence stretched. He was watching you—not coldly, not warmly either, simply assessing. Then, as if deciding something, he spoke again.

“I will be entertaining the princess royal shortly,” Zayne said, his voice returning to that familiar, careful neutrality. “Her Highness has arranged for it. It would be improper to refuse.”

The princess, again. The woman who had once sought him as a husband never seemed to miss an opportunity to summon him whenever he was within palace walls. Lowering your gaze, you were silently irked.

“Do you… have to go?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

“Yes.”

A default, logical answer. You had expected this but somehow your heart still hurt regardless.

“I see,” you murmured, the words felt hollow even to your own ears.

Zayne didn't linger. As he turned and walked toward the door, his steps were quiet.

And the space between you suddenly felt wider than the vast halls outside your door.

The palace was a world of its own—lavish courtyards, lotus ponds glimmering beneath carved bridges. Servants moved like shadows, each bowing, each whispering, each watching.

Yet none of those gazes ever lingered on you for long.

You were the Lady of Anlan, yes—but not a lady of imperial blood. In a place where lineage was currency, you were a mere general’s wife. Polite smiles were given, greetings exchanged, but you passed through the palace halls like a quiet breeze.

Zayne, meanwhile, was constantly summoned—councils, briefings, private audiences. You saw him only at night, and even then not much that could be talked about.

And so, you learned to occupy yourself quietly. Reading beneath shaded pavilions. Feeding the koi in still waters. Watching the sky shift from pale gold to indigo behind tiled rooftops.

It was during one such day that the palace stirred with unusual excitement—an envoy had arrived from Zhaole.

It was Zhaole’s prince himself who had come to negotiate trade routes. You paid it little mind at first as foreign politics had nothing to do with you... until you were summoned to attend the audience.

You stood at your designated place within the grand hall, slightly behind and to the right of Zayne, when the doors opened.

“His Highness, Prince Rafayel of Zhaole, has arrived!”

Silk banners bearing unfamiliar insignias unfurled as the entourage entered. At its center walked a man whose presence seemed to bend the air around him.

Prince Rafayel was clad in white robes embroidered with cerulean and gold-threaded waves, the fabric flowing like water with every step. His long purple hair and porcelain-like skin were striking. Exceptionally refined and handsome. There was something artful about him, like a masterpiece aware of its own beauty.

His eyes swept across the hall lazily at first—measuring ministers, skimming over the servants—

And then they stopped. On you.

For a fleeting second, you wondered if you were mistaken. But no—his gaze sharpened, as though he had found something unexpectedly intriguing among a sea of expected faces.

And a second later, he smiled—at you, before he resumed his walk.

The prince came to a halt before the dais and offered a bow for the emperor.

“I bring greetings from Zhaole,” he said smoothly, his voice clear as a plucked string. “I am Rafayel. I trust Yunshao’s hospitality will not disappoint.”

The emperor responded with booming warmth, welcoming him to the court. Formalities were exchanged. Polite laughter followed.

But you would never expect what would he do next.

As the formal greetings concluded, Rafayel’s gaze suddenly shifted towards where you stood beside Zayne.

“My apologies,” Rafayel said lightly, tilting his head with deliberate curiosity. “I do not believe I have been introduced to the lady standing beside the esteemed Lord of Anlan.”

The hall grew quieter. You felt Zayne’s posture stiffen imperceptibly, and you—caught beneath the weight of the prince’s attention—found yourself momentarily at a loss.

The emperor chuckled. “Ah... that is the Lady of Anlan.”

Rafayel stepped forward, not too close to breach decorum, but close enough for both your and your husband’s discomfort.

Up close, his smile softened, eyes gleaming faintly.

“Oh, Lady of Anlan...” he repeated, as though tasting the title. Then, inclining his head toward you in a gesture that was respectful, yet strangely personal, he said, “It is a pleasure, madam.”

And that was how you went from being overlooked to the subject of every whisper within the imperial palace.

“Hey… did you see what happened earlier?”

That evening, the palace held a banquet in honor of Zhaole’s prince.

The grand hall was transformed beneath the glow of lanterns. Music drifted softly through the air, accompanied by the quiet murmur of noble voices and the occasional ripple of laughter.

“The imperial prince of Zhaole— he specifically greeted the Lady of Anlan!”

And yet, Zayne wasn’t amused in the slightest.

It was one thing for his wife to become the subject of palace whispers—that alone was enough to draw attention he did not welcome. But it was another thing entirely to realize that his wife had caught the interest of a royal prince.

Zayne didn’t show it openly. His expression remained as composed as ever, but throughout the night, the faint crease between his brows lingered longer than usual, and his gaze would settle on you often.

It was most probably nothing, he told himself. A passing curiosity. A prince’s fleeting amusement in a foreign court.

Across the hall, you stood beneath the lanternlight—radiant without trying. You, his childhood sweetheart, had always been a dear to him.

After he was done conversing with an official, he made his way towards you.

“My lady,” he greeted quietly. You jolted at the sound of his voice, turning to face him.

“My lord,” you replied.

Once, you had called his name freely, whenever you wanted. You would tug at his sleeve, demanded his attention, laughed without restraint. Zayne didn’t like this formality between you, honestly.

“Take a respite if you are tired,” he said then, mostly out of concern. “You have always disliked attending banquets.”

You let out a quiet sigh. “And you have always endured these far better than I ever could.”

When had your relationship become this strained? There had been no single argument that shattered everything. No cruel words spoken in anger that could not be taken back.

Only distance. Distance that crept in so quietly neither of you had noticed until it was already too late.

Zayne inhaled slowly. He didn’t want to say it, but he couldn’t remain silent either— and so he did:

“…Don’t get too close to the Prince of Zhaole.”

You frowned faintly, seemingly not taking his words well. “What are you implying?”

“I am saying,” he began slowly, “that you should not allow his attention to draw you in.”

However, contrary to your usually docile demeanor, your expression hardened immediately.

“I’m not so naive.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him. And then, you pulled back slightly, your chin lifting. “You speak as though I’m incapable of judging character for myself.”

