angel

Running a fingertip along his cheek, over the slope of his nose and down to his lips, you linger there for a second longer, giving him a short kiss before turning away. Your legs dangle over the edge of the bed as you stretch your arms above your head, still tired but wanting to do something nice for the man who never fails to put you first.

Some days you wonder how he isn’t completely exhausted juggling not only his demanding job but also his demanding pipsqueak. He must be hiding it.

Yawning so wide your eyes water, you blearily note the sound of rustling fabric. Caleb wraps an arm around your waist from behind, sitting up to rest his head on your shoulder. Maybe you should’ve tried to be a little quieter, a little faster to leave, but you can’t be upset about the way he clings to you—you love it too much.

“Where,” Caleb says, voice a low rasp against your ear, “do you think you’re going?”

Your fingers tighten in the sheets. His morning voice always gets to you. Yet, you sense an undertone of fragility.

“I was going to make you breakfast in bed,” you murmur, one of your hands skimming over the arm wrapped around your midsection.

Caleb huffs, amused. “And I ruined it? Whoopsie.” Tilting his head into your neck, he breathes you in, and your brows crease as you try not to let something so small draw a reaction from you. “But it’s too early for you to be startin’ the day. If you get up now, you’ll want a nap later.”

You sigh. Caleb’s right. You can already feel yourself relaxing back into him as he adjusts to pull you into his lap, your body easily slotting against his own.

“Let me help you with it later, though,” you say begrudgingly.

The muscles in his forearm flex against your stomach as he squeezes you, pressing a kiss to your neck that makes you stiffen. “Alright, alright. We’ll see.”

Tilting your head back, it rests on his shoulder. Caleb’s hands drift either side of your waist, thumbs pressing into your lower back in slow, circular movements reminiscent of a massage. Your hands find his wrists with a sharp inhale, but when he hums into your skin, you let yourself slowly slacken in his hold.

“Mm, that’s it,” he whispers, and your lungs stutter around a breath.

“What’re you doing?”

Caleb’s lips twitch against your skin. “Makin’ you feel all nice and relaxed. It’s working, no?”

As if to prove his point, his hands slide up an inch further, continuing his massage, and your back arches slightly in response. His lips graze the junction of your neck before he sucks lightly on your skin, and the mix of sensations are already dizzying.

“You’re making me feel a little more than relaxed,” you huff, hands slipping down his forearms, feeling the way his movements make for the shifting of muscles and tendons beneath his skin on one arm, the other unyielding metal. It’s anatomy, a basic principle, but somehow it fascinates you in a way, makes your cheeks heat further.

Caleb grins conspiringly, grip on your body tightening. “How so?”

He soothes his tongue over the small mark he made before kissing his way to the collar of your sleep shirt.

“I feel warm, and…” you lose your line of thought, or perhaps you’re too embarrassed to say more.

“And?” Caleb prompts, voice dipping lower, hands stilling on your waist. “If you’re warm, should I take your shirt off?”

Nodding, you pull yourself upright. It’s an excuse, but you both know that. He brings his hands to the hem of the shirt, raising it over your lifted arms and tossing it to the foot of the bed. Caleb hooks his chin over your shoulder, bringing you to lay back against him once more with a hand splayed at your stomach.

“Just look at you,” he murmurs in barely concealed admiration. He grips your jaw, taking a moment to place a smattering of kisses to your neck before coaxing you to glance downward. “Look.”

Caleb’s hand is a perfect fit to your waist—you wear him like he was made for you, or maybe you were made for him, and he can’t help but feel the same way as your supple skin molds to the shape of his fingers. Pressing his palm flat against you, fingers stretched wide, he lets out a breath that passes over the shell of your ear. 

His hands leave you momentarily before skirting over your wrists, drawing a slow line up your forearms, biceps, ending at your shoulders as he clutches them. 

“I want you to watch as I touch you, okay baby? Don’t look away.”

You crane your neck to see his face, and when you glimpse the way he looks so breathless as your eyes meet, it stirs something low in your stomach. “Caleb…” 

He simply catches your jaw once more and angles it how it was before. Anticipation makes your breath come short as you watch his palms smooth over your chest, catching your nipples in a way that makes you lean into the contact. His fingertips trace your sternum, moving lower as his hands wrap either side of your waist, sliding upwards and feeling along the bones of your ribcage. He makes it to your chest again, cupping your boobs, and you lean further back against him, the both of you trying to control your breathing.

“Please, Caleb,” you say, voice quiet and unsteady. Your eyes stay on his hands, mostly because he asked you, though the sight is hard to look away from in and of itself.

Caleb gasps, almost silently. “You don’t need to beg me, my pretty girl. I’ll always give you what you want,” he says, but you have a feeling he likes hearing you ask for it.

Caleb's fingertips skim your nipples, repeating that same little sweep of his fingers after you make a breathy sound. Just faint, drawn out touches of the pads of his fingers have you gripping his arms, the gentle, observant way he handles you making your heart flutter. You don’t even notice your eyes have closed, your body chasing his hands each time he pulls them away.

Fingertips closing around the buds, he rolls them, pinches them, does whatever will get you to go soft and pliant and needy under his hands. 

“How do you feel now?” He asks, head dipping down to meet your neck. “Still ‘warm, and’?”

Nodding, your nails bite into his skin slightly as he makes out with your throat. “Ah—It’s good, you feel good.”

“Oh—”

Squirming, your legs manage to part over one of his thighs, and the pressure against your core feels relieving to the ache that’s becoming more apparent. You sense Caleb’s gaze, his muffled moan as you rock your hips against his thigh, just a small shift in your hips that feels lewd to be seen doing.

When his thigh lifts beneath you, you whine, rolling your hips far more openly, and Caleb seems to be done with whatever it is you’d started doing, quickly pulling you closer and lying back on the bed with you both on your sides, him spooning you. Palm sliding down to your legs, he pulls the top one securely over his thigh before parting his own legs, and you’re forced open with him. You tense, instinctively trying to close up, but one is hiked high over his thigh and his other leg rests over yours, pressing it into the mattress when he feels you move.

“You don’t know what you do to me, do you?” Caleb pants, and you can feel his bulge twitch against you, fingers teasing the waistband of your sleep shorts. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ll make you feel more than just good, yeah? Anything you want.”

Muttering an utterly wrecked assent, you feel his hand slip beneath your shorts, rapidly seeking out your wet folds. You both moan as Caleb feels how soaked you are for him, your breath hitching at the first glide of his fingers through your heat.

“You’re dripping,” Caleb groans, stroking you slowly. 

Thighs quivering, you whimper, reaching to grasp at the closest part of him you can reach, which happens to be his arm again. You’re not disappointed. You call out his name under your breath.

Caleb slides the first digit into you, pressing up against your walls. The drag out is careful, and he pushes back in just as steadily, the depth alone reaching parts of you that your smaller fingers struggle to find. Pulling out, his finger makes its way to your clit, pressing down and making slow circles on the sensitive bud while you let out a faint sound into the thick air between you.

