An Eye For An Eye And The World Goes Blind.

“What?” His head tilted to the side then, lips twitching as he held back a laugh.

What brought this on? Even your mind wondered amidst your haze. Maybe it was because you had feel too much, seen too much—

You squared your shoulders, lifting your chin with bold conviction that might have been impressive—if not for the way you tipped forward and tumbled to him.

Caleb reacted instantly, catching you and drawing you into him. You landed in his lap, your legs tangling with his as though they belonged there.

“I said,” you repeated, slower this time, peering up at him with a petulant look as you jabbed a finger into his chest in a futile attempt to gain authority, “sleep with me tonight.”

He squeezed your sides, dashing smile on his face. “…You’re drunk.”

“Am not.”

“You—” Caleb gave up halfway, bursting into snickers despite himself. You looked utterly adorable to him, all needy and flushed, trying to make him pay attention to you.

Meanwhile, you stared at him, affronted. He was laughing at you, who had just gathered every ounce of courage in your body (assisted by liquid courage, no less) to deliver such a bold, life-altering declaration.

Your finger poked his chest again, weaker this time. “Take me seriously.”

“Yeah, yeah...” he said, though the curve of his lips betrayed him. You narrowed your eyes, while his amethyst ones crinkled at you.

He shouldn’t look at you like that. Not with that softness. Not with that endearing, indulging fondness that made your heart stutter in your chest and your resolve increased tenfold.

You loved being in Caleb’s arms. You felt thoroughly protected, sheltered, loved. And everyone around you was having proposals, engagements, weddings—

So why hadn’t he...?

“You—” you continued, raising your head as if presenting a compelling argument, “You can do whatever you want to me tonight.”

So many years. You had been by Caleb’s side for so long, spent in longing and yearning, and you were dying to step towards the future with him. In your hazy thoughts, you thought that if you offered yourself to him, then it would compel him to somehow fulfill your wishes.

Caleb’s brow arched slightly, his smile never fading. But his eyes changed. They sharpened, searching your face as if trying to separate courage from impulse.

“…Whatever I want?” he repeated carefully.

You nodded firmly—or at least, what you thought was firmly—your grip tightening in his shirt.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t regret it tomorrow?”

You frowned at him. “You ask too many questions.”

Caleb leaned closer then, his nose bobbed lightly against yours in a soft nudge. The gesture was intimate in a way that made your breath catch.

He exhaled, the sound warm against your lips.

“…Okay,” he nodded at last. “Just don’t blame me later.”

Your heart skipped, stumbling over itself as anticipation grew. Even if you couldn’t have your dreams of future, you could still have this—his attention, his warmth wrapped around you tonight.

And then, with a final tone that made your silly heart face even faster, he sealed it with:

“Tonight, you’re staying with me.”

. . .

“Caleeeeb!”

You whined, full of outrage as you twisted in Caleb’s arms, visibly irate and ready to roast him alive.

Your scheming lover, spooning you from behind with one arm draped over your waist, merely hummed, “Mm-hm? What is it, meimei?”

“What is this?!” you demanded, gesturing vaguely at everything—most notably, the the audacity of this man.

Apparently, the “whatever” that he meant… was too far from your imagination.

The moment he got you into his room, Caleb had guided you to his bed with gentleness. Before you could even begin to prepare yourself, he reached over and switched on the fan.

On the highest setting. The blades whirred to life, sending a powerful stream of air cascading over you both. And then, as if that weren’t enough, he grabbed the remote from his bedside table and turned on the air conditioner too.

Also to the coldest setting.

“You said I could do whatever I wanted,” he drawled in your ear, tightening his hold on you. “I want to cuddle.”

“Grr…” you growled under your breath, frustrated beyond words.

The sheer absurdity cleared away all your drunken haze. This was not how this was supposed to go! It was supposed to be a night of unrestrained passion— but now you were freezing with him turning you into his body pillow

But Caleb... He was relishing in your frustration. And worst of all—he was winning, again.

So actually, it all started ever since you attended Jenna’s wedding.

Seeing your usually no-nonsense captain standing there in a stunning wedding dress had stirred something within you. The way her voice trembled and teared up as she recited her vows nearly brought tears to your own eyes.

And somewhere between the exchange of vows and the way her partner looked at her—as if she were the only person in the world—you found yourself thinking of Caleb.

The years you had spent at his side. The way he kissed you without hesitation. The way he said your name like it belonged to him. All the memories you had shared... amplified with the scene of eternal vows before you, you thought you had reached clarity.

You wanted that forever with him.

However you didn't know whether it was your own imagination or not, but you had this hunch that Caleb deliberately avoided this topic as much as possible—

. . .

There was this one time when you passed by a popular boutique, and your eyes practically sparkled as you stared at the intricate, lacy gowns.

“Caleb, you see, those wedding dresses look beautiful—”

“Not if you’re the one wearing that, pipsqueak. You will trip on the hem within three steps and take out half the guests like bowling pins.”

“You—!”

. . .

There was another time. You were sitting on his lap after a long day, his arm slung around you while you leaned against his sturdy chest.

“Caleeeb. If we ever got married—”

“Oh, Lord, give me strength.”

“What?!”

“If I marry you,” he snorted, “I will be left with house bills debts. Why?” He gestured at you with his jaw. “Because someone will spend the entire budget on snacks.”

“—?! I don’t eat that much!”

“I’ve seen you demolish a family-sized dessert by yourself. And then there’s also groceries,” he continued mercilessly. “I’d go bankrupt.”

“That is husbandly duty!” you shot back indignantly. “A husband provides for his wife!”

“You’re not a wife. You’re a long-term financial crisis.”

“Idiot! That’s slander, I’m suing you!”

. . .

The latest was when you were both walking through the market, weaving through the noisy crowd of vendors and shoppers. Caleb held your hand in his while you walked beside him, occasionally pointing at random stalls.

Then you spotted it. A jewelry stand. Rings glinted under the sunlight, neatly arranged in velvet trays.

“Caleb.”

He didn’t even look. “No.”

Your eye twitched. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Look, just look at the rings!”

Caleb finally glanced down. Then immediately looked away like the metal had personally offended him. “Those are overpriced.”

“You didn’t even check the price!”

“I can feel it spiritually.”

. . .

No, now you were certain. Caleb could face anything, except a wedding conversation with you.

It would be a lie to say you weren’t a little disappointed. But how else could you bring this up again when he kept deflecting it so many times?

Sighing, you pushed the thought aside.

By the time you arrived back home, the sky had already begun to dim into the soft gold of evening. The place still looked unfamiliar sometimes—despite the fact that it had once been yours.

Your childhood home. Except now the crooked fence had been replaced, the porch repaired, and the roof no longer sagged under its own age. Caleb had spent weeks fixing it up, refusing to let you help with most of the heavy work.

“If we’re going to live here, might as well make sure the roof doesn’t collapse on us,” he had said at the time. The thought made you smile.

You pushed the door open, but just as you stepped inside, voices drifted from the living room.

“…figured I’d drop by,” someone was saying from beyond the partition.

You immediately recognized the voice— Gideon, Caleb’s old classmate during his Aerospace Academy years. Your brows lifted slightly in surprise, it had been a while since the last he visited.

You were taking off your shoes, thinking about announcing yourself when the two friends’ conversation suddenly took another turn. “Don’t you— time— settle down?”

The new partition Caleb had installed was made from some kind of soundproof material, so the conversation beyond it reached you only in snippets.

“Come on.” You heard Gideon’s faint chuckle next. “You— playing house already.”

A short pause followed before Caleb’s voice answered, “That’s not it...”

The response must have caught Gideon off guard, because when he spoke again, his voice was louder that you could hear it almost clearly. “So what? You never think about it? Actually settling down?”

Your breath caught as the meaning of their conversation sank in. For a moment, there was silence—

Then Caleb laughed lightly.

“With everything—? No.”

Huh? You stood there in silence, unmoving, too stunned to think.

You didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but… wasn’t that exactly what it sounded like?

Suddenly, what Caleb did all this time made total sense. It hadn’t been playful avoidance. He never thought to settle down with everything—with you. He simply didn’t want it.

Your throat felt tight.

The only thought ringing in your mind was to leave before either of them could notice you. Almost staggering, you slipped the door open again and closed it just as softly behind you as you stepped outside. The evening air greeted you once more, cooler now than when you had first arrived.

For a moment, you remained standing on the porch, staring at the fading gold of the sky as the daylight slowly drained away. Your chest burned—a painful knot forming there, feeling betrayed more than anything else.

You just… didn’t want to be here.

Anywhere else would be better than here.

So, before you could think too much about it, you walked away.

Hours passed, and the disappointment and sadness that had hollowed out your chest had dulled into resentment.

After you left home, you wandered through the shopping district without really seeing any of it. Store lights flickered as evening deepened into night. You grabbed convenience store bento box for your dinner, quietly pre-heating it and eating in the corner.

As the night went on, crowds thinned and vendors began packing their stalls, yet you kept walking.

Your phone buzzed again in your hand—perhaps for the tenth time. With a tired sigh, you glanced down at the screen, your lips pressing into a thin line.

Seven missed calls. All from Caleb. He left you many messages too.

[06.32 pm] still working? i went home early today to cook your fav braised chicken :D [06.40 pm] oh yeah grab a ketchup on the way home, will you? i'll add it to the seasoning later [07.15 pm] ...hello? am i being ghosted :( that's it. i'm not feeding you tonight [07.58 pm] hey nevermind the ketchup. i went out already so you just come back, okay? [08.30 pm] not coming back home yet? [09.00 pm] it's late. are you okay? where are you? [09.14 pm] answer my calls. why didn't you pick them at all?

All his messages were normal. As if the words you overheard earlier hadn’t carved straight through you. You bitterly laugh, because you had known for a long time that Caleb had always been cunning... but how could he be that cold to you?

Your phone buzzed again and you let it ring. Two more calls you ignored before the screen lit up once more, his name flashing insistently. You decided to pick it up this time.

“Finally.” His exhale was audible through the phone, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. But the next second, his tone sharpened. “Where are you? Why didn’t you pick up my calls?”

The question unexpectedly struck a nerve in you.

“What is it to you anyway?” you snapped. “I’m not a kid so I can wander anywhere I want.”

There was a brief pause. “…What? Of course I’m worried when you’re not answering my messages. Did something happen? Why are you—”

Your vision blurred as tears welled in your eyes. You were so tired of this—this pretend family, the way he showed concern for you. All it did was make you hope for something more… something you couldn’t even attain.

“Caleb,” you said finally, your voice suddenly steady. “I’ve been thinking. I think it’s for the best if we live separately from now on.”

“What—” He actually choked on the word. “Why— No. Where are you? I’ll come get you first—”

“I think it’s better that way.”

“No, it’s not!” he refuted immediately, panic beginning to edge into his voice. “You’re upset. We can talk when I get there—”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“We clearly have a lot to talk about.”

“Caleb—”

“Just tell me where you are.”

Your stubbornness only seemed to make him more desperate.

“Stop this,” he said, the sharpness gone now, replaced with something strained. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? Whatever it is, I’ll make it right, but for now you have to go back first. Tell me where you are and I’ll be there in five, I promise.”

In all the years you had known him—through every stubborn standoff and childish fight when you were younger—you couldn’t remember a single time Caleb had apologized first when he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. He was always the type to dig into the problem, demand answers, argue until the truth came out before offering an apology.

But now he sounded almost desperate, trying to reason with you.

The realization softened something in your chest. The wall of hurt you had built over the past few hours cracked, just a little.

Maybe you could talk it through. Maybe you had jumped to conclusions… You should at least hear him out.

You opened your mouth to tell him where you were, but before you could—

CRASHHH!

A deafening roar tore through the street, and the ground lurched violently beneath your feet. For a split second, everything went white as a blast wave slammed into you. Your phone flew from your hand as the force knocked you off balance—

The line went dead.

“Huh...?”

Caleb frowned at the sudden silence when the call had been cut out. He heard that sound of explosion—it wasn’t loud from where he stood but it was enough to make the windows tremble faintly in their frames.

His grip on the phone tightened. “Hey!” he barked into the receiver, though the call had already dropped. “Answer me!”

A cold, creeping dread tightened in his chest. You—

Caleb didn’t think after that.

He bolted for the door, nearly wrenching it off its hinges as he threw it open. The cool night air hit his face as he sprinted down the steps two at a time. His heart slammed violently against his ribs.

No. Caleb broke into a full sprint down the street, his mind betrayed him with a thousand terrible images—of you lying motionless on the pavement, blood spreading beneath you while your phone lay discarded nearby.

“Don’t you dare…” he muttered under his breath, jaw clenched tight.

You had to be fine.

You had to be.

He pushed himself faster, lungs screaming, heart hammering like it might tear itself apart as the distant glow of flashing emergency lights began to stain the night sky ahead.

. . .

By the time he reached the city center, the place had descended into chaos.

A building had completely collapsed. Caleb’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes darted across the devastation.

Concrete and twisted metal spilled across the street, clouds of dust still drifting through the air. Emergency sirens wailed from every direction as people ran wildly through the streets—some screaming, others crying, some desperately calling out names into the smoke-filled night.

“Move! Move back!”

“Someone call an ambulance!”

“There are people still inside!”

The air smelled like burning wires. Panic surged through him like a tidal wave and Caleb pushed forward immediately, shoving through the crowd without hesitation.

“Let me through!”

People stumbled aside as he forced his way past them, ignoring the angry protests and frightened cries. His eyes scanned every face he passed—every injured person sitting on the pavement, every figure being helped away from the rubble.

None of them were you.

“Have you seen—” Caleb grabbed the shoulder of a passerby, voice rough with urgency. “A girl—about this tall—”

But the man shook him away frantically and rushed off.

Caleb almost cursed, his pulse roaring in his ears. Then he started shouting.

“Hey!” His voice tore through the noise of the crowd. “Y/N! Where are you?!”

His gaze swept across the rubble, searching desperately through the smoke and flashing emergency lights. His breathing grew harsher as dread clawed its way up his spine.

“Where are you!” Caleb shouted again, louder this time, his voice cracking as he turned towards the collapsed building.

Caleb lunged toward the rubble, ready to climb straight into the shattered remains, but before he could reach it, a pair of strong hands seized him from behind.

“Hey! Stop!” a police officer barked, grabbing his arm. “You can’t go in there!”

“Let go of me!” he snarled, thrashing violently as he tried to wrench free. “Someone’s in there!”

“It’s dangerous—”

“My girlfriend is in there!” he yelled, his voice raw with panic. He struggled against the officer’s grip like a wild animal, desperation making his movements reckless. “Let me go! I need to find her!”

“Sir, you need to calm down—”

“I’m not leaving her in there! She’s—!”

“Caleb!”

For one solid second, he thought he was hearing things. Your voice, unmistakably yours. Slowly—almost afraid to believe it—he turned around.

And there you were.

Alive. Standing a short distance away behind the police barrier, dust smudged across your clothes, your hair slightly disheveled… but otherwise completely unharmed.

For a moment Caleb simply stared at you, his brain struggling to process what his eyes were seeing.

Then he tore free from the officer.

Before you could even react, Caleb crashed into you and pulled you into a soul-crushing embrace, his arms wrapping around you so tightly it knocked the breath from your lungs.

“You—” he choked out. “You’re okay—”

Your face pressed against his chest as he held you like he was afraid you might disappear. His whole body was shaking violently, and you could feel how shaken he was in the uneven rhythm of his breathing against your hair, in the way his fingers clenched the back of your jacket like he needed something solid to anchor himself.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything at all. He just held you like he was making sure you were real. You slowly lifted your head—and that was when you realized something that made your chest tighten.

This was the first time you had ever seen him like this. He was pale, his usually steady composure completely shattered. His eyes were wide and glassy, breaths coming in uneven pulls. The sight of him like this felt almost unreal.

“I’m fine— Caleb, I’m totally fine...”

Your words seemed to snap something inside him.

“You call this fine?!” His voice came out hoarse, breaking at the edges as his grip tightened again. His hands moved to your shoulders, as if checking you over, his eyes scanning your face, your arms, anywhere he could see. “There was an explosion—your phone cut off—I thought—!”

His voice faltered. He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Caleb dragged a shaky breath through his teeth before pulling you back into another fierce embrace, burying his face against your hair.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispered, the words rough. “Don’t scare me like that… ever again.”

For once, the stubborn certainty that usually defined him was gone. All that remained was the quiet, desperate relief of a man who had almost lost everything he couldn’t bear to lose.