That was not what Zayne was getting at at all, but you were already irate. “I don’t—”

“You entertain the princess, a woman who tried to make you her husband,” you went on, eyes sharp. “So tell me, why is it acceptable for you… but not me?”

Zayne held your gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The music swelled faintly around you, but the air around you felt cold.

There was a lot he wanted to say. That you were not meant for another man’s curiosity. That you are reserved for him only. That to him, you were precious more than anything.

But he knew better than to say it aloud, because you already looked at him with resentment.

“Take care of yourself.” He finally left you with those parting words.

He had never been a man of excessive affection or one to indulge in sweet words. Love, he believed, was best proven through stability, protection—through ensuring that you would never lack comfort nor security.

“Lord Zayne!”

But to give you everything, he was bound to give himself to his duties first.

Zayne held back a sigh and turned towards the voice—the princess royal, a vivacious woman trying to attract his attention, and forced a straight face.

“Your Highness,” he greeted evenly.

His fingers tightened around the stem of his cup, the cool porcelain grounding him.

. . .

While the banquet was lively, the laughter felt distant, the lanternlight a little too bright against your tired eyes. After the argument with your husband, you were honestly considering to retire for the night.

Your chest still felt tight.

It felt like an ache you could not soothe, because you honestly had enough of everything in this marriage. You wanted a husband who was present, not just dutiful— and Zayne wasn’t really fulfilling what you really desired.

You exhaled quietly, intent on leaving the grand hall behind. However—

“My lady.”

You were stopped in your tracks. The velvety voice came from your right. You turned.

Prince Rafayel stood nearby, dressed in darker robes of burgundy, the candlelight catching in the gold embroidery. Up close, his gaze was as intent as it had been earlier—unabashed in its attention.

He inclined his head politely, lips curved in a bright smile. “I trust the palace has been treating you well.”

You lowered your gaze in courtesy, once again bewildered by his presence before you. “His Majesty’s hospitality is generous. I lack for nothing.”

“Is that so?” he questioned lightly, “Is it just my imagination then... that you don’t seem particularly fond of it?”

The comment caught you off guard. You looked up at him, startled. His expression softened, as though aware he had stepped too close to something unheard of.

“Forgive me,” he said, lowering his tone. “It’s merely an observation. I suppose when one’s husband appears to be too close to a certain princess, you’re bound not to enjoy the evening.”

His gaze flickered across the hall, and you instinctively followed his line of sight only to see your husband with the no-nonsense princess, ever composed and attentive. You looked away.

“They say the Lord of Anlan is unmatched in the battlefield,” Rafayel began idly. “That he drove back the pirates without mercy and won the Emperor’s favor through sheer merit alone.”

“Yes,” you said softly. “He did.”

Rafayel glanced back at you, studying your expression.

“They also say,” he continued, “that he governs Anlan with fairness. That the people trust him. That he is a man who does not bend easily, nor does he offer himself cheaply to gain favor.”

Everything he said was true. Zayne was always steadfast. Honorable. Respectful. He had always been that way—even as a boy.

“Yes,” you admitted quietly, a smile slowly forming in your lips. “He is.”

Rafayel watched you for a moment longer, as though weighing something. Then, he reached for a nearby tray and lifted a cup of sweetened wine, offering it towards you.

“While all of them might be true, even the greatest man does not stand alone. Behind him is a woman just as remarkable. You must not diminish yourself beside him, my lady.”

Your breath stilled. An imperial prince was telling you that you were worth more than what you thought you were.

“You may not be a princess,” Rafayel continued, his voice warm but certain, “but you are in no way lesser. Everyone here knows it to be true—or at least, I do.”

Your cheeks flushed from the heat and flattery. “Your Highness... Thank you for your kind words.”

Prince Rafayel’s gaze held yours with quiet sincerity, still smiling. Your fingers closed around the cup before you could think better of it.

“And right now, you are far too lovely to spend the evening looking as though the world has wronged you.”

You let out a small breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and raised the cup to your lips.

The wine was sweet. Warmer than you expected, and the slight bitterness loosening something tight within you.

“Yes, just like that... chin up, my lady. The lanterns favor you better that way.”

You hadn’t realized how much you needed it.

Rafayel said nothing more, merely gesturing lightly when another tray passed. And when your cup emptied, another found its place in your hand.

And then another.

The warmth spread slowly through your limbs, softening the sharp edges of the evening. The distant laughter no longer felt so piercing. The ache in your chest dulled, and replaced by a fleeing sensation and your own laughter.

You drank, and drank... perhaps more than you should have.

But for the first time that night—

It became easier not to look across the hall.

At some point, Zayne realized he had not seen you in a while.

The moment he found a lull in his conversation with the princess, he excused himself at the first opportunity. His eyes swept the grand hall, but you were nowhere among them.

A faint unease settled into his chest, until he passed by his personal guard—

“My lord,” he bowed slightly.

“Did you see the lady?”

“I believe the Prince of Zhaole was seen escorting Her Ladyship out to the western terrace.”

Zayne’s eyes hardened. He immediately made his way towards the said terrace. He found you at last—

And Prince Rafayel stood beside you, too close for his liking.

“My lady, are you sure you’re fine?”

And you—

“Am fine! I’m fine!”

Your hand rested against the stone railing, posture swaying, your cheeks flushed and gaze watery. Flash of anger immediately filled Zayne’s sense at the sight.

Rafayel noticed him first and he turned to him courteously.

“Lord of Anlan,” the prince greeted smoothly, his expression calm. “I was merely keeping your lady company. It seemed the evening had become tiring for her.”

Zayne moved past the prince, taking big strides without acknowledging him.

“…My lord husband?” you murmured, voice soft when your eyes finally landed on him. Zayne immediately reached for you.

“Y/N,” he whispered in your ear, trying to ground you. But you staggered and crashed into his chest. His jaw tightened as he pulled you into his embrace.

That accursed prince had seen you like this.

“I shall take my wife back,” he said through gritted teeth.

Rafayel inclined his head with easy grace, putting on an easy smile. “Of course.”