“Shh,” he says, lips attached to your neck, breathing you in. “Caleb’s gonna take care of you.”

“You’re so nice to me,” you reply, a little lost in his big warm hold.

A breathy laugh escapes him, reverberates through his chest into your back. “That’s right…”

And he does take care of you. After toying with your clit until you’re almost dizzy, slack against him, he lines two fingers up to your hole, pushing them in as deep as they’ll go. You moan at the stretch of him, clenching around him as he sets a fast pace, fingertips knocking against your walls, searching for that spongy spot that makes you see stars.

“Caleb, Caleb, ah—” you breathe, gripping his arm with vigour, rocking your hips into his hand as much as the position will let you. Caleb whimpers into your neck, watching the display, trying not to cum in his pants from how you’re grinding your ass over his boner each time you shift your hips. When you keen loudly, head falling back, he knows to keep angling his fingers right there, at the spot that’ll make you fall apart on his fingers.

You squirm at his relentless precision, and Caleb’s other arm wraps around you, pulling your body the rest of the way atop his own, thighs spread over his as you lay fully against his chest. Your legs tremble in an effort to shut, and he uses his evol to hold them in place. A wave of arousal shoots to his dick at how easy it is to restrain you, how you don’t fight against it .

“Cum, cum all over my hand,” Caleb rasps, voice right beside your ear, sounding almost as undone as you are. “Cum for me.”

Bringing your hand to your mouth, you bite down on your skin, but Caleb is quick to remove it, replacing it with his fingers. He shoves them halfway into your mouth as your orgasm hits, and you moan around them, back arching sharply whilst he fingers you through it.

“Good girl,” you hear in the midst of it all.

Your hips slow their movements, and your hazy stare meets the ceiling. Caleb’s hand stops moving, remaining inside you as he pulls his fingers from your mouth to trail them over your chest softly, leaving a path of saliva in their wake. Still catching your breath, you sigh as he directs his attention to your boobs again, pinching one nipple softly, teasing the bud between his fingertips.

“When I’m lookin’ at you from here, I can see what you see,” Caleb murmurs, voice close. A pleasant tingle runs down your spine. “I can feel when you move, smell your shampoo, your perfume, your scent.”

He gives your nipple one sharp pinch before moving to the other. Your head falls to face the side.

“I feel you too,” you respond. Caleb’s dick is leaking a wet spot through his clothes and your shorts, pressing against your behind. You shift your hips over him and he grunts, hand coming to hold you in place.

“Wait, baby,” he speaks in a soft voice, and his fingers start moving inside you again, setting the same rapid pace as before. Whining, your hands slam against the mattress as you try to push up, but Caleb wraps an arm around you to pull you down again.

“Caleb, hurts—” you cry out at the overstimulation, body writhing helplessly.

“You can take it,” he says, holding you tight. “Unless you want to stop?”

“No!”

“I don't want to either.”

Caleb’s evol prevents your legs from kicking out, and you feel a little like a pinned bug when there’s nothing you can do to escape him. The sensations are overwhelming, painful, but still so good, and you’re not sure whether to chase them or run away. You’re given neither option, anyway. 

Eventually, you stop fighting, going boneless atop him.

“See? Knew you could do it,” Caleb breathes.

By the time he slows, you’re not sure if you want him to. He halts to a slow grind inside you, thumb finding your clit as you moan weakly. Then, he scissors your walls, and your body jolts at the feeling. A third digit prods at your entrance. You squeak as it joins the rest, a tight fit, but not painful.

“Squeezin’ my fingers so tight.” Caleb thrusts them into you shallowly. “Do you want me even deeper? Need you, pips.”

You fight the haze in your mind as you reply. “Been so good to me, Caleb. I want you to have it. Want you inside.”

Caleb nips the shell of your ear, shoving his fingers as deep as they’ll go before pulling them out, releasing his evol’s hold on your body to pull your shorts and panties down your hips. You move your legs to help him get them past your knees, kicking them off when they slip down to your ankles to the far corner of the bed. 

Grabbing an unoccupied pillow, he tugs it closer and flips you both over, slipping it beneath your hips. You let out a breath as your cheek meets the mattress, going lax as he cards a hand through your hair and tilts himself to meet your gaze. His eyes are dark, but his smile is so soft, hair falling against a forehead beaded with sweat, face flushed.

“I love you,” he says warmly, pressing a kiss to your shoulderblade. “More than you’ll know.”

You watch him. He averts his gaze downward, shucks off his pants, makes a little sound as his dick is freed. Caleb adjusts the position of your thighs and slides his tip over your folds, using one hand to smear your juices all over himself, the other holding himself up, his thick bicep almost close enough to your face to bite. He starts to push himself in.

“I love you too,” you finally say, squinting at the stretch of him—it hurts, but it’s delicious all the same. “You’re… everything to me.”

Caleb looks up, gaze locking onto yours. His other arm braces at your other side, his face bowing to press a kiss to your cheek. Brows creasing, your hand finds one of his.

“Do it,” you whisper.

Shuddering, his hips slam into yours, filling you all the way, your body being pushed against the bed. Neither of you look away from each other. The sound you make is high pitched and a little pained, and Caleb summons all his restraint to let you adjust, grinding into you gently and singing your praises between breathy whimpers, even as your nails dig into his skin.

At some point, your eyes drift shut. Tension and pain bleeds out of your body, world narrowing to the warm air and your combined breaths, Caleb’s dick nudging a place high, high up inside you, his voice next to your ear. You forget everything besides him, remember nothing but the present, pulled into a world where your growing, mounting pleasure is all you can feel. You are light, warm, held.

“Oh, honey,” Caleb rasps, deepening his thrusts. “You feel good?”

You don’t know what your face is doing. The press of his hips against your own is heavenly, the sounds you make together are lewd, and through everything you find that you can’t respond to him. Caleb loves you, is making love to you, and you love him so much, too.

“Mmh, you’re so cute,” he says, expression fond. Then his breath hitches, and he sighs into your hot skin. “Sucking me in. Never wanna leave you.”

Caleb drapes his body over your own, fucking you in earnest, and you take it, grinding back against him without realising, back arched sharply. The pressure of his body against yours still accommodates both your rapid breaths. Feeling him so deep, so close, makes your heart feel full and warm. Your body parts around his dick, lets him in, accepts every inch, all he’ll give.

Your legs start to tremble as your orgasm approaches, little tremors that, alongside your pulsing walls, tell him you’re on the brink of falling apart.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum baby,” Caleb moans. “Love you love you love you…”

You don’t know who cums first, so inextricably entwined in this moment that it’s anyone’s guess. Caleb thrusts into you until you both have matching tears of overstimulation, until he physically can’t keep going on. Then, just before you pass out, he lays himself beside you and pulls you into his arms.

—

You wake up redressed in warm pyjamas, clean and pleasantly limp, to Caleb stroking your cheek. He gives you one of those smiles that make you want to keep him in your arms for an eternity.