The walk back home passed in heavy silence. You were fine, mostly. There was only a shallow gash along your calf where debris must have caught you when the blast knocked you over. It stung with every step, but it was nothing serious.

Caleb, however, refused to let you walk home limping like that, and crouched in front of you.

“Get on.”

“It’s just a scratch—”

“Get on.”

There was no room for argument in his voice. And so you ended up clinging to his back while he carried you the rest of the way home, just like when you were kids.

Even then, he hardly spoke. The man who usually had something sharp or teasing to say about everything remained unnervingly quiet, his grip under your knees stayed firm the whole walk.

. . .

Caleb fussed and hovered around you like he usually did. He had insisted on cleaning the cut himself, carefully rinsing the blood away earlier before guiding you into the bath.

And now... the two of you sat together in the bathtub.

Warm water filled the tub with soft steam, the faint scent of soap drifting through the air. Caleb sat behind you, his chest pressed against your back. The water sloshed gently around your bodies whenever either of you shifted.

His arms rested loosely around you in the water, but every few moments he leaned forward, burying his face near your shoulder or the crook of your neck as he drew in a slow breath.

It was almost as if he had aged years in the span of a single evening. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t left, and the quiet around him felt heavy.

“Why do you want to leave this house?” he finally asked, his voice was low, roughened by exhaustion. “You were wandering around the city for hours and didn’t want to go home... tell me what it is that I did so wrong so I can fix it.”

You stiffened slightly.

Caleb rested his chin near your shoulder as he waited, his breath brushing faintly against your skin. You contemplated of making up some sort of an excuse, but finally resigned and told him the truth.

“…I heard you.”

“Heard what?”

“You and Gideon. You said you didn’t even consider settling down with me.”

The words sounded quieter when spoken aloud than they had when they first carved into your chest earlier that evening. For a moment, Caleb wasn’t sure he was hearing things right.

“What?”

You turned slightly, enough to catch the stunned look on his face. “Back at the house,” you pointed. “You said that.”

Caleb stared at you like you had just said something completely absurd. He almost squeaked, incredulous. “That’s what you thought I meant?”

“I heard it clearly—”

“That’s not what I meant at all.” He ran a frustrated hand through his damp hair, water dripping down his arm. “You didn’t even stay to hear the rest, did you?”

Caleb let out a short breath, something between ultimate exasperation and relief finally dawning across his expression. His gaze only darkened as he watched your confusion. Before you could say anything else, he suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him.

“Caleb— Mmph!”

But, your words were cut off when his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was fierce and desperate, nothing like the teasing brushes you were used to from him. Splash! The sudden movement sent water sloshing violently against the sides of the bathtub, spilling over the rim as he dragged you closer.

His hands moved instinctively, gripping your waist, sliding up your back as though he needed to feel every inch of you and in no time at all, heat flooded the space between you.

For someone who had been so quiet all night, the intensity of it was almost overwhelming. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing still uneven.

“Tonight,” Caleb murmured heatedly, amethyst eyes grounding you like the gravity itself, “you’re sleeping with me.”

. . .

Your towel barely covered you when Caleb carried you out of the bathroom in a princess carry and brought you to his bedroom.

“Caleb, wait—”

That traitorous towel slipped loose almost immediately as placed you on his bed. His hands came up to cradle your face as his mouth claimed yours— the kiss deep and heated, all his restrain gone.

The tension from the entire night seemed to pour out of him through that kiss. And when you parted, lust had taken over him thoroughly, your heart thundering in your chest with the way he gazed at you.

“I’ve had enough of waiting tonight, pipsqueak.”

You barely had time to breathe before he was guiding you to lay on the sheets. Caleb sank to his knees before you, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His hands slid along your thighs, parting them as he leaned forward, devouring you down there.

Your fingers instinctively tangled into his hair.

“Caleb—!” you moaned, startled by everything that was happening. You arched your back, feeling how he licked your folds so deliciously that you almost yelped.

Just when you were about to reach your high, your lover stopped and you unwittingly let out a whine.

When Caleb looked up again, his expression was softer now—but the intensity hadn’t faded. Drawing in a slow breath like he had earlier in the bath, he grounded himself in your presence.

“I thought I lost you tonight,” he said quietly. His brows creased into a frown, before something dark and dangerous glinted in his eyes. For a moment, you thought it was over—

You thought wrong. He followed it with two of his fingers, and you let out a shriek as he slid them in and out of you mercilessly.

Unbeknownst to you, he was on a mission to punish you tonight.

His rough, calloused hand closed around your waist, the grip firm enough to steal the breath from your lungs. In no time at all, you were reduced into a mess of cries and cum before him.

However, what followed afterwards was far gentler than what you had imagined. Somewhere along the way, his overwhelming feelings of cherishing you won out of all else.

He kissed you everywhere he could reach, like a man trying to reassure himself you were truly there. Your shoulders, your arms, the dip of your waist—each kiss lingering longer than the last, warm and reverent.

And when he entered you, stretching you with his thick girth, a low breath left his lips, holding onto you as if you were the only thing capable to in the world.

“Mine,” he growled against your ear. It was his sole thought throughout the night as he thrusted in and out of you with a restless urgency, like he needed to prove—to you, to himself—that you were truly here with him.

You woke before dawn, and caught Caleb still wide awake.

Propped against the headboard, he sat beside you with one arm draped loosely over your back, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles on your skin, his gaze fixed on your face as though he had been watching you for a long time.

“Caleb…?” Your voice came out groggy with sleep. “You haven’t slept?”

His thumb brushed slowly across your arm, absentmindedly tracing the same path again and again. “…I can’t.”

His voice was quiet. You pushed yourself up a little, squinting at him through sleepy eyes. Up close, you could see the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the tension still lingering in his expression.

Everything that had happened had shaken him more than he let on. The explosion. The broken call. The moment he thought he might never find you. And the idea—however brief—that you had been planning to leave him.

Caleb let out a slow breath when he noticed the way you were looking at him. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine.”

“…You’ve been watching me this whole time?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s creepy.”

Your gege snorted softly. Then, without warning, he flicked your forehead.

“Ow!” You immediately clutched the spot, glaring up at him. “What was that for?!”

“That,” he said flatly, “is for being stupid.”

You gaped at him. “Stupid—?”

“Yes. Stupid.” Caleb leaned back slightly, folding his arms as he looked down at you with mild irritation. “Running off because you thought I didn’t want to marry you. Honestly.”

“Well you made it sound like—”

“Of course I want to marry you, you goober. I just wasn’t going to propose you with some random ring bought off a street vendor.”

You blinked in surprise. The words came out so matter-of-factly that you froze. Caleb glanced down at you again, his expression still frosty, but he ruffled your hair with tenderness regardless.

“You deserve more than that.” His tone was casual, but there was a quiet certainty behind it. “If I’m putting a ring on your finger, it’s going to be something worth wearing.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Caleb finally sank back onto the pillow beside you so he could nudge his forehead against yours.

“So yeah,” he murmured, a finger came to trace your lips. The depth of his violet eyes held yours so completely that for a moment you were stunned.

“I’ll find you a ring so beautiful you won’t be able to look away from it.”

For a moment, the room fell quiet again. You reached up almost absentmindedly, your fingers fiddling with the front of his shirt. For once, neither of you rushed to fill the silence.

Caleb watched you for a moment, something gentle settling in his expression as he smiled. Then his hand came up to cover yours and laced your fingers together, holding them between you as he studied your face.

“To have and to hold,” Caleb said quietly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, “for richer or poorer…”

His voice was softer than you had ever heard it.

“In good times and bad...”

Your throat tightened slightly. His gaze never leaving yours.

Caleb leaned closer, pecking you lightly in the lips.

“Yes,” he finished, the words steady and certain. “I want to do all of it with you. So... will you marry me?”

For a moment you could only stare at him. The words seemed to hang in the quiet room, mingling with the pale light of dawn and the steady warmth of his hand holding yours. This was everything you had hoped, but somehow it still went against all your wildest expectations.

Caleb watched you carefully, as though bracing himself for your answer, though the certainty in his eyes never truly wavered.

A warmth spread through your chest, steady and bright, until it made your eyes sting slightly. Slowly, you squeezed his hand back.

“Yes,” you said softly. “Yes!”

For the first time since the night began, the tension finally left his shoulders. His breath escaped in a quiet laugh of relief as he pulled you into the warmest embrace.

“Good, because I wasn’t planning to let you say no anyway.”

Outside, the sky was beginning to brighten. Whatever storms might come, whatever misunderstandings or fears lay ahead—both of you would face them together.

you were the best bet in this scenario. ever had their eyes on caleb and mc since forever, having accumulated enough data to intercept any attack from them. and, worst case scenario, if they failed, they would get them two as prisoners.

their goal would be fulfilled.

but you?

you, the unsuspecting colleague of mc at the hunters’ association that just happened to get closer to her? you, the unknown and unimportant person that also befriended caleb? you, the obvious third wheel that somehow fit together with the two of them?

ever had no clue about you. and no interest to know you.

“listen, my mimicry evol is perfect for this.” you pointed out once more as you swayed your hands and caleb’s together. trying to ease the obvious displeasure and tension he was harboring.

“and i am telling you, ever is no joke. it’s different than the wanderers you battle every–”

“i will just go in, shapeshift, get that bastard head scientist, and get out.” you plucked one hand from your linkage, placing it briefly on top of your face to activate your evol. beneath your open palm, your very being changed, expanding and compressing, shortening and elongating.

until the person before caleb was… himself.

“let me do this for you, caleb! let me do this for mc.” his own voice was now speaking back at him, bringing a shiver down his spine as he recognized your unshaking resolve.

you were the same as him — stubborn, unwavering.

fighting for the one you loved most.

“… fine. but if you get injured, you’re immediately out.”

•••

imagine the infiltration was clean at first. you moved like smoke through corridors, your evol mimicking a random employee you’ve smacked around the head and laid unconscious in a locker.

imagine the scientist was exactly where caleb said he’d be — hunched over a terminal, thin fingers dancing across holographic displays.

you didn’t give him time to scream. your elbow pressed against the back of his head, and he crumpled unconscious, body going pliant against your hold.

but imagine someone discovered you. even transformed, they recognized the lifeless body of their boss hunched over your arms. so they shot at you, bullets flying all over due to their lack of training.

they were scientists after all.

one bullet grazed the head scientist, piercing the lab coat and causing crimson red to pool at your legs. you’d never thought you’d have to shield the very person that’s causing your friends distress but there you were, covering his unconscious body as you too shot back at the people.

imagine it was hard to aim with your pistol and have additional body weight in your arms. imagine it was even harder to dodge and that’s how a bullet finally pierced you.

imagine all the scientists falling one after the other, stained red with their own blood.

but imagine you fell too, pistol dropping, evol retracting.

as you let out a painful groan at the visible wound in your abdomen.

you have no time to press against it, to stop the bleeding that poured out of your mouth with a strong cough. because the alarms bloomed red, siren hurling in your ears, and the facility entered lock-down mode.

ever doesn’t leave its treasures unguarded.

locked. safe.

more personnel entered the room.

you take three hits before you reached a door — one to the shoulder, one grazing your ribs, one buried deep in your thigh. you dragged the scientist’s weight through the threshold as you bled more and more, finally sealing the door behind you.

at least for now.

you slid down the door and the blood came with you.

imagine it was all strange… how quiet dying was. you always imagined it would be loud — sirens, shouting, the thunder of your own heart, the ragged breaths of your overused lungs. but here, in this tiny lab nook, there was only the hum of machinery and the wet sound of your breathing.

each exhale shallower than the last.

the scientist slept beside you, peaceful as a child. unaware of the ruckus you’ve caused outside, unaware of the spreading blood that swept the pristine floors and threatened to stain him too.

you failed.

you couldn’t do it alone.

you have the man, yet you can’t get him to caleb.

you failed, you failed, you failed.

.

.

.

no.

slowly turning your wrist, your eyes met the hunters’ watch — still intact, still fully operable. with one hit of your trembling fingers, you sent a signal to caleb.

you needed him here to finish the job.

to take the scientist and finally free mc.

to free himself.

…

to free you.

with the blinking red dot pulsing on your watch screen, you pushed yourself away from the door. crawling slowly towards the scientist.

planning to ensure his safety over your own.

•••

the scientist’s face was still his own. you haven’t changed him yet.

you should do it now, before you lose the strength. before you lose your conviction. before your evol collapses from the large amount of blood you’ve lost.

it’s the only way.

you tell yourself as tears welled up in your eyes, gleaming redder under the flickering alarm lights of the enclosure.

making you look as if more blood was seeping from your battered body.

your hand hovered over his forehead, and you hesitated. because once you do this — once you give him your face and you take another — caleb will take him. he’ll see the scientist wearing your expression, your blood, your stillness, and he’ll think it’s you.

he’ll hold him and carry him away to safety. thinking it was you.

you won’t be there to feel his protectiveness, his care. and maybe that was how it should be. you, alone, watching and contributing to the prosperity of caleb and mc. you, abandoned, knowing your place and staying far away from two people that were obviously made for each other.

you, hopeful, wishing your sacrifice will be taken as a blessing for their future.

your palm pressed down.

the scientist’s features rippled like water accepting a stone. his jaw softened. his hair spilled longer, changing colors. his clothes bled into the torn fabric of your hunter uniform, the bloodstains aligning with surgical precision.

when it was done, he was you.

a perfect copy.

a perfect lie.

and you — you dragged yourself closer to the fallen cabinet at the back of the room, hand pressed to your own face.

thinking of the man you passed by in the hallway the moment you entered.

unimportant. nondescript. forgotten.

your body warped. your face became his face. generic. unremarkable. the wounds translated across the transformation, still bleeding, still fatal — but the vessel doesn’t matter. only the function.

caleb won’t look twice at you now.

you were no one.

just as you should’ve been from the start.

and, with your remaining strength, you bashed the hunters’ watch before it morphed away from your body.

effectively erasing any recognizable trace.

•••

imagine the door exploded inwards soon after.

you didn’t see him at first — just a blur of motion, a voice cracking on a name that wasn’t yours anymore. caleb fell to his knees beside the copy. his hands hovering over her shoulders, her face, the pulse point at her throat.

the transformed scientist was in better shape than you, yet caleb looked so… desperate.

as if his entire world crumbled.

“–no, no, stay with me, stay with me–”

his voice broke on the last word, shattering like glass dropped on concrete. you’ve heard caleb angry, cold, sharp-edged as a blade.

you’ve never heard him fracture.

your fingers curled against the cold floor, quivering from the pain. and suddenly, you wanted to reach out. you wanted to abandon your stupid plan and be saved.

you wanted to join the two in that happy future you saw for them.

but imagine your evol was flickering. your blood was falling beneath you in a slow, dark bloom. if you redirected your power from your evol to that small call of help, the plan will cease to happen.

the disguise will collapse.

you would fail.

again.

imagine the copy — the perfect, breathing, alive copy — was already being lifted into his arms.

and without even a glance at your wounded, bloodied body, he left.

•••

the door swung shut behind him, leaving you there.

dying.

you tried to hold on, to remain conscious, to not slip into the eternal dream charming you with every heavy breath you took.

because you needed caleb to save the scientist.

•••

your evol flickered more and more, your appearance deteriorating into your true self. somewhere in the parking lot, a man who is not you and never was you began to lose his borrowed shape as well.

so you fully abandoned your disguise, concentrating on the scientist who was receiving aid from paramedics.

you’ve made your choice ever since you’ve heard the new intel about ever. your sacrifice was worthwhile.

you hoped he won’t come back.

you hoped caleb won’t blame himself when the truth surfaces.

•••

imagine caleb came back anyway.

not because he knew. not because some thread of fate pulled him. just because — just because he couldn’t leave. couldn’t walk away from the building with that in his arms and feel like he’d grabbed the right thing.

imagine he set the copy in the ambulance, told the paramedics to take care of her, and turned back before anyone could stop him.

because something felt wrong.

•••

the door opened again.

you heard it distantly, like it happened underwater. your eyes won’t focus anymore. the ceiling distorted, the red light blurring your vision, everything smearing into grey at the edges.

footsteps. slow. then faster.

then stopping.

“–no.”

his voice was strange. not the shattered sound from before. this was quiet. careful. like he was approaching a wounded animal.

like he already knew.

your fingers twitched. you wanted to shoo him away, to shield him from the possible ever employees that might attack again.

go away, go back, you’re supposed to be saving her–

but your mouth wouldn’t move.

“–this isn’t– you’re not–” his breathing changed. ragged. “i saw you. i had you. i had–”

a pause.