Zayne put his arm around your shoulder, steadying you. You leaned into him instinctively as he led you through the quiet corridors, away from the prying eyes.

By the time you reached your chambers, your steps had grown even more unsteady. He guided you inside carefully, dismissing the servants with a glance before they could speak.

Your husband sat you gently on the edge of the bed, meanwhile you were still trying to get your bearings, blinking slowly.

“Are you alright? Do you feel dizzy?” Zayne asked, unable to conceal the worry in his voice. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing lightly against your warm skin, frowning deep. “I’ll get you some water.”

Your gaze followed his every movement as he crossed the room and poured water into a cup. He knelt before you again once he was done, holding the cup carefully toward your lips.

“Drink,” he coaxed gently.

You stared at cup of water. Then at his hand. Then at him.

Then, with clumsy defiance, you pushed the cup away. Splash!

Water sloshed over the rim, spilling onto his robe and the floor below. Zayne froze.

However, not caring about it at the slightest, you raised your hand abruptly, your finger pointing at him—

“You terrible, detestable, wicked—”

You might be slurring, but your eyes burned with clarity as you spew profanities at him:

“—husband!”

The last word left your lips and you slumped. Throughout the years you had been with him, Zayne had never seen you so openly wounded like this. He stared at you, at a loss of words.

You swayed where you sat, your arm falling limply back to your side.

“Yvonne said I’m pretty,” Your nose scrunched faintly as you sniffled. “My maids said I’m pretty too...”

Zayne tried to reach for you again, but you refuted his touch.

“And Prince Rafayel—” you continued, sounding borderline delirious, “He said I’m no less than a princess... So why—”

Your lashes were wet, tears blurring your vision, and your lips trembled as you glanced up at him:

“—am I not enough for you?”

The question pierced him cleanly. Zayne felt something twist inside his chest at the sight of you. He knew that with everything that had happened, you were bound to resent him. But he had loved you... still loved you even at right this moment.

He closed the distance between you then, gently and firmly taking your face in his hands before you could turn away again.

“Enough?” His voice dropped, dangerously close to breaking. His hazel eyes searched yours as if trying to carve the truth directly into your heart. “You are... You are more than enough.”

His thumb brushed away the tear that fell down your cheek. Something flickered across his expression— the hurt, but when his eyes shifted to your lips, it was replaced by something far more possessive.

“And you— must only look... at me.”

And then, Zayne crashed his lips into yours with fervor. One hand on your waist, he pulled you flush against him. The taste of salt lingered between you, your tears mingling with the heat of his mouth.

“Mmm...” You gasped into the kiss, fingers instinctively clutching at his robe—still damp from the water you had spilled.

He softened only slightly then, angling his head, kissing you slower but deeper. His thumb traced along your jaw, coaxing you to respond, to open for him. And when your lips parted for him, he groaned, before inserting his tongue to tangle with yours.

Each kiss lingered, pressed harder—until you melted into breathless sighs against his mouth.

When Zayne finally pulled back, his grayish hazel gaze held yours with such intensity that made it impossible to look away.

“You are more than enough,” he repeated, voice hoarse. “You undo me.”

His hand slid to your cheek again, gentler now, almost reverent.

“And if I have failed to show you that, then that’s my failing.”

You were half-conscious and all thoughts emptied from your head, spellbound by the restrained desire in your husband’s look.

His thumb traced your lower lip, swollen from his kisses. “Don’t measure yourself against another man’s gaze.”

He would show you how you meant to him, he vowed.

“For mine has never left you.”

. . .

Six months into marriage, and you had learnt that your husband wasn’t as gentle as he looked in marital bed.

With practiced fingers, he worked fast on the laces of your robes as he guided you to the said bed. He kissed the path from your lips to your throat, nipping at your skin— and at the same time, he palmed your breasts, his thumb brushing over your nipples in slow, deliberate circles until it tightened beneath his touch, sending a sharp, aching warmth through you.

“Zayne...” you gasped, arching to his touch.

“Tell me what you want, wife,” he growled against your ear, flicking your nipple in the process, making you squirm. “Tell me.”

Words failed you as his kisses grazed your collarbone, leaving love bites there. He followed the path from your shoulder— and you were in for a ride when he took your erect nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

A cry slipped from your lips, your nails digging into his hair. The sensation was overwhelming—heat pooling low in your belly, your breath coming in uneven gasps as your husband shamelessly suckling you.

“Ahh, mmrgh…”

He held you firmly, feeling every tremor running through your body. But suddenly, he lifted his head, lips glistening and eyes dark with lust, gazing straight at you. “I want to hear you first.”

“I...” your breath hitched, swallowing the shame. “I want your... mouth.”

“Beg.”

You fingers curling weakly against the sheets. “Your mouth, please—” you breathed out, heat blazing on face, “all over me.”

His lips quirked into a satisfied smile. “As you wish, my lady.”

And with that, Zayne moved to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, his sinful tongue swirling before he bit down gently on the flesh.

“Mmngh!” you moaned, head falling to the pillows. His mouth was relentless, and true to his word to fulfill your desire, your husband made sure you were sated with his mouth first.

He rained hot, open-mouthed kisses throughout your chest and abdomen next, and stopped just below your navel, dark eyes clouded with predatory haze.

The thought that he very much could get you swollen with his child after this night was through made himself hard. If his seed were to take hold within you tonight— even Prince Rafayel would know better.

His hand tightened at your waist, his lips pressing into the softness of your folds—and a second later, lapping at it like a man in throes of hunger. You gasped, grasping his hair, as he devoured you down there.

And in no time at all, your lord husband made you come on his tongue.

“Ah—aaah...” Your thighs trembled around him as pleasure washed through you.

He is cruel... You were hazy with drunken lust and tears, but you no longer cared enough to resist.

“Stop…” you whimpered. “Just… make love to me already…”

Your husband’s stern, hazel eyes turned to you, slightly widened at your bold plea. “Is that truly what my lady wishes?”

You glared at him. “Yes.”