“Hey, how are you feeling? I made us pancakes,” Caleb says, helping you sit up. When you immediately cling to him, he laughs and hugs you back.

“I’m feeling hungry,” you pout. “And I need to pee. But… I thought you said you’d let me help with breakfast?”

Caleb hums in consideration. “Oh, really? I never heard such a thing.” Leaning down, he kisses your forehead. “Besides, when have I not taken care of you? Making breakfast is a piece of cake.”

Huffing, you try to turn away from him, but he only pulls you closer. “You spoil me.”

“Yep, and I’ll have you know Caleb’s got a lot more love where that’s comin’ from, Pipsqueak,” he says, lifting you up and walking you to the bathroom. “That’s for sure.”

Already at the stove.

Already flipping something in a pan with the confidence of a man who learned to cook before he learned to shave.

He’ll glance over his shoulder at you and smile, and it’s that smile, the soft one with the slight crinkle at the corner of his purple eyes, and you’ll feel your irritation deflate like a sad balloon because god, he’s so annoyingly pretty.

You tried cleaning.

You got up early. Practically military-early, which for you is a genuine sacrifice.

You dug out the cleaning supplies from under the sink and you had the vacuum cleaner out before seven in the morning, which should have earned you some kind of medal.

Instead you found the living room already clean. Not recently clean. Impeccably clean. Like it had never been touched by the concept of mess. There was a note on the coffee table in his handwriting: Don’t strain yourself, Pipsqueak. — C.

You may have crumpled that note aggressively.

You may have then proceeded to sit down in the middle of the clean living room floor and have something that could generously be called a meltdown. A tantrum, if you’re being less generous.

Caleb came in from wherever he’d been — still in that black and orange flight jacket, hair slightly messed, looking unfairly effortless — and found you sitting on the floor with your arms crossed and your expression set to full operational sulk.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, and then the corner of his mouth tugged upward, and he laughed. Not mean. Never mean with you.

Just warm and rich and a little helpless, like you were the funniest thing he’d ever seen and also slightly exasperating.

“I just wanted to help,” you told him, which came out more like a whine than a declaration.

“I know,” he said, and before you could say anything else he had you up over his shoulder like you weighed nothing — like you were a bag of laundry, like the laws of gravity simply applied differently to you when he decided they did — and the world flipped upside down and his hand was firm and warm on the back of your thigh.

“Caleb—“

“You wanna work so much?” His voice had dropped, that particular low register that lived somewhere between teasing and intent. “Alright. Put that mouth to work.”

And the thing is. The thing is. You’re not going to dwell on what happened after that.

You’re absolutely not going to think about how you ended up on your knees on the floor of his office with his hands loose in your hair and his cock heavy on your tongue, or about the sounds he made, or about the way he looked down at you with those purple eyes gone dark and said good girl like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You are not dwelling on any of that.

You’re especially not dwelling on the fact that you’d have done it again. Enthusiastically.

But the point is — and you have to keep coming back to the point because your brain has a truly inconvenient tendency to wander — his birthday is in two weeks.

And you have done nothing.

Zero.

You’ve been outmaneuvered at every turn by a six-foot-two military pilot who apparently never sleeps and has a pathological need to do everything himself before anyone else can.

Domestic route: blocked. Culinary route: blocked. Cleaning route: blocked and mocked, very gently, via handwritten note.

Fine. Fine.

If he won’t let you help him with the house, you’ll help him in a different way. A much more interesting way.

The idea had come to you in the middle of the night, the way good ideas tend to. If Caleb loves his uniform, and he does, he’s meticulous about it in a way that borders on religious — the pressed lines, the insignia, the whole Colonel energy he wears like a second skin — then what better way to short-circuit his brain than to wear it yourself?

You’d ordered it three weeks ago, back before the tantrum, when you still thought the cooking plan might work.

It had been sitting in your closet ever since, tucked behind a row of regular clothes, hidden in plain sight as something so mundane that Caleb, who does occasionally poke his head into your room to return folded laundry like some kind of domestic nightmare, would never look twice at it.

Just a dry-cleaning bag. Just a work uniform. Nothing to see here.

You pull it out now, holding it up in the soft late-afternoon light that comes through your window, and you look at it critically. It’s exactly right. The cut, the fabric, the insignia you’d had replicated. The jacket. The pants. The whole setup.

Caleb is in his room, the door cracked open the way it always is when he’s working at his desk, which means you can hear the faint occasional sound of papers shifting or his pen moving, which means he is exactly where you want him.

You look at the uniform again. You look at yourself in the mirror on the back of your closet door.

You’re going to march into his room, and you’re going to make Colonel Caleb Xia Yi Zhou lose every single thread of his composure, because it’s almost his birthday and you refuse — refuse — to be outmaneuvered a fourth time.

But here’s what they don’t tell you about ordering a uniform online when you’re more focused on the fantasy of it than the logistics: size matters.

Size matters a lot.

You step into the pants first, which is a process. You get them up past your knees fine. Past your thighs is already a project. By the time you’ve wrestled them up over your hips you’re already slightly out of breath, and when you look in the mirror the fabric is pulled so tight across your ass that you can practically count the individual seams.

You turn sideways. You turn back. You try bending at the knee to test the range of motion and the pants make a sound like a warning.

Don’t, the pants say. Absolutely do not.

Okay, so bending is out.

Moving with anything resembling caution is also out.

If you sit down in these you might genuinely be trapped.

You accept this as the price of the plan and move on to the jacket, which is the least of your problems until it isn’t — the buttons close over your stomach fine, but once you get to your chest it becomes a negotiation.

The fabric strains. The buttons are doing their best. They are trying so hard and they are losing, and there’s a gap between the second and third button from the top that wasn’t there in the product photos, where the fabric pulls apart just enough to show a strip of skin and the edge of your bra.

You look at yourself in the mirror for a long moment.

“Okay,” you say.

Your ass looks genuinely extraordinary. You have to give the too-tight pants that — they’ve done something transcendent back there. The uniform jacket hits just above the curve of it, which means when you lean forward even slightly there is an event happening. And the gap at the chest is doing something. It’s doing something you hadn’t planned, but you’re choosing to count it as a feature.

You rake your hair back, let it fall, tilt your chin. You point at your own reflection.

“He’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Your reflection looks back at you with the energy of someone who is sixty percent confident and forty percent about to back out.

You do not give her the opportunity.

You turn away from the mirror before the forty percent can gain ground, grab the door handle, and head out into the hallway.

The apartment is quiet. The late afternoon has gone gold and long-shadowed, and Caleb’s door is still cracked the way it was before, a thin rectangle of warm light falling across the hall floor. You can hear him in there — the faint shift of paper, the soft particular sound of his pen, totally absorbed. He has no idea.

You stop outside his door. You breathe.

You arrange your face into an expression of worried contrition, which takes some doing because underneath it you are absolutely delighted with yourself, and you knock twice on the door frame, keeping your body just out of sight around the edge.