“a copy.”

the word broke him open.

he was kneeling now. you felt his hands on your bloodied cheeks — warm, shaking, so careful — and you realized you were found out.

it was just you now. your face. your blood. your eyes, barely open, finding his.

“–no, no, no, no–”

his thumbs swept across your cheekbones. frantic. repetitive. like he could wipe away the pallor, the stillness settling into your skin.

“you’re okay. you’re okay. i’m here. i’ve got you. i’ve–”

your crimson blood slicked his fingers.

“why did you– why?”

his forehead pressed to yours with a trembling whine and you felt something wet drop onto your temple.

caleb.

you tried to say his name. nothing came out. just a breath. just a sigh.

“i told you not to– i told you—” his grip tightened on your face, desperate, like he could hold you here through sheer force of will. “you never listen.”

his shoulders shook with another sob.

“–and i let you go anyway.”

a loud sound teared out of him. not a word. something harsher. something that’s been buried since he was a child losing everything for the first time.

“please…”

his whole body curled around yours. his hand searched for yours immediately, squeezed so hard it almost hurt. he was saying your name over and over now, trying to keep you focused on the present, to keep you conscious until another ambulance arrived.

but you were slowly slipping away.

“–i love you.”

the words suddenly tumbled out of him. raw. ruined.

“i love you, i never– i was supposed to– please, don’t leave me, please.”

his face was pressed into your hair now. you felt his tears soaking through as more pleas escaped his lips. you felt his chest heaving against your failing one.

your heart would have boomed with happiness at his confession, but now it was no longer capable of love.

“i was going to tell you. after this. when it was over. i was going to–” his voice splintered. “i thought we had more time.”

your fingers moved. just barely. just enough to brush against his.

he froze.

“hey. hey, i’m here.”

but you were not. not really.

your eyes found his amethyst orbs one last time. he looked disheveled. shattered. like whatever he was before this moment has been unmade.

you wish you could comfort him.

but your hand was already going slack in his.

and the last thing you see was his face — his beautiful, broken face — as he realized you’re truly gone.

•••

imagine caleb didn’t move for a long time.

he just held you. his thumb still tracing slow circles on your knuckles. his breath still uneven against your hair.

as if you’re sleeping.

as if him staying still enough, quiet enough, would make you open your eyes.

“i love you.” he whispered again.

your body was cold now.

and so was his heart.

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

part two — nowhere to run

On the second day in the cave, you're awakened by the smell of blood.

Your eyes fly open, and the first thing you see is Caleb crouched by the cave entrance, his back to you. There’s something large and dead at his feet—no, multiple somethings. A pile of carcasses, steam still rising from their torn flesh in the cold air.

Your stomach turns violently.

He must sense you’re awake because he turns, and his face transforms. That fierce, predatory expression melts into something almost boyish—proud and eager, like he’s presenting you with treasure instead of carnage.

“Savi,” he says warmly, gesturing to his kills. He points at you, then at the meat, making eating motions. “Meal. Caleb bring.”

“What the hell is that?” Your voice comes out thin, and you nod toward the meal in question.

He picks up one of the smaller carcasses, clearly pleased with himself. “Savi eat. Good meat. Make strong.”

“I don’t…I don’t know what that is.”

You pull the furs tighter around your naked body. Caleb must have removed whatever you were wearing when he found you last night, and you haven’t seen them since.

Caleb moves closer with the carcass, and you can see it better now—some kind of furred creature with too many legs.

“Savi hungry,” he says, not a question but a statement. “Need food. Caleb provide.”

“I can’t eat that.”

Confusion crosses his face. He sets down the carcass and pulls out a bone blade. With quick, efficient movements, he begins carving into the flesh. The sound of knife through meat makes you nauseous.

“Here,” he says, holding up a chunk of raw, dripping meat. “Best part. For savi.”

He moves toward you with it, and panic rises in your throat.

“No,” you say, pressing back against the cave wall. “No, I can’t—”

“Must eat.” His voice is firmer now. He kneels in front of you, holding the meat close to your face. “Savi too small. Too weak. Must eat. Get strong.”

“It’s raw,” you choke out. “I'm not eating raw mystery meat—”

He doesn’t understand, or doesn’t care. His free hand grips your jaw, trying to tilt your head back, to force your mouth open with his thumb.

The tears come then, hot and fast, streaming down your face. You wrench your head away from his grip, sobbing.

“Savi?” His voice changes immediately, the determination giving way to confusion and concern. “Why cry?”

“You’re trying to force me to eat raw meat, you jerk!” The words tumble out between sobs. “I don’t even know what it is, where it came from—it’s dead and bloody and raw and I can’t—I can’t—”

He’s staring at you, the meat forgotten in his hand, completely bewildered by your reaction.

You bury your face in your hands, crying harder. Everything hits you all at once—your spaceship crashed on a frozen ice planet. Your shipmates are either dead or missing, too. And now you’re trapped on said frozen planet, naked and helpless, with an alien who’s decided you belong to him.

“I want to go home,” you sob. “I just want to go home.”

“Savi, shh, shh.” Large hands pull you against a warm chest, and that rumbling purr starts. He’s dropped the meat, you realize distantly, and cleaned his hand in the nearby snow. His fingers now stroke your hair awkwardly, like he’s not sure what to do but is trying anyway. “Safe. Caleb keep safe. No cry.”

“I can’t eat that,” you hiccup against his chest. You’re so hungry it hurts. But not hungry enough to eat…that. “Please don’t make me eat it.”

“Can’t—eat?” His heavy brow furrows. Without warning, he pushes your gums back, running a finger over your incisors, which must seem blunt in comparison to his own fang-like teeth. “Broken?”

“Hey! No, not broken.” You shake your head until he removes his hand. You gesture vaguely, searching for a way to communicate. “It needs to be cooked. Fire. Heat.”

His head tilts, confused. Then he looks at the meat, at you, back at the meat. Slowly, understanding dawns. He sets the chunk down and moves to a thermal vent in the corner, heat shimmering above it in waves.

He holds the meat near the heat, looking at you questioningly.

“Yes! Like that, but—” You slip from the furs, keeping one wrapped around yourself, and approach carefully. He watches your every movement, body tensing when you get close to the vent, like he’s ready to snatch you back if you get too close to the heat.

You point at the meat, then at the hot stones around the vent and make a sizzling sound. “On the heat. Cook it.”

He studies you for a long moment, those violet eyes intense. Then, carefully, he places the meat on the heated stone.

You both watch as it begins to sizzle and brown. His nose wrinkles—clearly, he finds the smell strange—but when you smile and nod encouragingly, his expression softens.

He’s learning. For you. Because you need this.

Something in your chest aches.

When the meat is cooked enough that you won’t get sick, you reach for it. His hand intercepts yours, gently pushing it away. Then he picks up the meat himself—ignoring how hot it must be—and tears off a small piece.

He holds it to your lips.

“Oh, I can feed myself—”

“Caleb provide,” he says firmly. His jaw is set with determination.

You could argue. Should argue. But there’s something in his eyes—a desperate need to care for you, to prove himself—that makes you open your mouth.

Satisfaction blazes across his face as he places the meat on your tongue. His thumb brushes your lower lip, and you see him shiver.

“Good savi,” he murmurs, tearing off another piece. “Caleb savi. Strong savi.”

He feeds you piece by piece, his attention absolute. Every time you swallow, every pleased sound you make, he responds with that deep rumbling purr that vibrates through your chest.

You’re hungrier than you realized—starving, actually—and the meat is good despite being unfamiliar. You eat until you’re full, and he watches every bite like it’s the most important thing he’s ever witnessed.

When you finally shake your head at the next offering, he sets it aside immediately. He pulls you back into his arms, arranging you in his lap.

“Better now?” he asks, touching your face. He strokes your cheek, as if making sure the tears are gone, and you let him.

“Better,” you admit. “Thank you.”

He holds you tighter, and you wince involuntarily. Pain flares in your ribs.

He releases you instantly, hands moving immediately to your ribs, gentle but probing. You hiss when he touches a particular spot, and guilt floods his face.

“Savi hurt?” He carefully pushes aside the fur covering you to look. A deep purple bruise is spreading across your side. “Lev. No—”

“It’s okay,” you try to assure him. “Just a bruise.”

But he’s not listening. He’s examining you more carefully now, his large hands surprisingly gentle as they check your shoulders, your arms. He finds the scrapes on your palms from the trap, a smaller bruise on your shoulder.

Each injury makes him more distraught.

“I’m fine, really—”

When his hand starts to drift lower, you catch his wrist. “I’m good. You don’t need to—”

He gently but firmly moves your hand away and continues his examination. He’s completely focused, methodical, checking every inch of exposed skin for damage.

When he pushes the furs away entirely to check your torso, his breath catches. Your nipples have hardened—from the cool air, from his touch, from a feeling you’re too ashamed of to examine closely.

His pupils dilate, the violet of his eyes darkening to almost black. His hand hovers, trembling slightly.

“Savi cold?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head no despite the chill that runs through you. But you’re not cold, not in the slightest. Not with the heat of his attention, the way he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you.

He nods once, something like relief and frustration warring on his face. Then he carefully pulls the furs back over you and continues his examination—more cautious now, more aware of how his touch affects you.

Of how you affect him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

He finds a gash on your calf that you hadn’t even noticed, and his distress intensifies. “Many hurts. Savi very hurt.”

Crash-landing on an ice planet would do that to you, you figure. Your thoughts keep circling back to the other girls you were traveling with. What if they’re dead? What if they’re waiting for you to come help them, and here you are, warm and fed, letting an alien get handsy with you?

“I’ll heal,” you assure him.

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Not without khui. Without khui, heal slow. Too cold. Maybe not heal right. Maybe—” He touches your face. “Maybe not survive.”

Fear spikes through your exhaustion. “What do you mean I won’t survive?”

He taps his chest where that vibration comes from. “Khui. All Caleb’s people have. Keep warm. Keep strong. Keep alive in cold.” He takes your hand and presses it over his heart. “Feel?”

You do—that strange rhythmic pulsing that’s not quite a heartbeat. “What is that?”

“Khui. Live inside.” He gestures with his free hand to his neck, pressing two fingers there, as if pushing something inside. Then he presses your hand harder against his chest. “Feel how move? How—” He struggles for the word, then makes a purring sound. “How sing?”

“It’s…vibrating.”

“Yes. Khui sing when near savi. Because savi is Caleb’s—” He stops, frustrated by the language barrier. “Is meant. Savi and Caleb. Forever. Khui know.”

“I don’t understand,” you say, even though some part of you does—too clearly. You, him, and some sort of all-knowing creature inside him that wants to bind the two of you together. Forever.

“Caleb teach. Show savi.” He guides your hand over his chest, and you feel the vibration intensify. “See? Stronger when touch savi. Khui happy. Khui know savi is right one.”

You’re too exhausted to process this. “What does savi mean, anyway?”

He tilts his head, not understanding the question.

You point to yourself. “My name. It’s not savi.” You say your actual name clearly.

He tries to repeat it, but the sounds come out wrong. He frowns and tries again. Still wrong.

“No, like this—” You say it slower, pointing to your mouth as you repeat it.

He gives it another attempt. Closer, but still not right. His frustration is visible.

“Savi,” he finally says, pointing at you firmly. Then he places both hands over his heart and says something longer in his language, the word savi embedded in it.

“But that’s not my name—”

“Is savi.” He says it with finality. “Esha savi.”

You’re too tired to argue. “Fine. Savi. Whatever that means.”

He seems satisfied. Then he returns to examining you, retrieving a pouch from his supplies. Inside is a paste made from what seems to be crushed leaves.

“This help,” he says, applying it to the gash on your calf with gentle fingers. “Help heal. Help savi's hurts.”

It stings slightly, but his touch is so careful that you don’t complain. He treats each injury with the same tenderness—the scrapes, the bruises, even gently spreading the paste over your ribs. When he finishes, he builds a small fire nearby, coaxing the flames higher even though the heat must be uncomfortable for him. If it bothers him, he doesn’t show it.

“Better,” he murmurs when he’s done. “But savi need khui. Soon. Very soon.”

The words settle over you like a weight. Khui. This parasite thing he wants to put inside you. This thing that will bond you to him forever.

“Maybe I don’t want it,” you hear yourself say. “I don’t want a khui.”

He goes still. “Savi—”

“I said I don’t want it.” You pull away from him, wrapping the furs tighter around yourself. “You keep talking about khui and healing and forever, but I didn’t ask for any of this. I just want—I want to go home. Or find my crew. Or—or something other than being trapped in a cave with a—”

You stop yourself, but the damage is done. His expression hardens.

“Savi want leave Caleb?”

No, you realize with terrifying clarity. You don’t want to leave the barbarian who decided you belong to him. And that’s precisely the problem.

“I want my clothes back.” You start searching for them around the cave, holding the fur tighter to your chest. “Where did you put them?”

He moves to the corner where he keeps his supplies and pulls them out one by one: pants, shirt, shoes. Your heart leaps—maybe he’ll actually give them back. Maybe you can run away—find the others, get out, escape this cave once and for all.

Then Caleb turns toward the fire—

“Don’t you dare!”

—and drops your clothes into the flames.

“No!” You lunge forward, but he catches you easily. The furs slip from your body, pooling at your feet, leaving you bare.

His arm bands around your waist like iron, pulling you back against his chest. His heat is overwhelming, and his other arm comes up to cage you in completely.

"Let me go!"

"No," he nearly growls, breath hot against your ear. "Savi not leave. Will die."

“I don't care!” You try fighting back against his grip, but it’s no use. “Those were mine!”

"Caleb's now. Savi is Caleb's now." His arms tighten. "Caleb protect. Even if savi hate."

"You can't just—you can't keep me here!"

"Can. Will." He sits, pulling you down with him, arranging you in his lap—your bare back against his chest, his thighs beneath yours. He wraps the furs around you both. "Caleb keep savi warm. Keep safe. Always.”

"I hate you."

"Caleb know." One hand splays across your stomach, holding you against him with unyielding possession. "Be angry. Still Caleb's. Still keep."

You try to twist away but he just shifts his grip, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, turning your face so he can see your profile.

“Savi want leave? Want die in cold?” he says simply, thumb stroking your cheek. “Caleb not let. Caleb do anything for savi. Even make savi hate Caleb."

“You’re a monster,” you whisper.

“Yes,” he says simply. His lips brush your ear with each dark word. “Monster who keep savi alive. Monster who keep savi warm. Monster who make sure savi not die in snow.”

"You can't do this." Tears of frustration burn your eyes. "I won't let you."

“Already do this.” His nose presses into your hair and he inhales deeply, his chest expanding against your back. "No clothes. No leave. Only Caleb. Only stay. Only survive."

You're trembling now, caught between rage and something else—something that feels dangerously close to breaking.

"Let me go," you try one more time, but it comes out weak.

“No.” His arms adjust, pulling you even tighter against his chest. His hand moves from your jaw to stroke your hair. “Never let go. Never let savi leave. Never let anything hurt savi. This Caleb's promise.”

You don't have the energy to fight anymore. Your body is exhausted, your emotions wrung out. And he's so warm, and you're so cold, and despite everything—

You stop struggling.

He feels it immediately. His hold doesn't loosen, but something in his posture relaxes slightly.

"Good," he murmurs. "Good savi. Let Caleb keep warm. Let Caleb hold. Let Caleb protect."

"I still hate you," you say, but it lacks conviction.

"Caleb know." He pulls a fur up over your shoulders, tucking it around you carefully. "Hate Caleb all savi want. Still Caleb's. Still savi. Still safe."

His hand settles over your stomach again, possessive and protective, and his khui thrums against your back—that steady vibration that's becoming far too familiar.

You sit there in furious silence, held captive in his arms, wrapped in his warmth, hating him for making you feel safe. But mostly hating yourself for not fighting harder.

"Hunt soon. Get khui for savi. Make savi survive," he says softly. His lips press against your temple once. Twice. "Make savi stay forever. No matter what. No matter if hate. Always Caleb's."

You're still angry. Still trapped. Still his prisoner, no matter what pretty words he uses.

But you're warm. And safe. For now.

And—against your better judgment—you don't pull away.

—

By the fifth day, you’re starting to feel disgusting.

Caleb left at dawn to hunt—you watched him go with mixed feelings of relief and strange loneliness. He’d been reluctant to leave you, checking and rechecking that you had enough furs, enough food, that the thermal vent was warm enough.