And he honored your wish without hesitation. Zayne rose, shedding his garments with swift movements. His magnificent length sprang free, thick and hard, his hand closing around it as he stroked himself slowly—his eyes never leaving yours.

Your lord husband is very, very tantalizing, indeed...

He moved over you, settling his hips between your thighs. One hand wrapped around himself as he dragged his length slowly through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. He pressed against your entrance, the tip nudging there before he stilled, dark eyes once again confirming yours.

“Are you ready to take me, wife?”

You wrapped your legs around his torso, pulling him closer. “Please, Zayne— now.”

And with that, he pushed himself into you. You writhed, broken gasps spilling out of you—the way he stretched you was perfect, sinking into you slowly, making you feel every inch of himself.

Zayne grounded you by resting his forehead against yours, groaning into your mouth like a beast in heat. “Perfect,” he choked out.

When he began to move, you lost all your wits altogether. His thrusts were slow at first, each one reaching inside you impossibly deep— “Ah, ah...!”

But the rhythm did not stay gentle for long. It grew steadier, more insistent and faster. The lewd sound of skin slapping resounded in the room, your breathless moans mingled with his harsh grunts.

“Look at me,” Zayne commanded, voice rough. His hand came to your chin, turning your face toward him. “Look at your husband.”

You forced your eyes open, meeting his captivating gaze. In that fleeting instant, you thought you saw everything reflected there—lust, the aching need to be closer than flesh could allow, love.

He adjusted his angle, and suddenly struck that one spot that made you cry out. “T-there!”

A low growl rumbled from his chest as he aimed for that spot again, and again, relentless in his pursuit. Your vision blurred, your cries filling the room, clutching his shoulder helplessly as his unforgiving fingers found your clit—circling and rubbing it, driving you closer and closer to the brink.

And a second later, pleasure crashed through you without mercy. Your walls clenched around his girth, and the feeling of how you pulsed around him pulled a rough sound from his throat, making him lose his control at last.

He thrusted deep one last time, burying himself to the hilt as ropes of his cum filling your womb— sowing a part of himself in you.

The first thing you noticed when your eyes fluttered open was the warmth.

Soft, steady warmth wrapped around you, and golden sunlight filtered through the window, spilling across the bed in beams. For a moment, you simply lay there, suspended between sleep and waking, your body heavy.

Then you became aware of something else. An arm draped securely around your waist—

Your breath caught as the memories of the night before flickered faintly at the edges of your mind.

Last night, you and Zayne were...

You unwittingly let out a gasp, and your voice woke your husband.

Behind you, Zayne stirred. His hold tightened instinctively for a second, as though even half-asleep he refused to let you slip away. A low murmur brushed against your ear—

“…You’re awake.”

His thick voice sent a faint shiver down your spine. You slowly turned in his arms.

You were greeted with his beautiful face. The familiar line of his jaw. The faint crease between his brows as sleep gradually left him. The dark grayish hazel of his eyes as they focused fully on you.

It had been so long since he was in your bed. Long enough that waking up like this—tangled together, bare beneath the sheets, his warmth still wrapped around you—felt almost unreal.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Instead, your eyes grew glassy, emotion rising too quickly for you to contain. The sight of him made your chest ache.

“Y/N?” he asked quietly, catching your forlorn expression. A realization dawned on him—

His arm loosened at once, withdrawing from your waist as though your skin burned him. He shifted back, putting a small distance between your bodies.

“I won’t touch you again,” he said, voice steady, the spark in his eyes dimmed. “If last night was… a mistake in your eyes, then it will not happen again. I give you my word.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. After enduring days and nights of feeling unwanted, to experiencing the most exalting night in your life— only for him to spew this nonsense—

“You stupid, stupid lord!”

Before he could react, you seized the nearest bolster and smacked it against him. Zayne blinked, completely caught off guard as you struck him again.

He instinctively grabbed the sheets to cover himself, trying to shield his face from your assault. “Wife—”

“How dare you—!” you snapped, hitting him again. “You have ignored me for literal months, always busy with that damn princess, and then bedded me— only to say that?!”

Another blow landed against his shoulder.

For a man who commanded armies and terrified courtiers with a glance, Zayne looked utterly defenseless as you continued your attack, his hair disheveled, sheets barely clutched around his waist.

“You’re awful!” you continued, your voice trembling now for an entirely different reason. “I thought—”

Your arm faltered mid-swing, your grip on the bolster loosened. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” you choked out, the first of your tears falling.

The way you teared up made Zayne’s expression change instantly. He moved before you could turn away, his hands found your wrists, drawing you closer despite the awkward tangle of sheets between you.

“How could I not want you?” His thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching the tear there. “Marrying you… has been my goal from the very beginning.”

Your breath hitched. The memory of that spring replayed in your mind’s eye once again: “One day… I will become the greatest general in the land. Will you wait for me until then?”

Zayne’s jaw tightened in regret as he pulled you into his embrace.

“But apparently it was just the start, not the end. After our wedding, I thought that my duty next is to ensure you never have to want for anything. That if I build enough stability… enough wealth, then you would never feel lacking. And in doing so, I neglect something far more important.”

His other hand rose to cradle your cheek fully now. You found his steadfast gaze.

“You.”

Zayne leaned his forehead lightly against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and this time there was no pride left in his voice. “I should have treated you better. I should have been beside you more. Not just as your husband in name—but in truth.”

“You’re so silly.” You stared at him through your tears, poking his chest. “All this time… you thought I only needed wealth? Security?” Your fingers curled slightly in the fabric of the sheets between you. “I was right here, and yet you strayed so far away.”

If being silly was what would get you with him, then so be it. Zayne’s eyes softened in a way few people would ever be allowed to see.

“The girl who chased fireflies with me in the jasmine fields…” he smiled despite himself, picturing the little you who were always full of laughter for him. “When I asked her to wait for me, I also vowed that I would never let her experience any hardships in life once she came to be with me...”

You shook your head immediately, your hand sliding higher, resting over his heart firmly.

“I wanted to marry Zayne,” you said, looking at him with a frown. “Not the Lord of Anlan.”

