Max

"How are you feeling?" You knew this version of Caleb well; the pink tinted ears, hands that always found your thigh, your lower back. Drawn to you like a planet drawn towards the sun.

Game night always ended like this, with bottles of peach soju lined up on the counter and takeaway boxes still open. Gideon's head in his hands, telling you both how much he loved you, that he can't wait to be the best man when Caleb finally proposed. Caleb's arm draped around you, lazily drawing circles into your shoulder, his thigh pressed against yours. Limbs hazy with good company and a couple drinks.

"M'good, pip." He leans into your touch, sighing softly as your fingers run through his hair.

"I think you should have some water," you slowly untangle yourself from him, closing the front door. Caleb huffs lightly, hovering behind you each step towards the kitchen. He's like a magnet, hands pulled towards your waist while you pull a glass down, chin on top of your head as you test the water. Chest pressed against your back as you fill the cup.

"Okay," you carefully turn in his arms to face him, fingers pressing into his chest to push back slightly and offer the glass towards him. "Drink."

"You gonna make me?" he smirks, thumbs playing with the belt loops of your shorts. Eyes slightly glassy but always focused intently on you.

"Caleb-," you say slowly, debating whether you should play along or not, when his hand slowly runs up your arm and rests over yours on the glass.

You swallow the rest of your words as his lips meet the cup, encouraging your hand to tilt the cup more to his mouth. He drinks in slow sips, eyes locked on yours until the cup his empty and you're still holding the glass up.

"See? M'Good." His hand falls back to you belt loops again, tugging you forward, heat pooling in your stomach. "I can listen."

When he looks at you like this, cheeks flushed, eyes softened with adoration — you feel a bit like the sun. Like maybe he's basking in your light, desperate for warmth to reach the deepest parts. It makes your chest ache.

"I think it's time for bed," you offer it lightly, setting the cup on the counter, then your palm on his chest.

"Are you coming?" It's a quiet request, as he rests his hand on top of yours.

"I'll be in soon," you stand on tip toe to kiss the tip of his nose. "Let me clean up first." He chases your lips with his, feathering light kisses against your lips, your jaw, then your nose.

"Bed," you hum when he presses his forehead against yours, the determined part of you slowly melting away with each touch. His brow furrows slightly but he goes, almost dragging his feet down the hall.

There's always the smallest ache when he walks away, memories rooted deep that can't help but unearth themselves. You were always two halves of a whole, never complete without the other.

So you soften the silence, collect bottles that clink together, turn on the faucet. Shift the feeling with warm water and jasmine scented dish soap and focus on how the water clears soap bubbles down the drain. Until familiar arms wrap around you again, and you feel anchored.

"I thought you were coming to bed."

You melt into his touch, let him trail his hands down your arms to soapy hands and rinse them off in the warm water together.

"I thought you were going to bed," your words are hushed as he turns off the sink.

"Can't without you," he presses a kiss against the top of your head, gently coaxes you towards the couch. You allow yourself this, to be pulled into his lap, his hands wrapped around your hips, your arms behind his neck. Because you need this too.

"This isn't bed," you speak it quietly as you settle into his lap, running your fingers appreciatively through his hair.

A small groan starts in his throat, his hands slipping your sides then down again. Moored to you by touch, by sight.

In the low light, his eyes trace over your features, dipping lazily to your lips. "I feel dizzy," he whispers back to you, thumbs drawing circles at your hips.

"Then you definitely need more water," yet you make no move to go, bringing your own hands to his face to trace the curve of his cheeks with your thumbs.

Caleb shakes head, "No, you make me feel dizzy." He slides you even closer, chests pressed together so you can hear each quiet word, feel the thrum of his heart. "Like my skin's too warm, like I can't think clearly."

"I think that's the peach soju," you say weakly, resting your forehead against his.

"Yeah?" his lips graze yours, the slight touch making your skin hum. "Even when I feel like this every time I see you?"

When Caleb kisses you, it's achingly slow. Lips brushing over yours, skin tingling with the barest touch. He takes his time, savoring the slow movement of your lips melding against his. Tongue tracing the ridges of your teeth, hot as it swirls against yours. The room melts away, till it's only him and his touch.

Your phone buzzes from the counter bringing you both back to earth, shirts slightly ruffled, lips spit-slick and swollen, feeling breathless.

"Gideon got home safe," you murmur against him, pressing another kiss to his jaw.

Caleb chuckles a short 'yeah', wrapping his arms around and pulling you both down, tucking you between him and the couch. "Guess it got kinda late, huh?"

"Yeah," you slot your thigh between his, surrounded by him, by warmth. It's nearly overwhelming, the peace he brings you. You hope he can feel it in your touch, through your fingers playing with hair at his nape.

And maybe he does feel the same way — in the slow rise of his chest, in limbs that relax into your touch, in features soothed by sleep.

postscript. tysm for reading! <333