“Caleb?” Your voice comes out with exactly the right wobble — concerned, a little sheepish, the voice of someone who has done something they feel bad about. “I’m really sorry, but — I was trying to do something nice, and I think I kind of messed up...”

There’s a pause. You hear his pen stop.

“Messed up how?” His voice is careful, not alarmed. Just attentive, the way he always is when you sound uncertain, because Caleb has never once in his life been able to hear you sound uncertain without immediately paying attention. It’s one of his more exploitable qualities.

“I tried washing your uniform for you,” you say, and you let the words come out small and guilty. “And I think — I think it might have... shrunk.”

Another pause. You can picture him at his desk, his brow doing that slight furrow, trying to work out why that’s a problem that requires you to sound this apologetic.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is mild, unoffended, just a little puzzled. The chair shifts. “Let me see it. Come here.”

That’s your cue.

You step around the door frame and into the light of his room, and then you walk toward him. You take your time with it, because the pants make fast movement inadvisable anyway, and because the whole point is to let him see every inch of you in this thing that barely contains you — the jacket pulled tight across your chest, the gap where the buttons strain, the pants that have given up any pretense of modesty and are simply painting you in detail.

Caleb goes completely still.

He’d been turned partway toward the door, one arm braced on his desk, and that’s how he stays — perfectly, completely motionless — as you cross the room toward him.

His mouth doesn’t drop open. He’s more composed than that. But his eyes go somewhere darker and the breath he’d been in the middle of just... stops. You can see it. The stillness of his chest.

His cock is already pressing against his pants. You notice this without looking directly, the way you notice a fire — by the heat of it, by the fact that the room feels different suddenly

You don’t say anything. You walk to his desk, turn so your back is to him, and lean against the edge of it. Your ass settles onto his work papers with a soft, definitive sound. You glance back at him over your shoulder.

He still hasn’t spoken. He’s just watching you.

His eyes trace the uniform, absorbing every detail like a blueprint he’s determined to master. His jaw is tight. The smirk hasn’t arrived yet — it’s building, you can see it in the set of his mouth, the way the corner of his lip is just beginning to pull.

You cross your arms loosely, settle your weight back, and look at him.

“Well?” you say, keeping your voice light, unbothered, like you aren’t desperately aware of your own heartbeat. “What do you think? Think it shrunk?”

And there it is — the smirk, slow and deliberate as a knife being unsheathed, landing at the corner of his mouth like he was never trying to hold it back, just waiting to make sure you were watching when it showed up.

“Mhm,” Caleb says. It’s not an answer. It’s not even a word. It’s just a sound in the low register of his voice that goes directly down your spine. The look in his eyes is the look of a man who has already decided what’s going to happen next and finds it very, very funny that you thought you were in charge of this.

You swallow.

Maybe you didn’t think this through all the way.

You think — well, you THOUGHT — that you have the upper hand here.

You’re sitting on his desk, his papers crinkled under your ass, wearing his uniform like you own it, and he’s just standing there in front of you looking at you with that smirk, and you think: yeah, okay, I’ve got him. You think: he’s flustered and I did that. You think a lot of things very quickly, in the way you do when you’re trying to feel confident and your brain is helping you lie to yourself.

Then Caleb stands up.

He’d been leaning slightly forward, one hand on the arm of his chair. He rises to his full height like the tide coming in, slow and inevitable, and suddenly he is very tall.

You’ve always known he’s tall. Six-foot-two is not a secret.

You have lived with this man, you’ve stood next to him at the grocery store and craned your neck at him across the dinner table and had him tuck you under his arm for years without really registering it the way you register it now.

You have to lean back just to keep eye contact. Your hands go automatically to the desk behind you, bracing.

“Hi,” you say, which is not what you’d planned to say.

He doesn’t answer. Instead he reaches out — and picks you up. Both hands, one at your hip and one at your thigh, and he lifts you like you’re a piece of paper he’s clearing off the desk and deposits you further back on the desk surface, higher up, and the pants — the beautiful, already-suffering pants — finally meet their end.

The seam goes with a sharp tearing sound right down the middle, and you feel the cool air of the room find your inner thighs, and you make a sound you hadn’t planned to make, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, and your hands fly down to cover yourself automatically. That does nothing, by the way, because Caleb’s hands are already there, wrapping around your wrists and holding them to the side with a calm, immovable firmness.

His hands are enormous around your wrists. You could probably fight it but you don’t, because you’ve already forgotten what you were fighting for.

Your panties are orange. Bright, irreverent orange, the exact same color as the stripe on his flight jacket, and they are completely visible through the wreckage of the pants.

Caleb stares at them.

And then he does something you didn’t predict, because you should have known by now that Caleb in this mode is ungovernable: he drops his head.

He dips down between your thighs and puts his nose right against the fabric, and inhales. Long and deep and completely shameless, like you’re something he’s been wanting to smell for a long time and he is going to take his time about it.

You feel the breath of it through the fabric, warm and deliberate, and your hands jerk reflexively in his grip but he doesn’t let go.

“Caleb—“

He licks. A long, slow drag of his tongue over the front of your underwear, and the fabric is thin enough that you feel all of it — the wet heat, the pressure, the shape of his mouth working against you like he’s trying to memorize you through the cotton.

He does it again. He makes a sound low in his throat that is not a civilized sound, that belongs to something older and less housebroken than any version of Caleb you’ve been allowed to see before.

There is saliva soaking into the fabric now. There is the obscene warmth of his mouth. And there is you, gripping the edge of his desk with fingers gone white, breathing through your teeth.

He lets go of your wrists, steps back, and reaches into his own pants. He doesn’t bother taking them off — just shoves them down to his knees, enough to free himself, and his cock springs out like it’s been waiting for this, already flushed and heavy, standing up toward his stomach.

He wraps one hand around the base of it and strokes it slowly, watching you, watching the orange of your panties, watching the evidence of what he’s already done to them.

“Mmm,” he says again, that low sound from before. Not a word. An assessment.

Then he steps forward, and instead of pushing in — instead of doing the obvious thing, the thing you are absolutely ready for whether you’ll admit it or not — he just leans against you.

Pushes his cock down flat against the front of your panties, along your stomach, and the length of him is just. There. You both look down at the same time.

His tip passes your navel. Surpasses it. There’s cock laid against your stomach in a way that makes the math of the situation very, very clear.

“Look here, Pips.” His voice is low and easy, like he’s making an observation about the weather, like he’s discussing something reasonable and not currently resting every inch of himself against your skin. “I’m gonna be in here one day.”

Not I want to. Not can I? Just — I’m going to. The same tone he uses when he talks about flight routes and promotions and things he’s already decided are going to happen.

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

He pulls back, and there are wet spots on your panties, and he looks at them with an expression of profound satisfaction before he presses himself back against you. Not inside, just along you, rubbing the length of his cock over your pussy through the ruined fabric. You’re so wet that it soaks through immediately and he can feel it.. You can tell by the hitch in his breath and the way his hips rock forward once, twice, following the slick heat of you like he can’t help it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and it comes out reverent.