Something in his expression broke then—not painfully, but like frost melting beneath the first warmth of spring.

His forehead rested against yours once more, his eyes closing as though savoring the closeness he had denied himself for far too long. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, and in that touch was his love for you.

“And you did,” he whispered. “You married a man who has loved you long before he ever became anything else.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I can’t prolong my stay within the imperial palace any further. My wife wishes to return home, and I don’t have it in me to deny her.”

Zayne’s voice was calm and unwavering as he stood before the throne, posture straight and expression composed, facing the ruler of the land himself.

“As for the princess… I am certain a worthy match will present himself in due time. So I humbly ask that Your Majesty refrain from summoning me again for this matter.”

The emperor scoffed, seeing the two of you off with thinly veiled exasperation, but this time, Zayne didn’t bend, nor did he seem troubled by the emperor’s displeasure.

He had chosen you, and from now on, he would continue to do so.

. . .

Preparations for your departure followed swiftly. Your servants and handmaidens moved with practiced efficiency, gathering belongings and readying the palanquin. Yet their eyes lingered, subtle curiosity passing between them as they noticed the unmistakable change.

“Have you seen them?”

“His Lordship hasn’t left her side once.”

“I’ve never seen him look at her like that before…”

Their voices carried in hushed murmurs, behind sleeves and lowered gazes, and you pretended not to hear, only greeted them with the brightest of smiles.

When the time came to board the palanquin, Zayne turned to you and offered his hand openly, a faint, reserved smile resting upon his lips—one meant only for you.

The servants fell into stunned silence as you placed your hand in his, in awe at the picturesque sight of their dashing lord and beautiful lady. It was a simple gesture, one they had witnessed countless times before.

But this time, there was clearly something different in the air.

He helped you into the palanquin carefully, his hold steady—as though you were something precious. And this time, he didn’t ride the horse, but went inside along with you.

“…I think they’ve reconciled, at last,” one handmaiden murmured softly.

“It’s about time,” the lord’s personal guard sighed.

A heartfelt smile appeared on Yvonne’s face. “Ohh, I’m glad!”

And truly, they all were.

They had always admired him—their stern, unyielding lord, a man of discipline and honor.

And they cherished you—the general’s lady, whose kindness had touched every corner of Anlan.

To see the two of you now, no longer separated by silence but standing side by side as husband and wife… It felt like watching the very first blossom of spring unfurl after winter.

“I’ve got nothing.” You placed your hands to the back of your head, slugging back at your desk chair with a groan. Even after hours of thinking about your next issue, nothing came to mind. Utahime leaned over, peeking at the blank screen, watching as the cursor blinked. “Oh sweetheart, you’ve got writer's block?” You nodded, poking your tongue against your cheek. 

“I just wish I could write about something other than how to properly wax your armpits, or how to lose weight in 5 days. There’s real world problems out there that I would love to bring awareness to.” 

“Yeah well, this is a chic magazine, not a political magazine. Once you have your career and you’re out of this hell hole, write all about what you want.” Utahime reasoned. She was right, this wasn’t a job, it’s just a club that writes for the school. 

“Where’s Miwa when you need her?” Your voice came out in a whine, slamming your fingers at your keyboard. Utahime glanced around the room, looking for the familiar blue hair. “She’s late. The meeting began over half an hour ago.” 

She sighed, stepping back when you pushed off your desk. “Look what came into my mail this morning.” You grumbled. Utahume’s ears perked up, reaching for the envelope. Inside were two tickets to the world cup. USA versus Paraguay, middle seats, perfect view. “Woah ho-ho, what are these?” 

“Remember that editor from the sports magazine I had a drink or two with last week? Guess he mistook my kindness for flirting or maybe he really appreciated me being the sweet girl I am.” 

“Must be nice.” 

You both turned to the voice behind you, making you and Utahime jump in fear. 

“Miwa! Jesus.” Your hand grabbed onto your chest, feeling your heartbeat accelerate. There were dark circles underneath her eyes and the ruined mascara evidence of tears. “What happened to you?” 

“What didn’t happen?” She sniffled, dragging his hand over her stuffy nose. “He dumped me. Oh my god, he dumped me.” 

“Get her a cigarette.” Utahime whispered. You hurriedly digged into your purse, taking out the box of cigs, handing them over to Miwa. “You guys didn’t make it past two weeks.” You hit Utahime’s stomach with your elbow, making her wince. 

“I know. And it was the best goddamn week and a half of my life.” 

“What even happened girl?” You opened up your arms to comfort her in a hug that she happily accepted. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.” 

You nodded, rubbing her back. 

Then, she broke down again. “He said I was ‘too much’ and I didn’t understand because I thought everything was going great! It was great and I blew it all up because I moved too quickly.” 

“What do you mean?” Utahime rested against the desk after trying her long hair into a ponytail in hopes of escaping the hot weather. “Don’t tell me you said ‘I love you’, that’s common sense.” She snickered. 

“Well..” 

“Miwa.” You and Utahime scolded. 

“The sex was really beautiful!” Miwa added, as if that made matters better. “And I cried and I said it, it just slipped out!” 

“That’s why he ended it?” 

“I think. Or maybe it was because of the amount of times I called him while he was “busy” or y’know, it’s probably because I’m fat.” 

“You’re not fat.” Your voices came out in unison once again. As you continued scolding Miwa for her poor choices in the ephemeral relationship, a lightbulb turned on inside Utahime's head. She clapped her hands in order to get your attention. “There it is. There’s your page.” 

“My page?” 

“Uh huh. Think about all those girls on this campus who are struggling just like Miwa. Ones that have problems hanging on to relationships. You can write about these classic mistakes most women do that drive men away.” 

You stood up straighter, all kinds of ideas popping into your head. “That’s not bad at all. I can ‘date’ a guy and see how long it takes until he snaps.” 

Your friend nodded, squealing. “Yes!” She clasped her hands with yours, jumping up and down. “It’ll be titled ‘How to lose a guy in 10 ways..” Utahime looked over to her fourth wall, moving her hand to the side to picture the title. 