Until this morning, Caleb had barely left you alone. When he did step away, it was never for long. A short hunt. A supply run. Always with a hand brushing your shoulder as he passed, always with a low reassurance that he’d be back soon. The cave had never truly been empty of him.

Now you’re alone, and you’re painfully aware of how filthy you feel. After days without bathing, your skin is sticky with sweat and dirt and a questionable layer of grime. Your hair feels matted, your mouth tastes stale, and you would do sinful things for a bar of soap right now.

Your eyes drift to the cave entrance.

This is it. This is your chance.

If you were going to run—really run—it would be now. No watchful presence at your back. No steady hand guiding you away from danger. Just the open ice and whatever might still be out there: a stream, wreckage, your shipmates, proof that you’re not already too late to find them.

You shift, then stop.

Your feet are bare. You have no clothes, no shoes, nothing to protect yourself with. Caleb saw to that personally—treated everything you owned like fuel and watched it burn, like the very idea of you arriving with things that weren’t his had personally offended him.

Stealing his belongings is out of the question—everything he owns is stored at a height clearly chosen by someone who has never once been inconvenienced by being short. The frozen ground beyond the cave would tear your skin apart in minutes, turn your escape into blood and panic and frostbite.

Barbarian bastard.

You tell yourself you’re angry about it. That the tightness in your chest is frustration, not hesitation. Not the fact that the cave is warm, that the furs still smell faintly like him, that for the first time since the crash you aren’t cold or hungry or afraid of dying in your sleep.

You don’t linger on that thought.

Instead, you turn your attention to the problem at hand: getting clean.

There’s a pile of snow near the entrance where the wind has blown it in. You drag some of it closer to the thermal vent, watching it melt into a shallow basin formed by the cave floor. It’s not much, but it’s something.

You strip off the fur you’ve been wrapped in and shiver in the cool air. The vent keeps the cave warm, but without covering, your skin prickles with goosebumps. Using your hands, you scoop up the cold water and splash it over your skin. You gasp at the temperature, but it feels good. Fresh. Clean. You work methodically—arms first, then your chest, your stomach.

You’re trying to reach your back when you hear it—the deep, rumbling sound that makes every hair on your body stand on end.

You spin around, instinctively covering yourself with your arms, to find Caleb standing at the cave entrance.

His eyes are locked on you. On your naked, wet body. On the water droplets sliding down your skin.

His pupils have dilated so wide his eyes look almost black. The sound coming from his chest is lower now, more like a growl than a purr.

“Savi,” he breathes, taking a step forward.

“Stop staring at me, you creep!” You back up until you hit the cave wall, acutely aware of your nakedness, of how his gaze travels over every inch of exposed skin. “Caleb! Turn around!”

He doesn’t understand all of the words, but he reads your body language—the way you’re trying to cover yourself, the flush creeping across your cheeks. His head tilts, seemingly confused by your modesty. Then he sets down whatever he was carrying and approaches slowly, hands outstretched like he’s gentling a skittish animal.

“Lev,” he says softly. No, you've come to realize. His fingers gently circle your wrists, pulling your arms away from your body. “Lev hide. Beautiful savi. Perfect body.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you bite back. You try to resist, but he’s so much stronger. “Let go of me—”

He doesn’t pay your resistance any attention. He holds your arms out to the sides, and his eyes travel over you with open reverence. There’s heat in his gaze, yes, but also wonder. Like you’re the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen.

“Beautiful,” he repeats, touching your shoulder, tracing down to your collarbone. “Soft. Perfect. Esha savi.”

His fingers are warm despite the cold outside. They trail lower, between your breasts, and you shiver—not from cold this time. You don’t know when you stopped fighting back, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Caleb, I’m trying to wash—”

He lights up suddenly, like he’s just understood. “Wash!” He releases you and hurries to the bundle he dropped, rummaging through it excitedly. He produces something that looks like clusters of dried berries. He brings the red berries to the water, crushing a few between his palms. They foam and bubble, releasing a clean, sharp scent.

Soap. They’re some kind of soap.

“Caleb help,” he announces, moving behind you before you can protest. “Savi and Caleb wash. Together.”

Washing. Naked. With your alien captor. You cannot possibly conceive of a worse idea.

But his hands are already on you, slick with the soap-berry foam, spreading it across your shoulders. His touch is careful, almost worshipful, and the rumbling in his chest intensifies.

“I can wash myself, you know—”

You should really be trying harder stop this. Should insist on privacy. But his hands feel so good, working the tension from your muscles as they clean, and you’re so tired of fighting everything.

You let your head drop forward with a sigh.

His purr deepens. “Good savi,” he murmurs. “Caleb take care.”

His hands work methodically, down your shoulders, arms, back, each touch thorough but gentle. When he reaches your hips, his fingers splay wide, and you feel him press closer behind you.

Then you feel it. The hard length of him, pressing against your lower back, hot and insistent.

You freeze. “Caleb—”

“Shh.” His hands continue their work, moving to your sides, your waist. “Caleb clean savi. Make savi comfortable.”

But there’s nothing comfortable about the way his body is responding. You can feel him growing harder against you, can hear how his breathing has changed.

“You’re—I can feel—”

“Savi beautiful,” he says simply, unapologetic. His hands slide around to your stomach, and you feel every inch of his arousal pressed against your spine. “Caleb’s savi. Body…knows. Wants.”

One of his hands drifts higher, and you catch it before it reaches your breast. “No. Just—just washing.”

He makes a disappointed sound but doesn’t push. Instead, he crushes more soap berries and focuses on your scalp. His fascination with your hair is immediate and intense.

“Soft,” he marvels, running his soapy fingers through the strands. “So soft. Different.” He works the soap through carefully, his claws never catching, his touch infinitely gentle.

You close your eyes as he massages your head, and you can’t stop the small sound of pleasure that escapes.

His entire body goes rigid behind you. The purring stops. Then his hands tighten in your hair—not painful, but possessive—and he pulls your head back so your throat is exposed.

“Savi like,” he rumbles against your ear with pride.

“It feels…nice,” you admit quietly.

“Nice,” he repeats, testing the word. Then his fingers resume their massage, and you feel him press even closer, his cock firm and throbbing against the curve of your ass. “Caleb make savi feel nice. Always.”

He continues washing your hair with single-minded focus, his purr returning as he works. You can feel how much he’s enjoying this—the touching, the caring, the intimacy of it. His hands in your hair, your body wet and pliant against his. But his hands never stray from their task. Never drift lower or take advantage.

You should probably move away. Put distance between you.

Instead, you find yourself leaning into his touch. Arching into the solid warmth of his chest, the hot, aching pulse of his cock, the gentle possessiveness of his care.

Because if you're honest with yourself—you're enjoying this, too. The way he touches you like you're something to be treasured. The rumble of his purr against your back. The knowledge that he wants you but won't push. Won't take.

Will just care for you, endlessly patient, until you're ready.

When he finally rinses the soap away with careful handfuls of water, you’re refreshed and relaxed for the first time all week. He releases you, reluctantly, and steps back.

“Now Caleb."

—

Caleb needs her hands on him. Needs to feel her touch with the same reverence he’s been touching her. It’s only fair—and more than that, his khui is demanding it.

She turns to find him already stripping off his minimal coverings, and he watches her eyes go wide. Her face flushes deeper, that pretty pink color spreading down her neck, and her gaze darts away from his very obvious arousal.

But not before he catches her looking.

His tail lashes with satisfaction. Savi looked. Savi noticed. Good.

“Savi like Caleb body?” he asks, unable to help the smug tone.

“I—that’s not—you can’t just—” She’s flustered, stammering, and it’s adorable.

He moves to the water and begins washing himself, but it’s clumsy. His hands are too large for the soap berries, and he can’t reach his back properly. Frustration builds—he wants to be clean for her, wants to be presentable, but—

“Savi help?” The words come out almost shy. “Caleb help savi. Savi help Caleb?”

She hesitates, and for a moment he thinks she’ll refuse. His khui whines at the possibility.

But then, she speaks. “Fine. Turn around, big guy.”

Relief and anticipation flood through him. He obeys immediately, presenting his back to her, his tail swishing low with barely contained excitement.

Then her hands touch his shoulders, and he nearly groans aloud.

Her palms are so small against his skin, but warm and careful as they spread the soap across his shoulders. His khui sings. The resonance between them pulses stronger with every touch, and he has to focus on not turning around and pinning her to the cave floor right this very moment.

Patience. She’s not ready. Be good for savi. Be patient.

“Savi hands,” he manages to say, his voice rougher than intended. “Feel good. Feel perfect.”

And they do. Every stroke of her palms across his skin sends pleasure racing through him. She works across his shoulders, down his spine, and he drops his head forward, surrendering to her touch.

When she reaches his lower back, her fingers trail over the sensitive spot just above his tail, and he shudders.

“Sensitive,” he gasps. “There. Savi touch there, Caleb feel…”

He can’t finish the sentence because her hands are still moving, still exploring, and the sensation is overwhelming. His cock throbs almost painfully, and he’s grateful she can’t see from this angle how desperately aroused he is.

He wants to turn around. Wants to show her. Wants to press her against the cave wall and—

Lev. Patience. Good mate is patient.

But his control fractures when she asks softly: “Feel what, Caleb?”

He turns so fast she gasps, and suddenly they’re pressed together—her soft, wet body against his hard one. His arousal is trapped between them, impossible for either to ignore.

His hands find her face almost of their own accord.

“Want,” he breathes, the truth ripping out of him. “Feel want. Need. Savi touch Caleb, and Caleb need…”

He leans down, drawn to her mouth, aching to be close to her in any way he can be. Wants to breathe her air—no, wants to be the air in her lungs, the breath she draws in deep without thinking. His forehead touches hers, and he can feel her small exhales against his lips, each one a quiet torment.

So close. She’s so close and she smells so good and—

She closes the distance and presses her mouth to his.

Caleb jerks back in shock, eyes wide. “What—savi do what?”

His lips are tingling. His entire body is electric from that brief contact.

“Kissing,” she says, and her cheeks turn that beautiful pink color. “It’s called kissing. When you…put your mouths together.”

“Mouth…together?” He touches his lips, then hers, marveling. His people have never done this. Why have his people never done this? “Why?”

“Because it feels good. Because it’s intimate. Because…” She trails off, looking uncertain. “Do you want to try again?”

Does he want—

“Yes,” he breathes. “Show Caleb…kiss-sing.”

She leans up, and this time he’s ready. When her lips press against his, he holds still, focusing on the sensation. Soft. Warm. Her lips are so soft, and there’s a texture to them that makes him want to explore with his tongue.

She parts her lips slightly and touches her tongue to his lower lip.

The sound that rips from his chest is half-growl, half-moan. His khui roars with approval.

This. This is claiming. This is tasting. This is perfect.

“This,” he gasps against her mouth when she pulls back slightly. “This is…mouth mating?”

She laughs—actually laughs—and the sound makes his chest feel tight. “Sure. Mouth mating.”

“Caleb like mouth mating,” he announces, the words coming out almost possessive. “Very much like.”

Then his hand slides into her hair, holding her exactly where he wants her, and he kisses her again.

This time he takes control, trying to mimic what she did. He moves his lips against hers, learning the rhythm, the pressure. When she makes a small sound of pleasure, satisfaction floods through him.

Yes. Making savi feel good. Learn what she likes.

He experiments—pressing harder, then softer. Tilting his head to get a better angle. When his tongue slides against hers, the texture difference makes them both groan. His tongue is slightly textured, on her soft tongue it creates friction that’s intoxicating.

His free arm bands around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He needs her closer. Needs to feel every inch of her soft body against his.

His cock is pressed against her stomach now, hard and aching, and the pressure is both agony and relief. He can’t help the small thrusting motions of his hips, something primal in him seeking friction against her soft belly.

“More,” he demands against her lips, not even recognizing his own voice—it’s gone rough and desperate. “Teach Caleb more.”

She shows him how to vary the pressure, how to nip gently at lips, how to suck on her lower lip. Each new technique makes him growl with approval, makes him kiss her harder, deeper, more desperately.

His hands are wandering now—one still tangled in her wet hair, the other exploring her back, her waist, dipping lower to grip her hip. The feel of her bare skin under his palm is maddening.

He needs more. Needs everything.

He lifts her easily, and her legs wrap around his waist on instinct—perfect, so perfect—and the new position brings his length into direct contact with her feminine heat.

They both gasp into the kiss.

So close. Right there. Could just shift slightly and—

But her small hands push against his chest, and the word “No” penetrates his lust-fogged brain.

He freezes immediately, every muscle locked tight with the effort of holding back.

“Caleb hurt savi?” Panic edges his voice. “With mouth mating?”

“No, the kissing is good. Really good.” She's breathing heavily now. “But I’m not ready for…more.”

The rejection stings, but his khui immediately supplies understanding. Too fast. Savi is new to this. Must be patient. Must be good.

He nods slowly, forcing his grip on her to loosen. “Okay. Just mouth mating. Caleb can do just mouth mating.”

Even though his entire body is screaming for more. Even though his cock is so hard it’s painful. Even though every instinct is telling him to claim his mate now.

He can be patient. For her.

He carries her to the pile of furs, still wet from the bath, and lays down with her on top of him. This way she’s in control, he reasons. His savi can move away if she pleases.

Then he pulls her down for another kiss, and this one is slower, more thorough. He pours everything into it—all the want he’s holding back, all the need, all the desperate affection that’s been building since the moment he found her in his trap. His lips move against hers with increasing skill, his tongue learning every taste of her mouth.

When they finally break apart to breathe, his eyes are glazed and his chest is heaving.

“Caleb love mouth mating,” he declares, the truth absolute. “Want do always. Every day. Many times.”

“It’s just called kissing,” she corrects with a breathless laugh.

“Kissing,” he repeats carefully, committing the word to memory. Then he pulls her down again. “More kissing. Please. Need more.”

And she gives it to him—lets him learn her mouth like he’s studying for survival. Because in a way, he is. Learning what makes her sigh, what makes her moan, what pressure makes her melt against him.

His hands stay respectful—mostly. They wander her back, her sides, occasionally drifting to her hips or the curve of her rear. But when she tenses, when her body goes stiff, he immediately moves them back to safer territory.

Good mate. Patient mate. Don’t scare savi.

Even though his cock is throbbing between them, even though the scent of her arousal is making him half-mad with need. Even though he can tell her body wants his just as much, the way her thighs tighten around him when his tongue licks against hers the way she likes, the way her hips seek movement against his in rhythm with their mouths.

“Caleb good?” he asks between kisses, needing confirmation. “Not push? Just kissing?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “You’re good. This is good.”

His purr deepens with satisfaction. Making savi happy. Being good mate.

He kisses her again, this one achingly tender. “Esha savi teach Caleb something new. Something perfect.” His lips brush hers between words. “Caleb never forget first mouth mating. First kissing with savi.”

Her expression is peaceful, and she initiates the next kiss—a gesture that makes his khui sing with joy.

She wants this, too. Wants Caleb. Chooses to kiss Caleb.

They continue for what feels like hours, until they’re both trembling with exhaustion and unfulfilled arousal. His jaw aches pleasantly from overuse, and his lips feel swollen, but he’s content in a way he’s never been before.

She’s warm and comfortable against his chest, occasionally leaning up to steal another kiss. His hand strokes through her damp hair, and his purr is a constant rumble beneath her ear.

“Thank savi,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to her temple, her cheeks, her nose. “For teaching. For trusting. For…” He captures her lips again, soft and sweet. “For being esha savi.”

He feels her relax completely against him, and satisfaction floods through him.

Mine. My savi. Teaching Caleb, trusting Caleb, choosing Caleb.

He reaches for a dry fur and wraps it around both of them, cocooning her against his chest. His hand continues its soothing path through her hair, and his purr deepens.

“Tomorrow,” he says sleepily, his mind already drifting. “Caleb hunt. Get khui for savi. Then…” He tilts her face up for another kiss. “Then many kissing. All the time. Forever.”

“Forever is a long time,” she whispers. But his savi doesn’t sound afraid. Not anymore.

“Not long enough,” he counters seriously. His hand cups her face. “Want kiss savi forever and more. Want learn everything about savi. Want make savi happy always.”

And wrapped in furs with his mate in his arms, her taste still on his tongue, the promise of tomorrow’s hunt ahead, Caleb has never felt more complete.

Even if his body is aching with unfulfilled need. Even if his cock is still hard and wanting.

Because she’s here. She’s safe. She’s his. And tomorrow, when he brings her the khui, she’ll be his forever.

Worth the wait, his khui sings. Worth everything.