His cock moves against you in long, rolling strokes, gathering up your slick, dragging it across the fabric. Spreading isn’t enough. It isn’t enough, and Caleb knows it, and you know it, and the knowing doesn’t stop anything.

You feel the exact moment he loses the last organized thought in his head. It’s in the shift of his hips, the way they press forward with new intent instead of the rolling stroke from before.

His hands grip the backs of your thighs, and he pushes, and the wet cotton of your panties catches him, gives just a little, and his tip nudges in by a fraction — barely there, barely a suggestion of inside — and that’s all it takes.

He cums.

Just like that.

A low, bitten-off sound tears out of him, and you feel it — the heat of it soaking into the fabric, spreading in a wet rush that joins everything already there, and he’s still pressed against you, shuddering, his forehead dropping toward your shoulder without quite landing.

“Jesus—“ he breathes, and it comes out broken, like he wasn’t expecting himself.

You look down. The orange cotton is wrecked, soaked through and stained, clinging to you with the weight of what he’s done, and Caleb is looking down at it too.

“Again,” he decides, out loud, which is not a request.

He draws back and pushes forward again, harder this time, and the fabric holds for approximately one more second before it doesn’t.

The seam at the center tears cleanly, cotton splitting apart, and with the combined slick of you and the mess he’s already made, his cock slides and then doesn’t quite find the angle it was looking for. Instead it slides up, and he ends up fitted snugly between your lips, sandwiched in the wet heat of you, your folds closing around him on either side without him getting inside. The tip of him grazes your clit.

You make a sound that isn’t your voice, or isn’t a voice you’ve used before.

He goes still. Then his hips roll, experimentally, once, feeling it — the slick of you on both sides of him, your flesh pressing in, and the soft brush of your pubic hair against the base of his cock strike him directly in the brain stem.

“Oh, fuck.”

His hips find a rhythm, a steady roll that sends his cock gliding between your lips. Each thrust drags him against your clit, his length slick with your desire and the remnants of his own release. The room echoes with filthy, sloppy sounds—the smack of skin on skin, the lewd squish of his cock plowing through the fucking mess you’ve made together.

He cums again. Just erupts, fountaining up your stomach, over the ripped hem of the costume jacket, and it goes everywhere and he watches it go everywhere. His cock is still twitching.

Then he looks up at you.

“Ma’am,” he says, and the word is wrong and filthy in his mouth. Wrong because you’re not his superior, wrong because he’s never called you that in his life, wrong because of everything. He says it with a straight face.

With his hand already moving, rubbing the flat of his palm over your stomach, spreading what he’s put there into your skin. His jaw is tight. “I don’t think this uniform belongs to me anymore.”

“Caleb—“

“’Yes, sir’ works.” He isn’t looking at your face. He’s watching his own hand move, the cream worked into your skin going slick and shining. His thumb drags through the mess of you and he pushes it between your pussy lips — against them, not in, just the pressure of him insisting — and your thighs try to close and his hips stop them. “You’re so wet for me, Pips. You’re soaking. Did you know that?”

You knew. You’ve known for the last fifteen minutes in excruciating detail.

“You did this to me,” you manage.

“Yeah,” he agrees, like that pleases him enormously. “I did.”

He takes the ruined waistband of your panties in both hands, the torn fabric hanging in tatters, and pulls the remnants taut. A strip of it pressed flat against you, between your lips, and then he presses his cock back over it, and the combined friction is something your nervous system genuinely wasn’t prepared for.

He drags. Long and deliberate and slow, forcing the fabric tight against your skin, and the edge of the seam catches your clit just right and you make a noise loud enough to embarrass yourself, your hands scrabbling at the back of his neck.

“There she is,” Caleb says, very quietly, and he does it again.

Your thighs shake. The pressure builds with a speed that makes you feel cheated out of the anticipation of it, and when you tip over the edge you take him with you. You squirt, sudden and surprised and messy, and it hits him across the lower stomach and the base of his cock and he makes a sound like he’s been hit.

You expected this to slow him down. You expected this to be the moment he regroups, take a breath, bring some of that Colonel composure back to bear.

He grabs your hips instead.

His eyes are wide and dark and there is nothing composed about him. He looks at the mess between your bodies, your slick and his cum and the ruined orange cotton of your underwear, and his expression is the expression of a man who has found the meaning of life,

“Need gege to clean you up?” He asks.

His hips roll forward, coating himself back in you, and the mess makes a sound, and Caleb Xia Yi Zhou, Colonel, decorated pilot, the most responsible person in your life, looks at you with your ruined uniform jacket hanging off your shoulders and your thighs wrapped around him and his cock slick with everything that’s passed between you, and he smiles. Wide and a little wild and completely without apology.

You are in so much trouble.

Caleb grabs the remnants of your panties in both fists and pulls, and they give immediately. The cotton is already destroyed, and the last of it comes away with a sound of final surrender.

He drops it somewhere. He grabs the shredded ends of the costume pants, what’s left of them still clinging to your legs, and those go too, peeled down and discarded over the edge of the desk. You’re bare from the waist down in the ruins of this cheap costume uniform and the cool air of his room comes for your skin all at once.

Caleb doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. He’s looking at you with the focused, slightly unhinged attention, and his cock is still hard and flushed and absolutely ready despite cumming all his kids all over you.

He picks his cock back up in his hand. Looks at you. And then he brings it down against your pussy in a single, deliberate slap.

The sound it makes is obscene. Wet and sharp and loud in the quiet room, and the splatter of everything already there — your slick, his cum, the accumulated evidence of the last twenty minutes — goes everywhere, and you jerk. Your thighs try to close and Caleb puts one hand flat on your inner thigh, open-palmed, holding you in place.

“Stay,” he says, like you’re a very beloved problem.

He does it again. The slap of his cock against your pussy, light and then firmer, and every impact sends a shock up through your hips. The wet sound of it fills the room and he is watching — watching it happen, watching the cream fly, watching the way your lips part and close around the impact, and his expression is so rapt and so unabashedly delighted that you almost laugh except that you’re too busy making sounds that aren’t laughter.

“Caleb—“

“Sir,” he corrects, absently, still watching what he’s doing with the focus of someone who finds it genuinely fascinating. “Or ma’am, I don’t care, pick one.”

“I’m not calling you ma’am,” you say, breathless.

“No, you’re the ma’am.” He looks up briefly. “You’re in uniform, Pips.” Then back down. “You’re technically outranking me right now.”

This is demented reasoning and you both know it. But it doesn’t matter because he’s moved on from slapping his dick on you to pressing his tip directly against your clit, circling it in slow, lazy strokes like he’s drawing something. His free hand has found your pussy lips, two fingers sliding along either side, pressing them together, releasing, pressing again, the wet sounds mortifying and you’re watching him do it with your mouth open because apparently your body has decided to spectate.