Miwa blew her nose loudly, reminding you that she was still here. 

“How about ‘How to lose a guy in 10 days?’ That’s the total you guys were together right?” You cringed when Miwa threw her used tissue on your desk. “Yes, that’s right.” 

“Perfect. Now all that’s left is to find the guy.” 

The windows in the classroom were open, letting the slight breeze pass in. Outside, a whistle blew along with some yelling. “I can’t focus with all the chatter, what’s even going on?” You all made your way towards the window, peeking out. The soccer team was lined up, some doing reps while others stood by, discussing some very serious matter. 

“They’re getting ready for an upcoming game.” You leaned forward, hair blowing all over the place. The field was buzzing with energy, cleats full of the freshly cut grass. Miwa walked away, crying once again. “I saw him just now.” 

“Oh my god Miwa.” Utahime followed after her. 

You stayed put, skimming through the small crowd until someone stood out. His white hair almost blinded you from the sun’s reflection. The guy was tall and well built, you could tell even from a distance. “What about him?” 

“Who?” 

“Number 10.” 

Utahime immediately groaned. “Oh absolutely not. He’d drive you insane before you even got to try your little experiment first.” 

“Do you know him personally?” Your eyes never left him. 

“Satoru Gojo. Went to high school with him, worst guy ever. He never knows when to shut up.” You finally left the window, deep in thought. “Then I guess I’ll be the one to change him up.” 

⋆˚꩜｡

The team was still outside having practice games, taking turns shooting at the net. A boy with hair thrown up into a bun kicked harshly only to miss, earning a groan from others. “Yo man, it’s like you've got two left legs!” 

“I’ll shove them both up your ass if you don’t shut the fuck up.” 

Yikes. You lingered a moment before going over to the bleachers. There he was, standing with both hands on his hips, getting ready to catch the ball. 

“How do you plan on talking to him?” Miwa leaned over to whisper into your ear. You hushed her, about to scold her for her attempt at whispering when suddenly, the ball came flying directly at you, hitting you straight in the face. 

A sharp pain struck across your nose, making you bring your hands up to cover it. 

“Oh my god!” Miwa’s voice jumped an octave, grabbing your arm to gently tug it off your face. “Hold on, let me see!”

Another voice appeared, one that was breathless and panicked. “Shit, I’m so so sorry! Are you okay? I have a super bad aim today for some reason.” Your eyes widened when they met him, it was Satoru, looking down at you with a worried look on his face. 

He was even more oddly beautiful up close. 

“Uh.. it’s fine.” You managed out. 

“Are you sure? You don’t look fine.” He chuckled, wiping the small drop of blood that dripped out your nostril. “That’s gonna leave a bruise.” If it wasn’t for your article, you would've punched him repeatedly to break his nose. “I’m sorry again.. Uh I can go get you ice-”

“No, no it's fine, seriously.” 

Miwa gave you a look, one that was urging you to ask him for his number or anything. “You can make it up to me some other way..” Your words slipped out suddenly. Satoru’s brows lifted. “Yeah? What way are we talking here?” 

A grin was slowly morphing its way onto his face. 

“.. By taking me out.” 

“Out?”

“On a date.”

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You jolt.

“Oh!”

A man in a white lab coat and slacks sits at a desk. He has luscious blond hair, glasses, and a face as stoic as a speculum. You’re taken aback by his handsomeness. Broad shoulders, defined features, chiselled face, and great height. How is it possible that he’s a doctor and not a Breeder?

The demand for his superior genetics would be through the roof. 

“H-hi, doctor. Forgive me, I didn’t see you.”

You’re grateful to be paired with someone young and attractive. One of your neighbours had an old man who she claimed should have retired decades ago. It’s a blessing to have nice eye candy.

As though he knows exactly what you’re thinking, he purses his lips. “It’s quite alright.” Then he jerks his chin, encouraging you to step in and close the door behind you. “I’m Doctor Kento Nanami, you may call me Doctor or Nanami or the two combined.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

His eyes meet yours. One glance up and down your body is all he needs, and he’s returning to his papers. 

Scribbling notes down on a pad, your eyes focus on the slenderness of his fingers and their length. Is he gentle or clinical in his approach?

Your older friend had a very gentle one and she said the process felt quite relaxing, almost therapeutic. Meanwhile, your other friend remarked how cold and unfeeling her doctor was, and that she was on edge the entire time. And another one of your friends said hers was actually rather rough, like a father scolding a child!

Which would you prefer, you wonder.

Doctor Nanami asks, “You have been informed about the due process, yes?”

The State mandated broadcasts are your bread and butter as a young woman; there’s no way you could forget the procedure. For the longest time, you’d been dreaming of this moment and finally it’s here. You won’t mess it up. 

“Yes, of course — I must strip all of my clothes, lie on the chair, and place my feet on the stirrups,” you recite, cheerfully. 

He raises a brow at you. 

Somehow you’re getting the impression that he’s not very impressed with your enthusiasm. Maybe it’s because he’s been doing this for so long. Maybe he’s seen it all, and more, and he’s just looking forward to getting it over and done with. Or maybe he just really doesn’t like you. 

Regardless, you’re undeterred. 

Humming under your breath, you shrug off your clothes and fold them on the table to the side, like you’ve seen in  the videos. It’s cold here, and you fight the shivers threatening to wrack your body. 

As an aspiring Female Breeder, nudity is something you’ve had to grow familiar and comfortable with but now that you’re faced with your first time being nude in front of the opposite gender, it feels a little too daunting. 

Heat flushes on your skin, embarrassment coursing through your veins, although one shy glance at him reveals he isn’t looking at you at all. 

Are you disappointed or relieved?

The nurses had thoroughly cleansed and prepped your body — you’re washed, exfoliated, and waxed from head to toe. You’ve never felt cleaner and softer, like a newborn baby. 

You climb onto the chair, the protective paper crinkling beneath you, and spread your legs. It faces him entirely, and you have to rationalise with yourself that he’s probably seen a thousand vaginas in his life and he won’t think yours look weird at all.