He watches her drift to sleep, unable to close his own eyes.

Too precious. Too perfect. Must guard. Must protect.

His hand stays splayed with protective intensity over her lower back, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

Tomorrow changes everything. But tonight, she’s warm and safe in his arms.

white hair, unkempt and toxic-silver under the flash. skin pale as marble, cut with sharp, brutal lines. and those eyes — glowing, corrupted red, like bad wine and spilled blood. but it was his smile. a slow, slender smirk that curved up one side of his face, revealing a hint of sharp canine.

he looked young. younger than the horror stories suggested.

a demon with the face of a fallen angel.

“why does–” you felt your towel, soft and warm around your body, slip just a hair as you step towards your tv screen. “–he look so familiar?” you muttered to the empty apartment, your voice slightly damp from the shower you’ve just taken.

sylus, sylus, sylus… your mind repeated his name over and over again as you tried your best to dig through your memories and find something about this criminal. maybe you’ve seen him on the news, just like now? and maybe his face was ingrained in your mind because he was so fucking hot?

or maybe…

“oh no.”

it hit you. it hit you so hard you almost fell backward on your sofa.

“no fucking way.”

sylus qin.

the notorious criminal of the n109 zone. but also the man you and tara — actually only you — had sent three dizzying, swore-filled, thirsty as hell messages to through the prison’s official program, one wild night after too many shots of tequila and a game of smash or pass.

a game that had gotten so out of hand, it now felt like a suicidal dare.

yeah, you now clearly remember how hard you’ve shouted the word smash as sylus’s mugshot came up on tara’s phone, making the most obscene sounds you could’ve humanly produced. you also remember her mischievous face as she encouraged you to send “the poor convict with no friends” all your depraved thoughts and maybe cheer him up a bit.

that sylus qin.

“oh gosh, i hope they didn’t go through...” you murmured, slowly pacing around your living room in an attempt to settle your nerves. “surely someone approves those messages before getting to inmates.”

surely, sylus did not read them.

…right?

“and if he somehow did, it’s not like he–”

wo-pheeesh.

the lights went out so abruptly that the tv’s final echoes of terror snapped into dreadful silence. a solid, weighty blackness clamped down over your apartment, broken only by the faint glow of streetlamps filtering through the window.

…knew who you are.

you froze, towel clutched tight to your chest, the cloth suddenly feeling incredibly fragile and disarming.

“fuck.” you cursed shortly, the words sounding empty in the thick dark. bouncing off the walls and forming an eerie sensation deep in your belly.

you quickly fumbled for your phone between the cushions of the couch, but the damn brick was nowhere to be found. your heart thumped against your sternum as you dug deeper, even removing one soft piece of the sofa and throwing it down on the floor. hoping your phone will miraculously appear if there was no pad.

cars outside speeded like usual, occasional blue and red lights filtering through your window. a siren in the distance beeped but did not persist.

the quietness of your apartment and the loudness of the city clashed into a maddening atmosphere, encouraging the worries in your chest to deepen.

“calm down, nothing will happen! this is not a movi–”

click.

suddenly, there was a sound… not from outside. from the kitchen.

a soft, metallic snap.

like a window latch being tugged open.

“s-shit.” your breath hitched as goosebumps spread all over your limbs, sneaking beneath your towel —which was doing too little right now — and pinching at your sensitive skin. “the…” kitchen window. it opened onto the fire escape.

no.

you clung to your towel, pulling it tighter around your chest, needing to feel somehow secured in your otherwise obvious lack of power. but you were merely freezing from the cool air that swept through the room from the kitchen. shaking from the ominous air that engulfed your apartment.

the air pressure changed, a slight... intrusion invading your safe space.

someone was in the apartment with you.

a creak of a floorboard. a low, controlled breath. the stranger was getting closer.

you turned slowly, your back to the kitchen archway, facing the dark hallway leading to your bedroom. you could run. lock the door. yell for help through the window and hope someone hears you.

but your legs were boneless, merely trembling beneath your towel as the intruder was approaching.

maybe it was a stray cat? maybe it wasn’t the wanted criminal that just escaped?

a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the kitchen. a very human one.

maybe it was–

he leaned against the doorframe, filling it. a long, lean figure clad in orange, prison pants and a tight-fitting darker uniform top, mud and dirt caked at the knees. his hair looked even paler in the faint light, like liquid mercury. his eyes were two pools of bruised cherry, tracking you with unemotional precision.

…sylus qin.

“hello, penpal.” his voice was like rust crushing on barbed wire. low, rasping, and incredibly overpowering.

you couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. your mouth was dry as ash as the criminal you’ve just seen on tv materialized in front of you.

oh, and bonus points: he appears to know you.

he pushed himself off the frame and took a slow, casual step into the living room. like it was his apartment, not yours. his boots had been left behind, most likely in your kitchen — he wore only thin black socks, muffling his careful steps across your old floorboards.

he scanned the room quickly, dismissively, barely sparing the abandoned cushion a glance. then landed right back on you.

on your body, wrapped in that one plain white towel.

his eyes flickered down. up. then down again. taking in the last moisture beading your collarbone, the slightly damp hair plastered to your neck, the way the towel stuck to the curve of your breasts and wrapped around your waist.

a slow, arrogant smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“oh, kitten.” he said seductively, taking another calculated step closer. “you were dead serious about your message.”

he reached behind him, to the small of his back. your eyes widened in fear, locking onto the harness straps over his shoulders. and if the sight of a hidden harness was not causing you enough distress… he drew a black, compact pistol, spinning it once before settling it down in his palms.

it looked absurdly professional in his long, pale hands.

“i–”

he didn’t point it at you. not yet. he held it lazily at his side, letting the polished matte metal glint. like a warning.

“i don’t remember everything.” he continued, ignoring your attempt at communicating, his crimson eyes glued to your face. “but i remember the gist. ‘i would die for a taste, mr. qin. i dream about gagging on your huge cock before i let you breed me.’”

your cheeks burned as sylus recalls your dirty messages. he did not increase the pitch of his voice to sound more feminine, to imitate you. so, to hear your drunken thoughts in his raspy death-row voice made goosebumps crawl down your spine like lined maggots.

“that was… a mistake.” you croaked, trying to save your skin and not be added to his list of kills.

you were fucking stupid to think that your actions won’t have repercussions. stupid, stupid, stupid.

“mistake?” he chuckled, a dry, hollow sound that made your heart thump louder in fear. he took another step. and now he was within one meter of you. you could smell him — blood, dirt, something acrid like adrenaline and sweat. “in my line of work, mistakes are mortal. you don’t send sex messages to a killer and then expect to go about your life.”

he raised the gun. now he did point it at you. not at your head though, but at the center of your chest, right where the towel knot was.

“i came to claim shelter, until my associates get to me.” he started explaining, tilting his head a smidge just to take in the sight of you. again. “but to think i’d found my admirer so… welcoming.”

the gun’s cold muzzle pressed against the soft towel now, right above your sternum. you froze, eyes bulging, every muscle taut. when did he...?

sylus’s smile did not faulter.

“you welcomed me into your home naked.” he hummed, his gaze dropping to the towel knot. “did you think this was a serendipitous opportunity? that you’d get to recreate those little messages you slobbered that night?”

“n-no.” you stammered, the words clogging in your throat harsher now that the gun was pointed at you. “i swear. i had no idea you were coming here. i just got out of the shower.”

“mmh.” he purred, skeptical, further closing in. the gun tilted upwards, the muzzle now tracing your trembling jawline. “so this… shamelessness… is just a coincidence.” he leaned in, his breath hitting your shivering lips. it smelled of blood and menthol. “i think you’re lying, penpal.”

“no.” you rasped, the word clotting in your throat. “it was just the shower– the news– please.”

he chuckled at your stammering, a low, vibrating sound that sent a shiver down your spine. the gun never wavered. “please.” he mocked, softly. “i've heard that one. right before i put a hole in someone.”

your mind scrambled for anything — a solution, a way out. and then you remembered what he said before. “i can hide you!” you blurted, the proposal betraying your terror. “no one knows you’re here. i have food. medicine. i-i can help you. just… please, don’t hurt me.”

sylus’s red eyes flared with something darker than amusement. interest. “hide me? that’s a given, of course.” he repeated, the gun now drifting down to trace the dip of your breasts, the loose hem of your towel. “offer something more tempting, kitten.”

“anything.” you whispered swiftly, the word a trembling, uncontrollable sound. “i’ll do anything you want.”

the silence that followed was thick, punctuated only by the distant sirens outside. his gaze scanned you, as if weighing your worth, your utility.

“good answer.” he raised the gun, not to your head, but cupped the metal slide of the pistol under your chin, tilting your face up to him. the steel was chilly against your skin. “my wish is simple. let us reenact at least a part of that dirty little message of yours.”

he elevated the gun, tracing a slow, hard line against the seam of your lips, pushing the chilling muzzle against it. “but you need to earn it.”

a soundless gasp stuttered out of you. your vision spotting at the feeling of the deadly metal against your mouth. he couldn't mean–

“nothing is free, kitten.” his voice was a low, unyielding factuality, that shattered any hope you’ve fostered until now. he pushed the muzzle harder into your lips, making you stumble back a step. “open your mouth. put your lips on it. show me how much you want to live.”

all you could do was gulp down your shame and obey. you were exposed, terrified... and embarrassingly aroused. a wet, traitorous heat pulsed low in your belly, making arousal drip down your thighs.

“how precious.” he murmured, watching you lose your faith in being safe another way. “a cowardly little kitten, but willing to lick the tool that will kill her. good start.”

your lips touched the metal fully now. it tasted of oil, smoke, and something coppery — probably blood. he pushed it forward without a warning; the tip of the muzzle parted your lips, sliding onto your hot tongue. you made a gagging sound, repulsed by the feeling of the deadly object, your throat seizing.

“shh.” he soothed, the gun stroking your tongue in short thrusts. “take it. get used to the feel. you're going to gag on something much thicker soon.”

he began a slow, sinister pistoning motion, pushing the barrel deeper into your mouth with each push. each stroke hit closer to the back of your throat, eliciting a spasm from your trembling body. your eyes watered, big tears rolling down your cheeks. saliva dripped down your chin, tracing wet lines on your neck.

you were so terrified yet so aroused.

“you liked writing about gagging.” he mused, his eyes narrowed in cruel amusement. “tell me, did you think it was hot? did you touch yourself while you wrote it, pitiful little slut? let's see if you still like it.”

he added pressure.

the gun slid down your throat, pushing at your uvula. you gagged hard, your body jerking in place. the towel finally gave up and slipped exclusively off one side, falling to your elbow. one naked breast lay bare in the cool air, presenting itself before sylus.

he let out a soft, whistling breath.

“look at that. fear doesn't stop your nipple from hardening, does it?” he used the gun to tilt your head back further, exposing your bulging throat. “you're scared. but you're also turned on, aren't you? a true degenerate.”

you couldn't nod. you could only gag harder, heart banging in your chest with terror. what scared you more was the fact that he was right. a dark, glossy heat had fully bloomed in your stomach, sinking lower and staining your legs with slick.

you felt it.

“you are doing such a good job, kitten.” he said, slowing the thrusts altogether. the metal slid deliberately out of your mouth, leaving a trail of saliva between the muzzle and your lips. “do you want my cock instead of this gun?”

you swallowed hard, gasping for air, your throat burning from the harsh intrusion. your gaze, teary and dazed, trailed down his body — the tight orange pants did nothing to hide the heavy, obvious bulge hung between his thighs.

he was already hard, most likely aroused by your pitiful self.

wretched with need you hated yourself for, you answered. “y-yes.” you plead, another wave of tears threatening to spill. “please.”

“louder.”

“please!” you screamed it, the word echoing in the silent room.

sylus’s smile widened, a macabre, triumphant slit that reached his ghoulish red eyes. he pulled the gun completely away, waiting for you to obey. “get on your knees then.”

your body acted before your mind could process the order. your knees hit the hardwood floor and a sharp panic snapped through you. you were now below him, your nose level with his hips. your towel, precarious against your body, offered zero protection.

“s-sir...” you breathed, looking up at his demonic smile.

“oh, that’s right.” he coolly replied. “it was mr. qin, wasn’t it?”

he hooked the gun’s muzzle under your chin, tilting your head back to inspect you. the metal dig into the tender skin of your throat, pressing against the spot it bullied just before. “what else, hm? aha!”

“you said you’d suck me off so good, i’d forget to shoot you.”

with his free hand, he unbuckled his prison pants. the zipper spread with a hushed, rasping sound. and you couldn’t look away. your heart pounded with terror — and a silky, traitorous arousal.

“open.” he ordered, the gun now digging into the side of your jaw. “show me that mouth you so generously offered to a criminal.”

your lips parted, a whimper stuck in your throat. he had not taken his cock out yet, but you could see the bulge, already hard and full, straining against the dark fabric of his boxers.

he leaned down, very slowly, the gun never breaking its contact. his lips next to your ear.

“and remember.” he whispered, the barrel of the gun drifting to temporarily press into the hollow of your throat. “if you stop, or if i don’t enjoy it…” he pulled back just enough to make you look at him. at the way his red eyes glinted. “i’ll kill you here, on your knees.”

he straightened and released himself from his pants in one fluid move. his cock, thick and long, already leaking precum, brushed your parted lips. pushing against them just like the weapon was against your feverish skin.

“now.” he rasped, voice gone rough with lust. “make me forget i’m holding this.”

the gun rested lightly on the side of your head now, its presence a stark, unrefutable reminder of the stakes. your mouth watered in terror, throat already bruised, yet craving more. your pulse pounded in your clit, wet and disloyal, asking for his cock.

so you leaned in.

you opened wider. your tongue probed his slit, tasting the salty, musky precum. he hissed, his hips jerking forward in response, penetrating past your lips with his tip. the gun pressed more solidly against your temple, serving as threat and as encouragement.

“yes.” he breathed, looking down at you. “that’s it.”

your eyes sprang tears from the strain of taking him in, as well as from the gun against your head. yet you allowed yourself to close your lips over him, to suck his cock as nicely as possible.

you made it slow. wet. messy.

your knees ached against the floor. your towel slipped fully, unfurling around your thighs, leaving you naked below him. he moaned, a low, ruthless sound, and his free hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer to his navel.

“deeper.”

you relaxed your jaw, ignoring your gagging sounds, allowing him to push further in. his tip hit the back of your throat, adding another bruise to the one created by the gun. you choked and spilled spit all over — a loud, ugly, wet sound. your tears ran free down your face, trailing lower against your throat and chest.

“kitten–”

the gun trembled slightly in his grip, and you shook with uncertainty. was he going to shoot? you were unsure. you sucked harder, taking him in with stupid, desperate hunger. burying your face in his happy trail so you won’t have to be buried for good.

“fuck.” he groaned, his hand tightening so hard in your hair it hurt.

he started pumping more viciously, his hips slamming into your face, his cock sliding sloppily deep down your throat with every thrust. the gun moved, now pressing directly behind your ear. “yes. that’s it. you wanted this, didn’t you? you wanted to be used by a criminal.”

you moaned in response, too afraid to pull it out and speak. the vibration enhanced his pleasure, earning you another grunt of pleasure.

you were scared and turned on in equal, poisonous measure.

“i’m going to cum down that pretty, scared throat.” he snarled, his thrusts going raw, losing rhythm. “and you’ll swallow it all. lick me clean.”

you reached up to grab his thighs, to steady yourself, to show your submission.

and that was when he lost it. his stomach tightened, a rough grunt ripping its way out of him, and hot, pulsing cum spilled into your throat. heat spreading down your neck, filling your stomach. he held your head tight, milking himself with shallow, grunting thrusts.

feeding you every single drop.

the gun fell to the side, clattering against the floorboards.

…it was no longer pointed at you.

he breathed heavily, looking down at you with a hazy, exhausted gaze. he pulled out, slow, with satisfaction, admiring your disheveled state. you stayed on your knees, shaking and terrified, swallowing what had pooled in your mouth.

waiting.

“good.” he murmured, fully content by your behavior. he tucked himself away, zipping up with one hand his soft cock. he then dropped to one knee, his face now level with yours. and, surprisingly, he wiped a thumb over your sloppy, sore lips... sparing you. “you can live.”

he cradled your jaw in his grip, murderous fingers pressing against your bruised throat from the outside. “and if you’re very, very good, maybe we’ll get to that second part you wrote.”

second part? wha–

“the one about me breeding you.”

oh.

he let go, stood, and turned to walk into your darkened apartment. leaving you shaking, naked, and treacherously alive on the floor. the gun, close by on the floor, gleamed silently in the moonlight.

the intrusion had just begun.

©pearlescenthoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

“Linkon City Apartments, how can we help you?”

When you hear the clipped, low-energy tone, you brace yourself. The person on the other end is your least favorite front desk employee, and you just know you're about to feel really stupid in a minute.

“Um, hi - I’m having an issue with my… eh - my electricity? Could I maybe speak to someone from maintenance?”

The slight, almost inaudible groan from the other end is unmistakable. 

“Name and apartment number?”

You rattle the information off, and there’s a pause, like a little moment of recognition. She definitely knows who you are and how many times you have called for trivial things. You’re beginning to think this is a bad idea.

“I won’t ask you what the issue is directly, as we’re very busy, but I’ll transfer you to the maintenance team.”

You feel a weight off your shoulders and do a little shimmy in the silent victory of not having to belabor the conversation between yourself and the ‘mean front desk lady.’ You hear the extension numbers, followed by a ringing sound confirming your connection. It only takes a moment for someone to answer you.

“Gideon, Maintenance Staff. Is this the call regarding apartment 314?”

“Yes, that’s me. I hate to bother you with something so small, but I seem to be having an issue with a lightbulb. I’ve gone to the hardware store multiple times, and I’ve looked at the sizes and wattages, so I know I have the correct ones, but it still isn’t lighting up, and it’s in kind of a big part of my kitchen.”

“A… lightbulb?” Gideon asks, clearly a little confused as to why you’re calling about something so small.

“Yeah, I know it’s kind of a strange thing to ask about, but I really wouldn’t be calling if I had anyone to help me figure it out. I live alone and don’t have family close, so I’m sort of learning all of this stuff for the first time.”

“Okay, yeah, it’s fine, that’s what we’re here for. I can’t promise we’ll get to it today, but I’ll submit a work ticket, and after the higher-priority items have been resolved, one of us will come help you out. It’s just the one lightbulb, right? You’ve still got electricity, and you can still go about your day with little to no issues?”

“Yeah,” You feel yourself cringing, worried that you sound like an incapable idiot. “Just the one.”

The sounds of a keyboard clacking fill the silence, along with the pleasant sound of hums from Gideon’s low, gravelly voice. It’s almost soothing and helps alleviate the anxiety you feel about being a nuisance.

“Great, ticket submitted. It’ll probably be Caleb or me, so just expect us to be there either a little later today or tomorrow. If you’re going to be out of the apartment, that’s fine. We have a key to get inside. If you’re hoarding any illegal pets or somethin’, though…”

You realize he’s joking with you, and you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding, along with a small laugh.

“Right, well, I’m not just saying this, but it’s really just me in here. Thank you so much for your help, Gideon.”

“Of course, 314! Bye, now.”

The fact that Gideon doesn’t make you feel bad for calling about something as trivial as a lightbulb takes a huge weight off your chest, and you’re able to move on with your day without anxiety.

You don’t expect the maintenance staff to be there right away, especially since Gideon mentioned some higher-priority tickets, so you keep your teddy-bear-patterned pajamas on and decide to use the rest of your day off for something fun as a little treat to yourself. After all, you did take the steps to solve a problem - you deserve it!

Halfway through a crime documentary you’ve been itching to watch, your doorbell rings. You’re confused at first, wondering who would be visiting you, but when you look out of the peephole and see one of the most handsome men you’ve ever laid eyes on in a dark blue jumpsuit carrying a rather large toolbox, you blanch.

After a horrified glance at your state of dress and realizing you don’t have time to change, you curse yourself, deciding this is your karma for not being able to change a lightbulb yourself. This is your divine retribution. You take a deep breath and open the door to be hit immediately with Cupid’s arrows as you take in the unobstructed sight of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

He’s tall and leanly muscled, his jumpsuit tight enough to display a physique you’ve never seen on someone in real life. His arms bulge, straining the sleeves slightly, and the fabric tapers at his trim waist. He’s got the most beautiful, warm eyes; violet flecked with warm amber like flower petals on fire. When he speaks, you feel every thought in your brain disappear as if disintegrating, words reduced to dust in the countenance of what you can only assume an angel looks like.

“Hey, got a lightbulb that needs fixin’?” He asks warmly, and you know immediately by the sound of his voice that this isn’t the Gideon guy you spoke to on the phone.

It takes you a few moments to speak, and you begin to panic a bit when he tilts his head in confusion, like he might have accidentally gotten the wrong apartment when you don’t answer.

“Y-yes,” You stammer, rushing the words. “I - that’s me. It’s - um… not turning on.”

“Alright, mind if I come in to take a look?” He asks. “Name’s Caleb, by the way.”

“Of course, yes, so sorry,” You trip over your words, stepping to the side so he can come in.

The height difference between the two of you becomes way more apparent as he steps inside, towering over you as he surveys your place.

“The ticket said it was the kitchen lightbulb, right?” He asks as he walks toward the kitchen, clearly knowing the layout of every apartment like the back of his hand.

“Yeah,” You follow him like a puppy, fighting the urge to explain yourself. “It’s been out for about a week. I’ve tried everything from different kinds of lightbulbs to different wattages. I know it’s the correct size, though, here …”

You trail off as you move to the cabinet where you store all of your extra lightbulbs, which is currently overflowing with the bulbs you’re starting to think you’ve wasted money on.

“Here,” you gesture to the cabinet with a sheepish smile. “I went overboard. I was explaining this to your coworker on the phone, but I’m really clueless when it comes to this kind of thing, so I understand what a ridiculous ticket request this is. Once I learn what the issue is, I promise you’ll never have to deal with me again.”

“We don’t mind,” Caleb laughs, the sound comforting and warm like a cup of rich coffee. “That’s what we’re here for. Besides, we have the ticket system, so we know what takes precedence. It’s not a big deal - ‘s all I’m saying.”

Caleb squats to look, and his eyes widen when he sees the sheer number of lightbulbs you have.

“Wow, yeah, I mean, if anything, your overstock tells me that you definitely tried to resolve the issue on your own. I don’t think buying multiples of the same kind was necessary, but I guess it never hurts to have a supply. Do you know where the lightbulb that went out initially is?”

“Oh, yeah,” you confirm, open the drawer right above the cabinet, and present it to him.

You try not to focus on how small it looks in his hand compared to yours.

“Okay, let’s try this one again and see what we’re working with.”

It’s hard not to stare. You try your best to be respectful, but you can’t help yourself. Every bit of him is beautiful, from the soft-looking warm brown hair to the prominent veins in his muscular arms. He’s so tall that he doesn’t even have to reach to unscrew the new lightbulb you’ve personally installed to replace it with the old, like it’s nothing for him.

“Alright, can you please do me a favor?”

“Anything,” you say, and you’re embarrassed to find that you truly mean anything.

“The switch is off, right? Turn it on for me?”

For me.

You do as asked, and like before, nothing happens. 

“Right, okay. Turn it back off, and I’ll get this one unscrewed,” he instructs.

Again, you do as asked, and Caleb removes the busted bulb. He takes the new one he took out to test the old and screws it back in. 

“I’m sorry, but don’t you want me to get another one for you, seeing as that one didn’t work?”

Caleb grins at you, and you feel your heart rate increase.

“No, I think we should try this one more time,” he says with a hint of delight that makes you feel like you’re missing something.

He screws the bulb in and nods to you. You flip the switch, and by some miracle, the kitchen is flooded with light. You stand there, finger still on the switch, blinking rapidly. 

“Wait, but -”

“So, you did the right thing by turning the switch off when you were screwing in the new one,” Caleb explains, walking towards you with an amused look on his face. “The problem is,”

He stands directly beside you, so closely you can smell his cologne, and flips the switch off, then on.

“You’ve gotta turn the switch back on after you put the bulb in.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Huh,” you say, dumbfounded. “I - I guess that would …  be … smart…”

Caleb laughs, and the sound makes you want to smash the old lightbulb over your head - partially because you know you amuse him and it makes you happy, but partially because you’ve made yourself sound like a dumbass in front of him.

“D-Do you have to write a report or anything for the tickets you fix?”

“Huh? Not really anything too detailed. It’s just a brief description of the issue and how I resolved it," Caleb explains, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Why?”

“Could you please not include the part about me being a train wreck? Maybe make something up and say it was the circuit breaker or something?”

Caleb leans against your wall, laughs again, and you feel a little dead inside.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be vague. But really, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. If anything, you should be proud of the fact that you didn’t electrocute yourself by turning the switch off. Trust me, I’ve seen that happen plenty of times.”

“Okay, well, that does make me feel slightly better, but I feel like you’re being a little too nice to me.” You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest and still trying to process the fact that you forgot to turn the light back on.

“It should. We’d really rather you call us for things you’re not sure about. This is our job, okay? You don’t have to feel bad for needing help, ‘cause it’s what I get paid to do.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “You guys would probably be the only staff at this place that don’t make me feel like an idiot, so thanks.”

“The front desk people are assholes,” he says bluntly. “They sit around and act like they fix things when all they do is take forever to relay stuff to the rest of us. Believe me, they talk to everyone like they’re dumb, including us. It’s like an unspoken rule for them to be like that, so don’t take it to heart.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you guys got the bad end of it, too.”

“Daily,” Caleb pushes himself off the wall to stand straight again, towering over you yet again, and laughs derisively. “We get our fair share of condescension. Oh, I do have one piece of advice for you, though.”

“Oh,” you brace yourself. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing major,” Caleb assures, eyes twinkling. “Just - I know we have your name and your apartment number and all that good stuff, but when you’re on the phone with people you don’t know, try not to mention the fact that you live alone and that you don’t have family close by.”

“H-Huh?”

“Yeah, I know it may not seem like a big deal, but the less information you give, the better. Like I said, we already have your information and all of that, but especially if you’re new to the area and you don’t have people close by. Just be careful, alright?”

“Yeah,”  You feel a little silly. “No, you’re right. Um, thank you for everything you’ve done today. I’m sorry, I basically wasted your time.”

Caleb shakes his head, squirts some of your dish soap in his hands, and washes them in the sink. 

“Really, no worries. We didn’t have a lot to get through, and as I said, we always do high priority first, so it’s not like I was swimming with work today. That’s how I was able to get over here pretty quickly. Seriously, I get paid for this. Call as much as you want, okay?”

You try not to abuse the offer, you really do, but as your shitty luck would have it, your refrigerator goes out a short two days after your first meeting with Caleb. Calling the front desk is, as always, a miserable experience, and you’re greeted by the same woman who’s done nothing but make you feel about as big as an ant every time you speak with her.

“Josephine speaking, how may I help you?”

“Uh, hi - it’s apartment number 314 again -”

You’re cut off by a very obvious, very annoyed sigh.

“Was this regarding your previous maintenance request? If that’s the case, you’ll need to -”

“No,” you interrupt, regretting it immediately, but push on. “It’s actually something else. My refrigerator isn’t running, and I’ve done everything I can, but it’s been several hours and -”

“I’m transferring you to maintenance; hold, please.”

Well. 

Better to speak to them than her.  

It’s not long until you’re met with the voice that your thoughts have been consumed by for the last two days.

“Caleb speaking, is this apartment 314?” Caleb seems amused, and you try to tell yourself that the excitement in his voice is likely normal for your self-preservation. “Don’t tell me you blew up another lightbulb.”

“Okay, first off, I didn’t blow up the last one; it stopped working.” You counter, feeling a little indignant.

“Yeah, yeah,” Caleb teases. “What’s going on, though?”

“Well, Josephine is a massive grouch.”

“The sky is blue, water is wet. What’s the actual problem?”

“The refrigerator seems to think that keeping my perishables cold is optional. Hasn’t been running since I don’t know when, because I woke up and the light was off and everything was … warm and moist.”

“Wow, that’s pretty gross.”

“You’re telling me. So, how high priority would this ticket be, just out of curiosity?”

“That depends. Is anything in the fridge cold at all?” Caleb asks. “If you’ve kept the door shut, it should have preserved a bit of that chill to keep your food okay for at least another hour or two.”

“Oh. Well, what would be the case if I’ve actually had the door open for the last hour trying to look at what’s going on?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Caleb says quickly. “You’ll prooooobably have to throw out a good chunk of your stuff, but I’ll let you know when I get there.”

You hear someone in the background that sounds like Gideon saying something to Caleb, to which he responds,

“I know, I know. Can’t you take that one? I’ve got a situation in 314.”

Within half an hour, Caleb is at your door, mostly intact but out of breath; it’s like he ran to get to you. Like before, he throws you a devastating smile, then gets to work.

If the lightbulb issue isn’t humbling enough, watching Caleb simply plug your refrigerator cord back into the wall is enough to send you into psychosis. You stare blankly, speechless for probably the first time in your life.

“You gotta plug it in,” Caleb helplessly offers the advice with a small smile, clearly trying his hardest not to laugh.

Over the next month, you end up calling the maintenance team a handful of times. The frequency isn't enough to raise flags yet, and you’ve only contacted them once each week. Despite your best efforts not to call on ‘busy’ days (the fact that you’ve called enough to know which days are busy is something you’ll reckon with some other time), they never seem too busy to pick up the phone. If they have other requests, they simply let you know. Your issues range from small ones, like a slightly obnoxious dripping sink, to trivial things that don’t really need fixing, and you can probably handle on your own.

Caleb shows up for every single request.

The reservations you’ve had about watching Caleb while he works dwindle the more comfortable you get with him, and it seems like he’s more than happy to talk. He frequently fills in the silences when you're hesitant to speak, ensuring you feel at ease every time. After your initial trepidation about the lightbulb issue and Caleb's assurance that you could call anytime, it never crossed your mind that you might be inconveniencing him.

In fact, you get so comfortable that Caleb’s presence and willingness to help almost embolden you.

“Thank you so much, Caleb. I really appreciate it.” You say this gratefully, a coy smile playing on your lips as you watch him crouch to take a look at your toilet tank.

“No worries, I’m happy to do it,” he says. “Just out of curiosity, though - didn’t I just fix this for you a week ago?”

“Yeah, about that,” You bite your lip as he fixes his gaze on you, nervous you’ll give yourself away. “I just wanted you to check up on it if you had the time. I heard some strange sounds, and I wasn’t really sure what the reason for it was.”

“Oh, it just means it’s working properly! Are they more like a whooshing or a groaning?”

“Wooshing,” you say, tips of your ears burning, but Caleb simply smiles. 

“Yeah, that just means it’s working. Anything else you want me to take a look at?”

“Well, I don’t want to keep you from anything …”

“No worries, you’re my last ticket for the day,” Caleb assures you. “Maybe it’d be better if you just make me a list since your apartment seems to have the most issues. I don’t think I’ve ever had to visit another apartment as many times as I have yours. Guess you drew the short end of the stick with the luck here.”

Caleb’s tone is teasing, and you know he’s likely just negging you, but in all honesty, you do feel awful. You feel awful that you’re always asking for him, even though you know that the maintenance team has some say in which tickets they take. You feel awful that you know not only Caleb but also Gideon and the rest of the team by their first names. You feel awful that they all immediately hand the phone over to Caleb as soon as they hear your voice on the other end. Despite all of that guilt, you chase the euphoric joy of seeing his face and hearing his voice, so much so that you begin sabotaging things. 

“Hey, when’s the last time you looked at this smoke detector? Caleb asks, eyeing it wearily.

“Um, I’m not too sure. Why?" Does that need to be changed, too?"

You do know. You took the batteries out of it right before he came over, just in case he saw through your toilet tank ploy. 

“No reason,” Caleb assures you, almost like he’s trying to avoid hurting your feelings because he knows you simply don’t know any better.

“Just make sure it’s got batteries, okay? Has it been making any kind of noises lately?”

“Oh, now that you mention it, is that annoying, persistent beeping something that I need to be concerned about?” You wonder, biting your fingertip.

You watch as Caleb goes through the five stages of grief all at once, his expressions filtering from horrified to a reserved and calm kind of peace.

“Yeah, the beeping would be an indicator that it needs to be looked at. No worries, I’ll get you some fresh batteries for this bad boy after I finish with your washer and dryer. Now, what did you say was going on?”

“Not sure,” You peer over his shoulder as he fiddles with the dials. “Just… isn’t … uh -”

“Draining properly?” Caleb supplies helpfully.

“Yes! That! The barrel of it is full of water every time I try to  - oh, look at that.”

You’re interrupted by Caleb pressing a few buttons, and the water in your washer drains instantly.