“Hi,” Caleb says to your pussy, conversationally. His fingers press your lips together again. They make a sound. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, like he’s hearing something only he can understand. “I know. Me too.”

“Are you talking to it—”

“Shh.” His tip presses down and rolls over your clit again and your sentence evaporates. “We’re having a moment.”

You are going to lose your mind.

In fact, you are already losing it.

You lost it approximately seventeen minutes ago and you’ve just been running on the fumes of it.

And Caleb is still working that slow deliberate circle with the head of his cock and squishing your lips between his fingers with the focus of a man who has found his calling.

“You’re so goddamn soft,” he says, and now his voice has dropped all the way down, into that register that does things to your ovaries.

“You know that? Every time I think about how — “ he presses down harder, rolls, and you make a sound that does things to his expression — “how fucking small you are—“ another stroke, the tip dragging slick — “I can’t even, Pips. I would fill you up to your throat, do you understand that? I’m not — I’m being serious right now—“

“Caleb—“

“Sir,” he says again, more firmly this time, though it’s undercut by the fact that he’s clearly struggling to form sentences himself.

His hips have started moving again with that roll, working himself against you, and the slick built between you is audible and continuous and bubbly. “I would split you in half, sweetheart, I would be so far in you—”

He cums.

It happens mid-sentence, which would be funny under other circumstances. His voice just stops, replaced by a rough broken sound, and he tilts forward and his cock kicks upward and he paints you with it. Long white stripes landing across your stomach and the open front of the costume jacket, soaking into the fabric and your skin alike. And he keeps stroking through it with his fist, milking every last drop out, watching it land.

The uniform is destroyed.

It is a complete loss.

There is no dry cleaner in the world that could help this uniform.

You don’t care. You reach out and grab his wrist.

“Again, sir,” you say, which is what he said earlier.

He looks at you. His chest is heaving. His hair is messed up, falling across his forehead. His pants are still at his knees, which looks ridiculous, but on Caleb it just looks like a man who didn’t have time for niceties.

He tries. He genuinely tries.

His hips shift forward, his hand moves, and then his whole body seems to make a decision. Caleb falls forward, catching himself on his forearms on the desk, and lowers his head until his forehead rests in the crook of your neck. His weight on you but managed, warm and enormous, his breath coming against your collarbone in deep, ragged pulls.

He doesn’t move.

The room is very quiet.

After a moment, Caleb says, in a muffled, genuine tone, “I think my soul just left my body, Pips.”

You stare at the ceiling. Your chest is heaving.

There is cum on the costume. There is cum on you.

Your pants are in pieces on the floor and you are sitting on his work papers and his face is in your neck and he has just, apparently, experienced some kind of astral event.

“Are you dead?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Don’t tell Gran.”

You bring your hand up — slowly, because everything is a little slow right now — and rest it on the back of his head.

His hair is soft. It’s always soft, stupidly soft, and he makes a low satisfied sound at the contact like a very large, very spent dog who has found his spot and has no plans to relocate.

“Don’t die yet,” you tell the ceiling.

Caleb laughs into your neck. It’s muffled and helpless and warm, and it shakes through his whole chest and into you, and you feel it everywhere.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Refer to Party RSVP

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You couldn’t believe how angry Caleb was. You’d rarely seen him in this state and you were even more shocked that he was basically silent. You expected a lecture, firm voice never raised but unrelenting nonetheless. 

He’d caught you after you snuck out of the house to go to a carnival with a boy from school, and just as you thought you’d get your first kiss, Caleb stepped in. 

“We’re leaving,” he’d said, waves of anger radiating from him. “And you,” he looked at the boy behind him. “Try that again. I dare you.” The threat was clear and the poor kid just shook his head with wide eyes and left quickly without sparing you another glance. 

You scoffed at the whole scene before withering under Caleb’s glare, although you couldn’t help but be irritated at his interruption. This was the fourth time he’s interrupted a date, which is why you snuck out in the first place. 

He grabbed your hand and hauled you back to his car, opening your door with a hard look on his face before shutting it with a little more force than necessary. 

You watched him from the corner of your eye as he drove home. His hand was clenched on the wheel while the other systematically pushed his bangs back; a tell of his frustration he’d had since he was little. 

The ride home was deathly quiet, he didn’t even turn on music; another sign that you’d screwed up big time. 

“Cay-“ 

“Don’t.” The one syllable was so commanding that you didn’t dare try again, so you propped your chin up in your hand and watched the city go by. 

It was a perfect spring evening. The trees were blooming and the streetlights had just started to come on. You thought back to when that meant it was time for you to stop playing night games with the neighborhood kids and go home. 

After an eternity in the car, Caleb finally parked in front of the house and wasted no time walking around to open your door with the same hard look on his face from the carnival parking lot. 

You decided it would be better just to follow his unspoken instructions, stepping out and waiting for his lead. 

Without a word or look at you, he strode into the house and stood in the front room while you locked the door. 

“Where’s gran?” You asked quietly. 

“Out.”

“For how long?” 

“Long enough for us to talk about what just happened.” 

“Come on, Cay, I’m not a little kid anymore! I’m allowed to have fun and go on dates and, god forbid, kiss a boy!” You finally let yourself explode a little bit and it was cathartic. You’d been so frustrated with his constant interruptions and you realized in that moment that you hadn’t had a proper outlet for these bottled up feelings. 

“But you have to sneak out to do it? I thought you’d been kidnapped!” He snapped back. 

“Of course I had to sneak out! I wouldn’t have been able to go otherwise!” 

He let out a heavy sigh and shook his head with his hands on his hips. 

“You know, for someone as smart as you, you’re pretty dumb, Pipsqueak.” 

What the fuck? Did he actually just call you dumb? 

“Excuse me?” 

“This won’t happen again. Got it?” He had that same commanding tone and it made you shake with anger. Who did he think he was telling you what to do?

“You don’t control me, Caleb. I can do whatever the fuck I want, and you can’t stop me,” you stated, crossing your arms with a scowl on your face. 

That just made him laugh, which irritated you even more. 

“You don’t get it, do you?” He said, pushing his bangs back again. “I’ll always be there to interrupt. No matter where I am or how old we are, as long as I’m alive, no one will ever get that close to you again.” 

His statement both shocked you and made a warm ache bloom in your chest. 

“You’re insane,” you stated. His head whipped to you and even in the low light of the family room, you could see the way his spine straightened.  

He advanced on you slowly like a predator, his eyes both unnerved and excited you. 

“You think I like feeling like this?” He practically growled out. “Constantly being at the end of my rope but still falling, waiting for that final snap that will kill me?” 

He was getting dangerously close, so you took a few steps back until a wall stopped you, but he was still coming towards you. 

“I wish I could get rid of these feelings. Believe me, it would be better than this torture.” 

You shrunk back into the wall, holding an arm out to keep him from getting too close. You wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

“Caleb, don’t-“ your hand was pressed firmly against his sternum, but he inched closer easily, resting his elbow above your head. 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t, Pipsqueak.” Even without looking at him, you could tell he was practically glaring at you. 