Bright, white light shines down upon you, and you squint at its blinding capacity. Then, you hear him put his pen down, and push his chair back.

“Alright, I will begin the examination now.” 

Craning to see him, you watch him roll his sleeves up revealing the thickness of his forearms, the light hairs, and the prominent veins that run up the length and bulge with his movement. Doctor Nanami snaps latex gloves on with expert precision, a rehearsed move that’s become a habit. 

He carries a clipboard and a pen, and he comes to stand over you, eyes roving over your body. 

“I’ll be making notes for your record, please don’t mind me,” he mutters, adjusting his glasses. 

You fight the urge to squirm under his gaze; it’s like you can feel the weight of his all-seeing eyes and where they land, where they skim, where they narrow in on, and where they return to. Does he find you attractive? If he saw you in the streets, would he be overcome with the need to breed you, hard and rough on the dirty ground?

“Forgive my touch,” Doctor Nanami says, reaching a hand down to press three fingers on the fat of your breast. He watches it bounce, and notes down his thoughts. “Your areolas seem to be quite average in size, neither too small nor too large per regulations. Its shade is also of interest.”

No one’s ever voiced out their assessment of your body like so. He’s so blunt, so matter-of-fact. Yet, you find that you don’t really mind it. It’s much better than the crude lies boys tell you. Many have tried to get under your skirt but you never let them. You vowed that your first time being touched would be by a respectable man who would accurately know your worth. And who would be better than someone whose whole occupation is dedicated to determining the worth of Breeders?

Doctor Nanami asks, “Do you touch your breasts?”

“Um, touch as in…”

He looks at you over the clipboard. “Do you play with your breasts? Do you squeeze them, grope them, tease your nipples, have you determined their sensitivity?”

“No…sorry.”

The State encourages you all to explore their bodies, to know your likes and dislikes as appropriate, but you never did. It seemed too scary for you. Virgins are not seen as especially good nor particularly bad in today’s climate. In fact, experience and skill is more valuable. That’s why you were hoping you could just leave it to the experts, when it came down to ‘getting down.’ At least then, they wouldn’t accidentally break something, like you fear you would.

Shaking his head, he says, “It’s nothing to apologise for. It simply means I will have to determine for myself.” He flicks to a different page on his clipboard and signs something. “Do you consent?”

“I consent.”

Board placed down on a metal table, he leaves both hands free. 

You gulp as they approach your breasts.

A finger brushes lightly against the underside. You stiffen. It ventures up, circling your nipple but not touching just yet. Voice deep, he asks, “You know the breeding term for your breasts, yes?”

Suddenly feeling like you’re back in school, you answer, “Tits, sir— sorry, I mean, Doctor.”

His lip twitches. “That’s quite alright.”

His finger flicks your nipple, the bud already hard due to the chill of the examination room. You gasp. 

Doctor Nanami nods, and does the same to the other. Now, both of your breasts are being groped. You writhe beneath him. “You have above average sensitivity,” he notes. “Are you partial to the sting of pain?”

“I-I don’t know,” you confess, distracted by the sensation of your nipples being flicked and rolled by latex-covered fingers. 

“Well, let’s see, shall we?” That’s all the warning he gives you before he pinches both nipples hard. You wince, body ever so slightly jerking away from his merciless touch. The doctor hums. “It does not appear to be your thing. I’ll have to conduct more tests to determine for sure you do not have masochistic traits.”

Quietly and with a drop of fright, you ask, “Tests? What kind of tests?”

He presses a button on the chair, and the top half of your body is lowered down until your eyes are at his crotch level. You avert your eyes. 

“Full-body tests. As per your records, you are a virgin and with little to no sexual exploration of yourself, correct?” He waits for your nod. He continues. “It means there is much information about you the State will be missing. It is my duty to fill in those blanks. You may revoke your consent now, but do be aware that you will have to rebook, and there is a backlog, so you may have to wait months before gaining your certification.”

You shake your head. “No, no, I don’t want to wait. You’re free to do whatever you’d like with me, Doctor.”

“Careful,” he rasps. “Those are Breeding words, Miss, and you are aware that, as per regulations, upon your consent to please, I have every right to take you up on that offer.”

Licking your lips, you allow yourself to eye the bulge that’s steadily growing in his slacks. Heat rushes to your pussy. You hadn’t meant to say those words, especially because you’re not yet qualified to do so, but you’re only one step away and, S.M.S.E. (State Mandated Sexual Examiners) have the privilege of being able to examine anyone they’d like — women who are not yet 21 but are at least 18, already married women, mothers, strangers on the street who wear the yellow pin to show they’re certified to fornicate in public. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to learn all about yourself before you step out into the wider world a real woman. 

Plus, it’d be nice if your first time could be taken by someone as hot as him.

“I’d like a full body examination please, Doctor. I understand the implications of my word and consent to leaving my body to your full scrutiny,” you recite the prepared speech. “Please take care of me.”

Doctor Nanami sighs and picks up the clipboard. He signs another random page and hands it over to you. The page is titled ‘Virginity Removal Consent Form.’

At the bottom line, you sign too. 

The dull thud of it placed back on the table signifies the finality of the contract. 

Your heart beats faster, palms sweating, and core tingling to life.

“Alright, let’s start with your vagina.” 

He drags his chair over to where your legs are spread on the stirrups, and sits there. You know he can see everything, and you know he’s properly looking now. You hope he’s not weirded out by how wet you are. His gloved hands rests on your knees, sliding down your inner thighs, rubbing warmth there, before they push them wider. 

“Do you know the correct term for your vagina?”

“P-pussy,” you answer.

He nods, patting your thigh. “Good. Will you describe for me what I’m doing right now?”

“You’re looking at my pussy, Doctor.”

His fingers stroke your puffy lips, assessing the shape, size and colour, you’re sure. He spreads them open then, revealing you fully to his watchful eyes. “And now?”

“You’re spreading my pussy lips open, Doctor.”

“And if I have an erection in my pants, it means?”

You’re breathless at the question, and you’re aware that, at the twitch of his lips, he saw the twitch of your clit. You want to hide from him, but you can’t. And he wouldn’t let you. Despite your nervousness, you reply, “It means you like what you see?”