“Wow, who could have imagined it was that easy?” You manage, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, you kind of have to turn it on … you know, so it cycles through,” Caleb says kindly.

This time, you have to pretend to be embarrassed, because you know.

You’re the one who turned it off mid-cycle.

Your calls to the maintenance team have become an almost daily occurrence. It’s not that you’re trying to make their lives more difficult, but the smooth and teasing cadence of Caleb’s voice is like a drug for you, and after all, he did say to call him ‘anytime.’ Seeing a couple of fruit flies orbiting your drain is a good enough reason to call this time, right?

You and Josephine have reached an understanding: you no longer have to explain yourself to her; the second she hears your voice, she transfers you. Usually, Caleb is the first person to pick up the phone, and it’s typically within a matter of moments, but occasionally, you get Gideon. 

“Apartment 314, we can’t keep meeting like this,” Gideon deadpans. “You’re taking one of my best and brightest from me, you know that?”

“Shit, I mean - damn,” you stumble over the words, trying to censor yourself in the face of discomfort, making it worse. “Shoot? I’m sorry. I can wait if -”

“Is that 314?” you hear Caleb call in the background. 

“Can you fuck off and go check 621’s garbage disposal like I asked you to do ten minutes ago?” Gideon barks, clearly irritated. “Sorry about that, 314. Continue.”

“Um… it sounds a little dumb when I say it out loud, but I’ve been getting these fruit flies, and -”

“Circling your drains? Kitchen and bathroom?” Gideon interrupts, a no-nonsense tone commanding his voice.

“Kitchen.”

“Pour boiling water down the drain and see where that gets you. If that doesn’t work, try using apple cider vinegar traps. You’ll be able to find them at any hardware store, but if you have dish soap and apple cider vinegar on hand, try mixing them with some warm water in a container you don’t mind losing and poking some holes in the top. That should resolve your issue. Was that all?”

“Yeah,” you say, deflating. “That was it. Thanks.

Gideon pauses for a moment before speaking, and the slight tinge of annoyance in his voice begins to fade. 

“You do know that you’re allowed to ask for his number, right?”

He was waiting for Caleb to leave.

“Wh-What?”

“Caleb. You can ask for his number. Legally, I’m not allowed to give it to you directly, but I promise he wants it. You know he’s been practically beating the shit out of the rest of the team to get to the phone. Chomping at the bit just hoping it’s you.”

“I don’t know what you -”

“Don’t play dumb,” Gideon sounds a little disappointed and annoyed, but not angry. “I’ve seen the reports. I believed you about the light bulb thing, ‘cause that’s an honest mistake, but taking the batteries out of a smoke detector is pretty fucking dangerous.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, and Gideon laughs. “It won’t happen again.”

“Have a wonderful day, 314. I hope not to hear from you anytime soon.”

You deserve that. Gideon’s advice swims in your mind, and you wonder how you’ll even go about it. Calling the maintenance team again seems like overkill, and you know Caleb is helping another tenant, so you push the idea to the side, slightly embarrassed at how crazy it’s been making you act. Resigned, you turn your electric kettle on to boil the water and dump it down the drain. To your chagrin, the flies begin to dwindle. 

Hours after your call, you’re sitting in your favorite chair and half-watching some trashy reality dating show while you work on a puzzle. The sudden ring of your doorbell surprises you. You’re not expecting a package or anything. You wait a moment on the chance that it’s an unwelcome solicitor, but the ringing persists, so you drag yourself to your feet to answer the door.

“Caleb!”

Your favorite handyman stands there sporting a giant grin on his slightly soiled face and holds out his hands to present four or five little apple-shaped objects.

“Fruit flies?” He asks in lieu of a greeting. 

“Y-yeah, how did -”

“I heard you on the phone with Gideon,” he explains. “Mind if I come in? I’m not technically on the clock, but I wanted to help ya out.”

You feel a fluttering sensation in your stomach, and Gideon’s assurance that Caleb would want your number starts to feel less like pity.

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “Gideon told me how to fix it on the phone. I’m really sorry to have even called about it. I’ve been monopolizing your time, and I know that. I just -”

“Nah, you’re not,” Caleb assures you. “You know, I did just say that I’m off from work.”

Caleb’s familiarity and comfort in your home make your chest ache as you follow him to your kitchen. He knows his way around, and every apartment likely has more or less the same layout, but it still makes you giddy.

“Gideon told you to pour the hot water down the drain?” Caleb asks as he tears the plastic off the little apple objects.

“Yeah, I did, and I’m noticing a bit of a difference, but what are those?”

Caleb brings one to his lips and tears the remaining plastic off with his teeth. The sight makes your knees weak. Caleb lifts his hand to spit the plastic into it, then tosses it into your garbage can. 

“Traps. You can usually make your own. Gideon prooooobably told you how to. I just had some of these handy, and they usually work better than homemade, anyway. You just pour the liquid it comes with in like this,” Caleb lifts the trap so you can see with one hand, then fishes for a little plastic vial to open with the other.

“It’s apple cider vinegar? Gideon told me to mix it with dish soap.”

“Yeah, the smell and the sugar attract the flies. See these little holes at the top? They’re shaped so the flies can get in, but they have a hard time getting out. The vinegar also has some sticky stuff in it, which is usually what the dish soap does when you make it yourself, and it traps them inside.”

Caleb fills the trap and puts it next to your kitchen sink, then fills another two and motions for you to follow him to the bathroom. He strategically places the first in your shower just out of the water’s reach, then puts the other right next to the bathroom sink, as he did in the kitchen.

“I know you said it was just your kitchen, but these little guys like to hang out around any drains. Just to cover all your bases, you know?”

You could listen to him talk about cement, and you’d still be captivated.

“Yeah, definitely.” You look up to see Caleb beaming at you. “Thanks, Caleb.”

“Anytime,” He murmurs. “I’m gonna take a look at your kitchen sink really quickly, too. I know it’s been leakin’ on ya.”

Oh, you know. You were careful to leave the handle positioned so the faucet was only just turned on. It does make you feel a little slimy, but seeing as it’s the last time you’ll be making an unnecessary maintenance call and Caleb is there of his own accord, you decide to exercise your Miranda rights. 

You trail after Caleb to the kitchen and lean against the counter as he fiddles with the faucet. He hums so gently to himself as he works that you almost ask what the buzzing noise is. It’s so maddeningly cute you want to scream.

“Seems like it’s workin’ okay,” Caleb confirms what you already know, then turns to face you. “Guess I did a pretty good job of fixing it up the last time.”

“Thanks, by the way.”

“Anytime…” Caleb trails off, though his gaze is unwavering. 

“Listen, I … might not have been completely honest with you,” you blabber, unable to take the weight of his stare with your incredibly guilty conscience. 

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Ugh, try not to judge me. Too much, okay? I just… haven’t really been needing as much help as I’ve been letting on.”

Caleb’s head tilts to the side, and he reminds you of a confused puppy. It makes you feel even worse.

“I’ve been lying about having issues around my apartment,” you confess. “The lightbulb thing was real, and the refrigerator was unfortunately also true, but the sink and the toilet - all of that other stuff were just excuses.”

“Excuses for what?” Caleb asks, though the confusion is gone, and he’s grinning at you like he already knows what you’re going to say; he just wants to hear it. 

“Excuses to get you here. I think you’re really fun to be around, and I also happen to think you’re really, really attractive, and it’s fun watching you work. I’m sorry, okay? I told Gideon I wouldn’t waste your time anymore.”

“So thaaaaaaaaat’s it,” Caleb drawls as he walks over to stand in front of you and close the distance between the two of you. “I’m just eye candy to you, huh?”

He’s never been this close to you. He practically radiates heat, all-encompassing and inviting as he invades your space, and the soothing scent of apples and musk fans across your face.

“You’ve got…” You trail off, but lift your thumb to his cheek to wipe the questionable marks away. 

Caleb covers your hand with his own to hold it there, carefully prying it open so he can weave his fingers within yours.

“Thanks, just a little bit of residue.” He leans forward, and his hot breath fans across your face, sweet and almost spicy as if he’s been chewing cinnamon-flavored gum. “Do I have any anywhere else?”

“The other side,” you murmur.

Without breaking eye contact, Caleb takes your hand and brings it to the other side of his face to gently wipe, not really caring about the fact that all he’s doing is smearing the mark. 

“Anywhere …else?” 

“No,” you swallow thickly. “I think I got it for you.”

“Well, thanks for cleanin’ me up.” Caleb reaches down to bring your other hand to his face. “I think I’ve still got a little bit of work to do, though.”

“I don’t want to take up your time -”

“Off the clock,” Caleb drags your hands across his face, then to his throat. “This is a different, more important job.”

He lifts your arms so they dangle over his shoulders, then lightly trails his fingertips down to your waist when his hands are free. He stops at your hips, spreading his large hands over them and gripping tightly enough to indicate intention, yet still allowing you to move if you’re not interested.

“I hope I’m not reading this the wrong way,” Caleb starts slowly, his voice thick with a need he’s only letting show now that his job isn’t tethering him to decency. “I think… You might like me a little?”

You nod quickly to leave no room for misinterpretation and tug the back of his neck so he’s standing between your legs and pressed against you.

“A lot,” you correct. 

“Good, ‘cause I’ve been thinking about kissing you ever since you opened the door that first time,” Caleb groans, then lifts you by the hips to stand on the tops of his feet to make closing the distance between your lips easier.

His lips stifle your whine, so hot and eager to taste you that his kiss lacks any precision. Caleb presses you against the counter, his tongue prying your lips apart. His impatience is addicting, and even though you find it difficult to keep up, there’s something electric about him being so turned on, he can’t help but ravage you like this. 

“Up,” Caleb rasps when he finally pulls away for breath, gripping the back of your thighs to lift you onto the counter. 

He pushes himself further between your legs to press against you, his lips descending on yours once more when he is sure you are positioned safely to avoid falling. Caleb isn’t shy as he kisses you, all hunger and desperation as he chases the very same bliss you’ve been after since you first laid eyes on him. He nips your bottom lip and tugs, a shudder raking through his large body as he envelops you. You gasp for breath as he pulls away, so wet and messy that when you part, a thin strand of saliva connects your lips.

“I need to know this is okay.” Caleb pants as he releases the tight grip on your hips to soothingly stroke your thighs with his fingertips

“Fuck yes, this is okay,” you say firmly. “I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of the situation, and -”

“Thank you,” Caleb groans and captures your lips to silence whatever unnecessary rambling you’re about to do, and he sighs into your mouth. 

Now that you know he’s just as stupid for you as you are for him, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him as close as physically possible to roll your hips against his. Caleb gasps and goes slack-jawed, but you don’t mind the fact that he isn’t kissing you when you see that look of utter reverence and pleasure on his face. His eyebrows draw together, and soft puffs of hot air fan across your face as you grind into him.

“Oh, y-yeah?” He manages shakily. “It’s like that?”

“Mmm, it’s been like that,” you manage between breaths. “Thought it was time I did something about it.”

“Ohhh, no, no, no,” Caleb chides. “Nuh-uh, it took you long enough, and I had to make the move, so I’m the one that’s gonna be doing somethin’ about it. Have you done this before?”

“Fucked a maintenance man? No,” you lean forward to take his earlobe between your teeth before murmuring into his ear, “But there’s a first time for everything.”

“I’m not fucking you today,” Caleb hisses as you lick the shell of his ear. 

“What?” You protest.

“Wow, how bratty. Guess you’re used to getting what you want, huh?” Caleb goads.

“Thought you liked me,” you pout.

“I do, ‘s why we’re going on at least one date before we get there, although…”

Caleb pulls back, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. 

“Can I do something else?” 

“You can do anything you want to me,” you say without thinking, and Caleb laughs. 

“Do you have kitchen bleach?”

“I’ve got surface cleaner; is that any different from regular bleach?”

“That works,” Caleb shrugs, then sinks to his knees in front of you. “Do me a favor and thread your fingers through my hair so you’ve got a bit of a grip - I don’t mind if you pull.”

You blink.

“Oh, lift up for me, please?” He asks sweetly, and when you obey, he tugs your sweats and panties down until they reach your knees, then impatiently yanks them off. “Oh, fuck.”

“I - I haven’t showered today, and -”

Caleb inhales deeply and fucking shudders.

“Shit, I was gonna start slow, but I need to taste you now - will you let me? Please, can I use my mouth?”

Caleb looks up at you from between your thighs, his eyes filled with a wet, desperate kind of need that makes you clench around nothing.

“Y-yes, please.”

Your invitation is all Caleb needs to dive in. He flattens his tongue against you, no preamble or teasing, and flicks his tongue after he’s collected all of your arousal that he can. Caleb’s jaw works as he swallows and moans, the sound low and intense. He wastes no time between licks and attacks your cunt with drawn-out French kisses, all saliva and primal need that outweighs his normal polite disposition. 

Caleb is insatiable, and this is a side of him you never thought you’d see. It’s becoming clearer and clearer that you might be a freak for submitting those fake requests just to see him, but he’s matched and raised you. You wonder if you’re dealing with something beyond your scope of capabilities when you tug his hair hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, and he whimpers. Caleb pulls back, and you can’t tell where your fluids start and his saliva ends. He doesn’t bother to wipe his face when he looks up at you with a plea.

“Pull harder and fuck my face, okay?” 

His eyes are desperate and innocent, but his question makes you shiver. Caleb allows you no recovery time before he’s back at it, flattening his tongue against you to grind against. Your grip in his hair tightens, but you’re still terrified of hurting him. Sensing your hesitation, Caleb flicks his tongue up to your clit, then sucks it into his mouth as he finds your hands in his hair and makes you yank it. His groans are muffled but unmistakable, and the rumbling vibrates against you, wrenching a sharp, high-pitched cry from your throat. 

Satisfied that you’re pulling his hair hard enough, Caleb pulls his hand away from yours to sneak between your legs. Without prelude, he slips his index finger inside of you and grunts when he feels how tight you are. You’re so wet that a second finger glides inside of you with ease as Caleb swirls his tongue around your swollen clit.

“Yes, ‘s it,” Caleb slurs against you. “Take what y’need, sweetheart.”

It’s been a while since you’ve had any kind of stimulation, and Caleb is so intoxicating that he’s able to bring you so close to the edge your thighs are quaking around his head. Caleb is observant and senses how close you are without you having to say anything. You doubt you’d be able to voice it, anyway. You cry out, a half-whimper, half-sob, as Caleb thrusts his fingers deep inside of you, so long that he reaches a place you’ve never felt before. 

He flicks his tongue rapidly against your clit, jaw working and tongue aching to get you where he wants you as fluid drips onto your kitchen floor in front of him. Your lips part on a silent scream, and Caleb scissors his fingers inside of you as he works you through your orgasm. Your body surges forward with the intensity of it all, and Caleb steadies you with his free hand. You tremble in the aftershocks of your bliss, and worried that you’ll fall without something to hold on to, Caleb stands to hold you there while you recover.

“Good girl,” Caleb soothes. “You did so well for me. Can you stand?”

“I - I don’t know,” you answer honestly. 

“That’s okay, just wrap your arms around my neck, okay - and hang on tight for me?” Caleb speaks so gently, the difference is almost jarring.

Caleb wraps your legs around his waist, seemingly not caring that you’re staining the front of his shirt, and walks you to your bedroom. He lays you down on your bed to give you a moment to breathe, then leaves the room. You almost call to ask him where he’s going, but he returns within seconds with a damp cloth.

“Spread your legs for me?” Caleb instructs, and you mindlessly obey, thoughts still trying to find their way back into your head after they’ve been tongue-fucked out of it.

Caleb wipes your thighs first, then gently drags the cloth between your legs to clean you up as best he can. 

“Wow, you’re good at everything,” you manage after a few moments. 

Caleb snickers.

“I don’t wanna brag, buuuuuuut.”

“Mm, hey, while I’ve got you here,” you trail off, unable to fight a smile at your own amusement.

“Hm?”

You hesitate for a moment, then obey, walking over to his side. You knew he was tall, but his full height doesn't hit you until you're standing right next to him. He's huge. Good thing he's friendly. At least you get one stroke of good luck where it counts.

He looks you up and down and tsks when you reach his side, seeing you shivering and looking up at him with big watery doe eyes. "Poor thing, you're freezing. Here." He takes off his heavy wool jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. Due to your height difference, it nearly grazes the ground.

