honeybun

You want to strip out of this lingerie that feels more and more like a costume, pathetic and useless on you; you kinda want to tear your flesh off too, or somehow be magically transported back to your place in Linkon, to the moment before you added this fucking outfit to your cart.

Silence prevails on the other side of the door, so much that you can hear the hum of the city below. Of course Caleb wouldn’t come looking for you, you feel so fucking stupid.

…

Caleb can’t exactly tell what he’s expecting to see, after he settles down on his office chair with a shit eating grin. He has ideas that dance across his mind, one more delightful than the last. You, sweetly calling his name and prancing in to sit in lap. You, annoyed, standing hands on hips in the doorway and calling him out for being an asshole when you’ve made yourself so tempting for him.

He doesn’t prepare himself for dead silence. The lack of reaction from you is in fact so startling that it makes him pace a few laps around his desk. Are you waiting him out? You couldn’t have fallen asleep in so little time right? It’s you though, so he can’t be sure, in all honesty.

It takes around fifteen minutes of stewing before he finally breaks and he makes his way back to the living room, coatless and with quite a few buttons if his crisp white shirt undone, only to find it empty. No noise, no you, only the book you were pretending to read tossed haphazardly over the couch.

In a moment of madness Caleb imagines you out there in Skyhaven, all lace and sweetness and the temper he can’t live without. As if you would’ve just walked out his door in that state, for no reason he can readily grasp.

“Pips?” His voice is far steadier than he feels. It echoes in a way he’s no longer used to, since you started building this new relationship where he can finally love you openly, loudly, unashamedly.

You don’t answer, but Caleb’s good at minding the details, and the sound he picks up from behind your door is one he’s trained himself to recognize even if you try your damndest to hide it.

You’re crying, muffling it into a pillow by the dull sob he barely catches, and it breaks his heart clean in half. He did this. There must’ve been signs, somewhere in your face, in the way your eyes peeked over the cover of the airplane manual you used as a prop, that you weren’t up for games tonight, not that kind at least. And he missed them.

It’s quite obvious, here standing at your door, knocking softly so he doesn’t startle you. You generally don’t pose yourself, specially not so overtly that it makes you look uncomfortable. Caleb’s whole chest aches with the thought of you, coming to the conclusion that he doesn’t appreciate the effort, or that he doesn’t find you the most attractive person he’s ever had the honor of laying eyes on.

So he drops the nicknames, whispers your name instead to ask you to open the door, to let you know he means it. And maybe it works, maybe you just hear the guilt in his voice, the honest desire to make this right, because you disengage the lock for him.

Caleb tries, he really does his level best not to crowd you, but you’re there, now in one of his shirts and sleep shorts. Your eyes are red, hair a mess, and he can clearly see from here a scrap of torn lace peeking out of the trash can in the corner.

“Baby—“

You’re not looking at him, like your bare feet are the most interesting thing in the world.

“I just wanted to feel pretty for you.”

His hands fucking shake at your admission. Caleb understands how much it takes for you to be this vulnerable, with him or anybody. It takes you feeling like you can’t hold things anymore. You, the strongest person he knows.

“You’re so beautiful, I can’t believe you’re real sometimes, Pips,” he attempts. It’s not enough. “I’m so sorry I didn’t show you tonight.”

“No, I’m not sexy,” your eyes shine with fresh tears, head shaking, “you’re so handsome and strong and lovely, you stop people on the street and I’m just a— blob.”

“Baby, you’re my only fantasy. Since the very beginning, every bit of you. I’ve only ever wanted you, the sexiest, prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. The only one that drives me crazy.”

You hiccup and finally, finally, take a step into him. You settle your arms around him and your cheek against his chest; and Caleb has permission to hold you at last. He folds over you, trying to hide you from the world that could make you think you’re shapeless. As if you’re not the axis that defines him, the shining point his life revolves around.

He tries not to cry himself, but he feels you tucked into him, warm, soft flesh around an iron core that still needs his reassurance from time to time. He needs to tell you more, he figures, has to be more transparent about how you’re always on his mind. How the thought of your voice soothes him when tension stiffens the back of his neck; and the memory of your skin on his is the one thing that’s sure to help him sleep at night when you’re not here.

Caleb coaxes you under the covers eventually, he moves with you, keeping a hand always on your body, —your arms, your thighs, whatever he can reach as your breathing settles, exhausted. And he’s talking nonsense, the unfiltered running commentary he usually keeps to himself.

You’re so warm. I love this little dimple here. This scar is my favorite cause I told you not to climb that tree and you did it anyway to prove me wrong. I wish I could sleep with these icicle feet in my bed every night.

Then you’re laughing, face tucked into the crook of his neck, mumbling that you love him. The full three words —four— ‘I love you, Caleb’.