“And if my mouth is watering?”

A gasp tears out of you. 

Countless videos have prepared you for your lines, but they’ve never prepared you for the real thing, never prepped you to be so openly desired by someone older and more experienced. How can he so easily say something like that? Doesn’t he know the effect he has on women?

His voice is so deep, so raspy, and his touch is warm despite the layer that keeps him from really touching you. Having such a hot doctor wasn’t a blessing, you realise; it’s a curse.

SMACK!

You yelp, thighs shutting around his hand. He’d slapped your pussy. 

Growling, he shoves them back open and says, “I will repeat myself once, and only once — what does it mean if my mouth waters at the sight of your pretty pussy?”

“You want to taste it.”

Doctor Nanami’s breath fans across your sopping cunt. His hands tuuuuug you down so you’re even closer to his face. He doesn’t touch you there yet. No, he’s taking his time. First, he tests you again. “What’s this action called, hmm?”

“C-cunnilingus?”

“Are you asking or telling me?”

His curt tone leaves no room for argument; he’s not the kind of man who’s playful during sex, or even before nor after, it seems. 

Eager to feel his mouth on you, to know what it feels like to be eaten out, to know for yourself if it feels as good as the couple you always see on the park bench on your way to school makes it seem, you whine, “Telling you, sir. Please taste me, please, Doctor.”

The scruff on his jaw rubs your inner thigh as he mutters, “You must be top in your class in Begging 101.”

Then, he’s tasting you.

A lap of his long, flat tongue covers your entire slit from hole to clit. He collects your wetness and gulps it down. Doctor Nanami mulls the taste over and says aloud, “Sweet. A 9.2 out of 10. I can tell you keep a healthy diet. Very good.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You feel his smile on your clit, lips mouthing against the pulsing thing. “Such a polite girl you are. You’ll make for a very good Breeder.”

That’s all you’ve ever wanted — to be taken so readily in the streets, to be watched as you’re fucked so good by a big, strong man who only wants to pump his cum inside your pussy, and be stretched out enough for another to slip in easily. You want to make your country proud.

Doctor Nanami laps up your juices precisely. 

He doesn’t hesitate to circle the rim of your other hole too, if an errant drop were to escape him. In fact, he lingers there for a moment, waiting until you’re absolutely squirming and whimpering for it. 

His tongue flicks your clit over and over again, sucking on the bud so you’ll hear the squelches! and feel the incredible pleasure of being eaten out by a pro.

Your hips rock towards his face, seeking the friction. The doctor’s gorging himself on your creamy juices, tasting you as if you’re just so delicious, so intoxicating. Tongue lashing through your cunt, he slithers it through, all while massaging your ass, kneading the flesh to comfort you.

He’s paying so much attention on your clit, it has you panting like a dog, and fighting to scramble away from him. “Ngh! Not there, please doctor.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” he scolds, yanking you back, and slapping your clit in punishment. You squeal. “The clitoris is where you’ll feel the most pleasure. Do not run from it.”

Squirming and blubbering, you confess, “It feels too scary.”

“Then I highly recommend you rub your little clit when you get home until you’re cumming all over your sheets. Grow very familiar with your pussy. I don’t want any arguments about it. You think a Breeder would go easy on your cunt?”

Of course the answer is no. You’ve seen from demonstrations in your college how relentless and cruel dominant Breeders can be — they’ll have you crying and begging and saying things you’d never say in any other situation. And by god, were you always so jealous. Like the other girls, you’d squeeze your thighs, soaking through your panties when piercing eyes would land on you, and scarred lips would curl into a smirk, as though vowing it’d be you next.

Delirious with the roughness of his slurrrping!, you can only nod and promise, “I will. I’ll rub my clit so hard later, Doctor.”

“Good girl.”

A dollop of spit lands with a thwack! right on your clit, sliding down your slit and mingling with your sloppy juices. Two fingers rub it in. He holds up his soaked hand, spreading the long digits to show you the translucent web it creates. Almost monotone, he quizzes you again, “What is the purpose of your pussy juices?”

“Lubrication.”

“Lubrication of what.”

“Of anything you want to put inside me, Doctor,” you mewl.

Doctor Nanami nods, pleased. “Clever girl. Most women answer with ‘cock’ or ‘fingers’ but the accurate answer is, the lubrication is to ease the entry of anything. Of course, there are a number of things you should not penetrate a pussy with, but in theory, anything goes. Now, relax for me.”

He pushes those two fingers in, pinning your hips with a heavy arm thrown over your belly so you can’t run away from the pressure.

They stretch you out, immediately curling upwards and finding that spot inside your gummy walls the broadcasts taught you was called a ‘g-spot’. It has you creaming even more on his fingers. 

The feeling of latex against soft skin is odd, though it doesn’t bother you. It’s not a very thick material at all. You can still feel the callouses on his fingers, albeit weakly. Still, you wish you could feel him bare.

A thumb rubs your clit in tight circles, all while his fingers press in from inside, thoroughly stimulating all around and you feel it building and building. The doctor clamps his mouth over your clit, resistant to shoving hands.

“S-shit, I think I’m going to pee!”

“No,” he says, dragging the word out like you’re a child. “It’s not pee. You know what it is. Say it.”

Your cunt clenches around him. “Cum! Doctor, I’m gonna cum.”

“Yes, yes you are. But you must hold it.”

Eyes widening, you stare down at him, bewildered. “No, I can’t. I can’t hold it in!”

His cold eyes pin you to the chair, and with challenge in those eyes, he doubles the speed and intensity in which he’s sucking your clit and curling against your g-spot. “You can, and you will. Do not come until I count to one, do you hear me?”

A strong wrist pistons his fingers in, never missing that sensitive spot inside you, never breaking eye contact and never letting your clit get a second to rest.

“Three,” he says.

The obscene squelches he’s wringing from you reach your ears, filling the room, and you have to wonder if anyone could hear what’s happening here from outside. They’d probably be so jealous, waiting for their turn. 

“Two.”