You feel a bit of heat in your cold cheeks. It smells like him, and he smells nice. Something you can't place, but an almost addictive scent nonetheless. "Ah, thank you, but you don't have to, it's- it's really okay," Flustered, you try to convince him to take his coat back, but he's already shaking his head. Part of you isn't sure if you'd even let him take it back; it's incredibly warm and provides immense relief from the chill that had reached deep into your bones.

"No need." He reassures you, gently patting your shoulder. "Though we could go to my car, if you want. You would be able to warm up and charge your phone there."

Before you even realize it, you're already nodding. The offer is extremely tempting, even if you know you should be cautious. "I-If it's okay," you mumble, feeling bad for imposing on him.

"I'm the one who offered," he shrugs, unbothered. He gestures with his head towards the alley. "Come. It's faster if we cut through here."

You trustingly follow him into the darkness, not even hesitating to go with him this time. Though it seems like this wasn't good luck after all. Your stomach sinks as the other end of the alley slowly fades into view, and it's a wall. He led you into a dead end.

A mixture of anxiety, panic, and fear starts to build up in your gut, and you take a step back, looking up at the man. Surely he just made a mistake? He lent you his coat, after all, he wouldn't...

"S-Sir?" You falter, your heart starting to pound as he turns to face you. "This isn't- um, d-did you go the wrong way?" He doesn't respond as he slowly approaches you, causing you to take another step back. "I-I don't- I'm sorry, I'm gonna go," you stutter.

But the second you make a move to run, you feel an ironclad grip around your bicep. You yelp and try to wriggle free, but you're no match for even a fraction of his strength. He pulls you back against his chest with a hand over your mouth, gently sitting down on the ground and taking you with him.

"Shh, shhhh," he softly shushes you, moving his other hand from your arm to your waist, holding you tightly and keeping you pinned to his lap. His hold almost feels strangely comforting, though his skin is cold to the touch. "Just go quietly, that's it. No one's around to hear you. Just relax."

You shake your head no, letting out a muffled whimper as you start to cry. The man looks down at you with pity, taking his hand off your mouth and turning you to face him, pressing you against his chest. His coat feels like a weighted blanket, urging you to be pliant and sweet for him. You don't bother to scream.

"I know, I know, sweetie. You're being so good for me." He coos. You sniffle, fat tears dripping down your cheeks. He tenderly curls his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head to the side and baring your neck for him.

"Stay like this, alright? Breathe, it's just a little pinch. Lean into me, I have you." You go easily, and he presses a soft kiss to the column of your throat. His fingers trail up and down your scalp, calming your heartbeat. Your face is wet.

"It feels nice, I promise. I have no reason to lie to you." he whispers. You trust him.

He bites down, and you jerk with pain, your fists clenching. It's agony for a few moments, and you nearly cry out, but the pain soon turns to a gently throbbing numbness. A tingling warmth spreads through your body at the site of the bite, and you go limp. It feels like when someone scratches your back: a comforting, pleasant sensation that helps you settle.

You feel so relaxed, so safe. The world is going dimmer. You think you hear murmured praise in your ear, but you can't really tell. You think you can feel the life being drained from your body, but you don't really mind. If this is how you go out, maybe that's not so bad.

“Do you wanna eat out tonight?” he suddenly asked, shocking you by appearing behind you unexpectedly and snaking his arms around your waist. “Somewhere really nice.”

“Hm? Where'd that come from?” you asked with a surprised laugh in your voice as you held onto one of his arms with one hand, your other lifting up tupperware for you to inspect. “Do you not want to eat my cooking that badly?” He could hear the mischievous smirk in your voice.

“What? No, come on,” he whined as he drew you closer. “I just... want to do something nice for you is all.” He buried his head in your shoulder, glad that you were facing away from him because he knew he wouldn't be able to look you in your eyes. You'd be able to feel the warmth from his face if not for his thick jumper that you had on.

“Well, I mean, that's sweet and all, but I wasn't expecting to do anything like this tonight...” you mused to yourself, mindlessly stroking his hair as his head remained seated in the crook of your neck. “Isn't takeout at home more your style anyway?” You finally turned around and looped your arms around his neck, just for his head to seat itself on your shoulder once again.

“It doesn't have to be.” You couldn't see his face but you could hear the pout in his voice now, and although you were confused by why he was so intent on this, your suspicions were pushed to the back of your mind by how hard you were trying not to laugh.

“Xavier, look at us. Neither of us are ready to go out at all,” you giggled, just to receive an indignant hum in response. “And look at the time.”

He raised his head for a moment and turned to the clock on the wall of your kitchen. 6.21pm .

“There's nowhere we could walk into now that wouldn't have at least a 45 minute wait time. And I know your stomach - waiting for me to get ready, finding a place to eat, getting there and then waiting, like, an hour on top? You wouldn't be able to hold out that long.” He stiffened in your hold. You had a point.

“I'll gladly let you take me out but let's plan a proper date night, okay? Pick a place and a day and then you can woo me to your heart's content.”

“Mission accepted, I'll be sure to do just that, partner.”

Zayne

He tried to act like the volume of and emotion in your voice, and the way you enunciated and practically spat out every word with what he could only deem as being akin to vitriol didn't bother him. It was just a song. He knows your music tastes are broad and diverse, that your playlists tend to be a whirlwind and rollercoaster of emotions, jumping from songs about heartbreak to sappy love songs to sensual rnb to songs for partying and dancing. And he knows how animated you get when you sing along to your favourites. It didn't mean anything - of course not.

So why had he been staring at his laptop screen unable to read or type anything for the last 10 minutes?

‘ At first we started out real cool. Taking me places I ain't never been. But now you're getting comfortable, ain't doing those things you did no more ’

Was he not doing enough? Neglecting you to the point of practically mooching off of you? No chance, he knew that could never happen, and he made it clear you were free to use his money as you pleased. But still, had he really grown so content with your dynamic that he had seemingly stopped trying ? He was busy - Linkon's No. 1 heart surgeon would be - you both knew that and he thought that was something you were okay with before making things official, but maybe he had been taking advantage of how understanding you were and was beginning to leave you unfulfilled. The thought alone gave him chills.

“Zayne, sweetie?” you asked before pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.

“Yes, dear?” he finally stirred out of his daze to turn to you.

“I knew you weren't listening,” you huffed with a light laugh. “I was trying to tell you that I'm gonna go get ready for bed now.” He relaxed a bit, about to send you off with a goodnight but you continued. “And I would usually leave you to do your important doctor stuff but it looks like you've lost your flow and are about out of gas for the night. Join me?”

He slowly turned between you and his laptop screen in front of him. He knew he should finish his work, but from how he had been acting over you singing a song, you were probably right.

“Alright, let me just finish up here and I'll meet you in the bedroom in a moment. Thank you, darling,” he murmured as he took one of your hands and nuzzled his face into your knuckles.

You agreed and were ready to turn on your heel and make your way to your shared room, but his grip on your hand grew tighter, preventing you from leaving.

“Huh, what's wrong?” you hummed in confusion.

“I was just thinking about slotting in some recharge time this weekend, and I wouldn't be able to recharge to 100% without you. If you're free, we could do whatever you like,” he asked you while looking at you from over the frames of his glasses. He was too adorable to turn down (not that you would anyway).

“Recharge time for you but we're doing what I want? Seems counterproductive, doesn't it, doctor?” you chuckled. “I do conveniently have an open weekend though. Let's start planning once you're done here, okay?”

He hummed contentedly into your hand before loosening his grip enough for you to retrieve your hand from him.

Of course he knows you weren't singing about him, but he enjoys being kept on his toes a little bit.

Rafayel

“Cutie? Be honest, is that how you feel about me?”

He gets straight to the point, with the question tumbling past his lips before he can even stop himself.

“Huh? What do you mean?” voice far and distrait as you tried to focus on your game. It wasn't uncommon for you to have a playlist running in the background as you played your games, so you sometimes ended up singing along.

“I mean ,” he emphasised dramatically. “The song you were just singing!” You weren’t sure if he sounded annoyed, panicked or both.

“What song?” Oh my god, you weren't paying attention at all.

“That song about paying bills!” he exclaimed over your protests against him pausing your game to get your attention.

“Wha- Raf, are you serious ? Tell me you're not serious.” You were so taken aback that your irritation was wavering, threatening to be overthrown by sheer perplexity.

“Of course I am! You were talking about finding yourself a ‘ baller ’, weren't you? All like,

“ ‘ When times get hard, need someone to help me out. Instead of a scrub like you who don't know what a man's about .’

“Like, no way you feel that way with me, right, cutie?”

So he really paused your game, preventing you from dodging the enemy and guaranteeing you receiving a heavy, potentially fatal hit when you unpause... for this. But, unfortunately, you could tell from the way his eyebrows were knit together and from the way his lips looked to be moulded into a pout so defined you were scared they'd get stuck like that, he likely really was troubled by this.

“Raf,” you sighed. “You're ridiculous.”

“And you’re deflecting!”

“Rafayel, there is literally no way for that song to be about you, like, at all! You always choose to drive me around in one of your fancy cars since you think my driving is ‘ unsafe ’ and that I'm a ‘ danger to myself and others ’ when I'm on the road, you're always gifting me things, valuable either materially or sentimentally, you practically have a stroke whenever I suggest paying for anything with my own money, and you make it abundantly clear that you would always rather be with me than attend to any of your other obligations. Why would I be singing that song about you?” you finished your rant of love with a deep sigh of frustration as you shut your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. Hopefully he'll let go of such irrational anxieties and-

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” you heard him say, but, the tone of his voice... no, he couldn't possibly...

You opened your eyes to see him grinning at you, eyes twinkling with mischief before he shrugged, “Because I'm clearly just the best boyfriend in the world, aren't I?”

“You ass! You just wanted me to compliment you!” you growled as you threw one of the couch cushions at him.

“Well I mean, from how you described things, I clearly deserve it, right, cutie?” he smirked as he expertly dodged your makeshift weapon.

“Raf, I'm gonna have to restart this dungeon to fight this stupid boss again,” you whined as you threw yourself back into the backrest of the couch in a pseudo-tantrum.

“Come on, I'll take your mind off of it by taking you shopping.” He dangled the idea before you like waving a colourful toy in front of a baby. You eyed him while trying to stand your ground but knew you couldn't resist.

“Fine, but since you're so intent on being Mr MoneyBags, you're paying for everything,” you chirped, bouncing up off the couch and sticking your tongue out at him.

“Pfft, so business as usual then?”

“Oh, shut up!”

Sylus

Sylus usually loved when you sang around him. You'd listen to music along with everything you did - studying, showering, training - and you'd always have a tune on your tongue, a melody in your throat. This time was different, though.

You had been sat on the couch with him laying on your lap while you mindlessly scrolled your phone, but the moment that song came on it grasped your full attention. At first, he was happy to hum along with you, but then he listened to the actual lyrics, and furthermore noticed that you sang along to every word, not missing a beat or even an adlib. He was left laying frozen solid in your thighs.

You failed to realise your mistake - Sylus was the type to take music literally. He'd sing love songs with pure adoration and exaltation in his eyes as he looked at you, he'd get horny from listening to slow and sensual rnb about making sweet love through the night, and he's now thinking you potentially see him as a ‘ triflin', good-for-nothing type of brother ’.

But there is just no way, no way , you could possibly relate such a song to him. He has never once allowed you to pay for anything and whenever you do buy him gifts he ends up sending you back double of what you spent on it.

But, the fact of the matter was that he actually didn't pay your bills. The lyrics -

‘ Can you pay my bills, can you pay my telephone bills, can you pay my automo' bills [...] I don't think you do, so you and me are through ’

- coming out of your mouth made it impossible for him to know peace.

You had both joked in the past about getting him to pay your rent or sending him a list of your monthly expenses for him to take care of, but any time he hinted at being more than capable to make it a reality, you turned him down, claiming to be able to handle that all yourself. But had you been playing hard to get, expecting him to, like, really want to do that for you? To keep begging you to let him do it for you until you gave in? If that was the case, he wondered why you had to be so round about regarding something so trivial, something he'd do for you in a heartbeat without breaking a sweat.

Fine, he'll play along with your little game.

“Kitten,” he drawled, drawing your attention from your phone to his smirk down in your lap. “Anything you want me to take care of for you?”

“Hm?” you cocked your head to the side. What was he playing at now?

“I said~” he drew out.

“No need to repeat, Sy. I heard you,” you snickered. “I'm asking what it is you mean exactly.”

“You can't figure it out?” You paused in thought for a moment.

“I'm not really horny at the moment, but if you're offering I won't turn you down.”

He chuckled a breathy one as he sat up and pulled your legs across his lap.

“Not what I meant, but I'll keep that in mind.” You eyed him waiting for him to continue. “I meant any payments or anything money related at all.”

“Payments? What payments?”

He laughed. You weren't going to make this easy for him were you.

He took your hand before asking, “How about I take care of your rent this month.” You made an incomprehensible noise of confusion and planned on following it with a rejection of his proposal but he only continued. “And the next month too. And also pay for your water and electricity bill. I can take care of your wi-fi, too, as well as your phone bill. Oh, I can also help with your car insurance and-”

“Slowwww the fuck down right there,” you exclaimed as you clasped your hand over his mouth. “Where is this coming from? Are you pranking me?”

“Why would I be?” he mumbled as he prised your hand off of his face. “I just want to take care of my beloved, is that so wrong? Anyone in my position really should be doing that already, but I've had a stubborn kitten stopping me all this time.” You rolled your eyes with a tired sigh.

“Sylus, you really don't need to pay for my rent, and my phone, and my car, and- Oh my god. Sylus, oh my god ,” you interrupted yourself. Caught. “It's because of the song isn't it!” you grinned wide, clapping your hands madly with shining eyes as you realised you completely caught him out.

You teased him for the rest of the evening, going back and forth, him negotiating and compromising. But, you couldn't deny the effect he had on you when you were tangled in your sheets with him punctuating his list of places he promised to take you to with reverent kisses on every inch of your skin.

Caleb

Now, Caleb was used to your singing by now - how could he not be? And he also experienced your intense 90s/early 2000s girl group phase growing up, so he was well acquainted with your love for Destiny's Child, and particularly the song Bills, Bills, Bills.

So it shouldn't have bothered him when you came out from your shower, music still playing from your phone as you sang along and pointed at him, then yourself, and then drew your hand across your throat in a killing motion as you sang -

‘ I don't think you do, so you and me are through ’

- before strutting back to your bedroom. It really shouldn't have. He had heard you sing that song a million times by now, so why did it feel... different?

Well, things in general were different between you two than before. He wasn't just your doting childhood friend anymore, he was your boyfriend. Was it childish for him to feel targeted by a song, despite it not applying to him in the slightest? Yes. Did that change how he felt? Not one bit.

He trailed behind you to your bedroom and sat quietly on the bed as you moisturised and dressed.

Feeling his gaze on you, you paused.

“Caleb, I literally just showered. I'm not in the mood to get all sweaty again just because you're-” you sighed before he desperately cut you off.

“That's not even what I was thinking, pips!” he defended himself, voice breathy with laughter. The look you gave him screamed that you weren't convinced. “Okay, well I want you at all times of the day,” you rolled your eyes. “ But , I was just wondering if you were really okay with essentially a whole weekend inside just doing the usual. You sure there's nothing else you wanna do while I'm here in Linkon? I could take you shopping or out for brunch or- ooh, there's that restaurant on the other side of town you mentioned-”

“Caleb, you've spoiled me rotten since we were kids. I wasn't relating the song to you at all,” you spoke casually while throwing on his hoodie.

“Wha- you knew?” his mouth fell open, but he still opened his arms wide for you when you approached to take a seat in his lap.

“Of course I did, silly. I know you about as well as you know me. I was teasing you, you big dummy,” you smiled as you repeatedly poked his cheek. “You've always gone above and beyond to do far more than enough, so don't you worry your pretty little head about anything, okay?” you giggled before pressing a kiss on the same place you were just poking.

He leaned into the warmth of you lips and hummed with a giddy grin on his face.

“You always know what's on my mind, don't you,” he huffed a laugh.

“I wish I did, but Mr Bear-It-All-On-My-Own Mcgee doesn't make things easy for me. Luckily, I've gotten pretty good anyway.” He could feel you melting into him, and he blended right back into you too. “Is there anything you want to do while you're back around, though?”

“Nah, I'm more than happy to chill with you, run whatever errands and do chores 'n' stuff. The usual. Just us,” he nuzzled into you.

“Good, because I've seen enough of the outside for one week. I'm not leaving if I don't have to, and neither are you.” Your grip on him tightened. He knew you were going to keep him trapped with you no matter what, and he didn't have a single problem with that.