Truthfully, no response came to your head. Your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, eyes scrunched shut at what you knew was coming. 

“I-I can’t…” you finally managed with a shaking voice. 

An unamused huff left him and he brought his hand up to capture yours still crumpling his shirt. 

“Then why? What are you scared of?” He asked, leaning closer. 

“Everything will change. What if… what if we end up driving each other crazy?” 

This time, his laugh rumbled deep in his chest so you could feel it beneath your fingers. 

“I’m already crazy for you, silly girl. Are you really so blind?” 

That finally made you look up at him, and the look in his eyes shocked you. It was pure adoration mixed with barely withheld restraint. 

“Really?” You asked, honestly shocked. He swallowed and nodded his head, leaning down to kiss your temple lightly. 

You let out a shaky breath and closed your eyes, not realizing you leaned into his touch instinctively. This motivated him to cup your cheek, trailing his lips down slowly. 

“Why do you think I constantly interrupt your dates? Why I’ve told everyone at school that you’re off limits, or that any guy with enough balls to approach you has to go through me first?” His mouth was leaving torturous pecks along your jaw line moving closer and closer to your mouth with each question he posed. 

Your hands moved on their own, gripping his shoulders but unsure whether to pull him closer or push him away. 

“I should smack you for all of that,” you muttered. “I was wondering why hardly anyone talks to me at school.” 

“Mmhmm. You probably should,” he said. “But you won’t.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because… you want this just as much as I do.” 

Before you could respond, his mouth was on yours and you melted into him, bringing your arms to wind around his neck and pull him closer. A small sound came from deep in his throat and he tilted his head, slotting your lips together at a new angle that made you dizzy. 

The hair at the base of his neck tickled your fingers as you gripped him there, knocking the pair of you back into the wall with a thud. It startled you both enough for him to pull away slightly, just enough to breathe but not without sharing each other's air. 

He watched you as you tried to comprehend what just happened, his eyes darting from your mouth to your eyes and back to your lips so quickly you could barely keep up. 

“How did you even know where I was?” You whispered. He rested his forehead on yours gently. 

“I don’t think you want to know the answer, Pip.” 

“…We’ll talk about that later,” you breathed out before pulling him back into another searing kiss. 

Your stomach felt like it was on fire, and you couldn’t get close enough to him. You tried pulling on his shoulders and neck and even his torso, but it just wasn’t enough. 

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me,” he mumbled against the skin of your neck. He bent down and quickly grabbed the back of your legs to hoist you up, quickly resealing your mouths as your legs wrapped around his waist and finally, you were a little bit closer to him. 

His hips kept you pinned to the wall and he continued his assault, and your hands moved down his back, hoping he would arch into you a little more. The groan he let out when your nails dug into his shoulder blades made your entire body shiver. 

“S’not enough,” you managed to say between kisses. His tongue that had been leaving wet marks on your collarbone was suddenly replaced by teeth. With the sound of your yelp still in the air, he renewed his grip on your thighs and started walking in the direction of his room. 

“You can’t say things like that. I’ll actually lose my mind.” He sat on his bed, back resting against the headboard and you tried to push your tongue into his mouth. His own tongue caressed yours and it made you tighten your grip on his hair. 

You didn’t like that his head was still so much higher than yours, you were sure his neck was starting to hurt. 

With your hands on his shoulders, you adjusted yourself so your legs were on either side of his hips, before you pushed him back a little. Just enough to make his mattress bounce a little below you. 

You took a moment to watch him. His eyes were hooded and dark, his lips were a little swollen and damp, and his hair was positively disheveled. 

A slow smirk spread across his face. 

“Enjoying the view?” He asked, rubbing his hands on your sides. 

“Asshole,” you muttered before diving back in. You sat on his lap fully, moaning into his mouth at the sensation of his erection pressing against your core. His hands moved your hips in a motion that made your muscles clench in the best way. 

“Fuck, Cay, it feels so good…” you whined, letting your head fall back as he nipped and licked the skin of your neck. 

“Keep going for me, Pretty. You’re doing so well,” he mumbled with a particularly aggressive roll of his hips. 

You yelped and he brought your mouth back to his, keeping a hand on the back of your head to hold you there. 

“Just like that,” he muttered as he bit your bottom lip. 

“Don’t stop,” you nearly begged. “M’so close…” 

“Let go for me, Pips. Let me make you feel good.” 

At that, your body seized with an intense pleasure and your moan was swallowed up once again by his mouth. His groan followed yours soon after, hips bucking lightly as he rode out his own orgasm. 

You reluctantly pulled away, still holding onto his shoulders and his hands still on your hip and thigh. 

Both of you were panting, still letting yourselves feel the high as it came down, but then Caleb got that determined look in his eye that scared you sometimes. 

Caleb pulls you by the wrist, away from Sylus’ embrace. “You’re letting him get away with quite a lot,” he says, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. His grip around your wrist tightens. “I might start thinking you prefer him, even though I’m the one, who’s closest to you!” Sylus sips his wine, observing the scene. “This might get interesting,” he says under his breath.

A sudden shiver runs through Caleb, as if the temperature around him dropped. “Cool your temper, Caleb,” Zayne says as frost gathers in the air, “He’s baiting you.” Caleb can feel the heat in his head settle.

However, instead of stepping back, he pulls you in and kisses you firmly. His tongue buried deep inside of you, the sound of his breathing filling the place. “That’s one way to respond to bait,” Zayne remarks.

As Caleb keeps kissing you, his hand slides lower. His fingers press against your swimwear, gently stimulating your clit, trying to claim you in front of the others. Sylus uses his Evol to pull you away from him. “Don’t be so greedy, Puppy. Share~!”

As soon as you’re back in Sylus’ arms, he seamlessly picks up, where Caleb stopped. He rubs two fingers along your slit while kissing you. You’re surprised at how quickly things are escalating. “Did the dog kiss or lick your face…?” Sylus mocks, noticing how wet your mouth is. “I see…this is how you want to play,” Caleb barks. He doesn’t hesitate for long & swims toward both of you, pressing in close. He turns you to face him & draws your back toward Sylus, pinning you in between the both of them.

“Look at me…or do you want more of him?” Caleb asks. “I recommend removing her swimwear,” Zayne interjects. “Remove my w-what?” you stutter, feeling increasingly flustered as they take control of the situation.

Caleb’s not wasting a second. Your naked body is now pressed closely against both Caleb & Sylus’ big frames. You wiggle to gain some space to move more freely, but are blocked by both of them. Sylus smirks, “Your escape route isn’t that good.” He’s grabbing your neck with one hand as the other attends to your tits and squeezes them tenderly. Caleb devours your lips with sloppy kisses while he pushes two fingers inside you. When your soft moans are swallowed by his mouth, he simply picks up the pace.

Sylus tilts his head toward Zayne. “The doc likes to watch, huh? Not joining?” Zayne’s lips turn slightly upward. “I will. Don’t worry. Consider me…in charge of the treatment plan. For certain things, I like to take my time.” “Let’s say…he likes giving orders,” Caleb huffs. “I don’t take orders,” Sylus snaps. “Relax, it’s more about her safety,” Caleb adds “What? Does he want to make sure she won’t get overstimulated?” Sylus asks. “Incorrect.” Zayne responds. “Kinda the opposite,” Caleb laughs. Sylus raises an eyebrow, “Oh?”

All three of them are glancing at you now. You’re barely there. You don’t register what they’re saying. You’re busy catching your breath. Caleb’s holding you in place using his Evol, steadied in Sylus’ arms. Your legs are spread above water level for everyone to have a good view.

“Be my guest, I’ll let you have the first taste,” Sylus is offering to Zayne. “Gracious, but I have other plans,” Zayne gets real close to you now. He gently massages your rim with his fingers, before pushing one in. You squirm from the sudden sensation.

Caleb’s stroking his cock in anticipation. He knows what Zayne’s planning, he’s had his fair share of participation in these so called ‘treatment plans’ for you. “I may have underestimated them. I see why you keep them around, Kitten,” Sylus laughs. “Sylus, hold her steady,” Zayne instructs. “I said, I don’t take orders, Doc,” Sylus replies. Zayne responds composed, “He needs to conserve his energy.” Sylus glances briefly at Caleb. Zayne’s tone is calm, but firm: “Let him recover. He’ll need his Evol later.”

Sylus is reluctant, but since he prefers feeling your full weight in his arms anyway, he complies. Zayne is in his element now — Anatomy. He knows exactly how to carefully, yet efficiently prepare you, how to position his fingers, how fast to push, where to apply pressure.

He’s 4 fingers deep into you, adjusting his pace and the depth as needed, before attending your front and repeating his routine, until he’s pushed in his whole hand. “Z-Zayne, I—I…” you mutter under your breath. “Caleb,” Zayne cuts in, calling his name before you can finish. Caleb knows his role. He stands up and taps his leaking cock against your lips, guiding you to take him. “Suck it well, Pips. You’ve done this before! Let the doctor finish his examination.”

Sylus’ eyes widen. He lets out a loud laugh as he watches you obediently take in Caleb’s cock while Zayne’s casually fisting you. Your moans are muffled, your eyes glistening. “And here I thought I was the bad influence,” Sylus says amused.

Caleb shoots Sylus a cocky smirk, “Hope you’ve got the stamina to back up the attitude.” Caleb uses his Evol now again to ensure everyone has good access to your body. Sylus joins in as soon as Zayne clears you.

You’re soon stuffed by all three of them, your mind completely blank, senses overstimulated, moans echoing. You don’t know anymore whose cum you’re licking off whose body, whose juices you’re swapping with who, who is digging their tongue or cock into you — everything is a blur.

“Let my name leave your lips tonight a thousand times…ten thousand times even,” Zayne moans as he bends you over, fucking your ass. You whimper with each thrust, since it pushes Caleb and Sylus’ cocks simultaneously deeper into your other hole.

Caleb, who’s pounding into you from below, is drunk on lust and caught up in the intensity. “Look at you~ I didn’t teach you that,” he smirks. “C-Caleb…,” you barely breathe out, “Cal..C—” “Yeah, I’m your Caleb,” he responds, only to thrust into you faster. Sylus closes the distance to Caleb more than either of them expected. He’s lying on top of Caleb, his cock buried in you as well, sharing your hole with him. “Greedy little kitten…and I might add, an equally greedy pup,” he purrs near your ear. Caleb lets out a breathy laugh.

Your walls are tightening around them, you’ve never felt so full, their sizes are tearing you apart, each stroke shoots a deep spark through your body, mouth dry from all the panting, any leaking liquid gets pushed in again, occasionally given you to swallow as well.

They pass you around as they please, cumming inside you in rotation, tossing & turning you as they desire, you’re leaking everywhere. Your ass and clit get slapped, your hair pulled, your tits pressed into someone’s mouth — your body doesn’t belong to you anymore.

You could still hear his voice from that afternoon in the library, casual and smooth as ever, leaning over the table with that lazy smile. “Relax, cutie,” he’d said, sliding your textbook toward himself without asking. “If you keep glaring at me with that expression, people are going to think that you fancy me.”

You had snatched the book back, teeth clenched. “The only thing I fancy is the idea of never having to see your face again.”

He’d only laughed, low and infuriating. “Harsh. Guess I’ll just have to make sure you keep seeing it, then.”

You couldn’t begin to fathom what crime you had committed—whether in this life or some unfortunate past one—to deserve being stuck with him every few weeks. Yet here you were, standing on the soft, beer-stained carpet, surrounded by a cloud of cheap perfume, laughter, and the low thrum of bass shaking the floorboards. Alcohol hummed in your veins, warm and distracting, while the partygoers whooped and hollered around the circle.

A chipped glass bottle spun on the floor, wobbling to a stop as if it had been conspiring against you all night. You stared at it like it had just declared war on you, because, of course, the neck was pointing directly at Rafayel.

For a fleeting, wicked moment, you considered grabbing it and cracking it over his annoyingly perfect head. Seven minutes in heaven. With him.

The crowd erupted—half in mock horror, half in the kind of delight that came from watching a train wreck you couldn’t look away from. Simone and Tara exchanged a wide-eyed glance that said they were both surprised and already placing mental bets.

You narrowed your eyes at them, but before you could say a word, movement caught your attention. Rafayel was already walking toward the closet—no hesitation, no acknowledgment of the chaos he left in his wake. He didn’t even look back at you, as if it was a foregone conclusion you’d follow.

That arrogant prick.

You scoffed under your breath and stood, brushing imaginary lint off your jeans, mostly to keep from flipping him off in front of everyone. Simone and Tara nudged each other like middle schoolers about to watch a fight, grinning as though they hadn’t just sold you out to the devil himself.

“Don’t wait up,” you muttered at them, your voice sharp enough to cut.

A guy from somewhere in the back yelled, “My money’s on murder!”

Another chimed in, “Nah, they’re either gonna make out or burn the place down.”

You ignored them all, though your jaw tightened. Seven whole minutes trapped in a cramped, dark space with Rafayel—his cologne, his smug smirk, his constant need to one-up you. And as you reached the door, he glanced over his shoulder at last, that infuriating grin playing on his lips.

“Don’t look so thrilled, cutie,” he drawled, holding the closet door open just wide enough for you to pass. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle you could still see. “You wish.”

His smirk deepened, lazy and sure of himself. “I do,” he said lightly, stepping in after you. “But it’s more fun when you do too.”

The door clicked shut, sealing you into seven minutes of hell. You pressed yourself into the farthest corner as the door shut, sealing out the noise of the party. Darkness swallowed the cramped space, save for a sliver of light leaking through the crack between the door and frame. Your breath caught—not from nerves, you told yourself, but from the sudden proximity.

His cologne lingered in the air, warm and heady, with some other undertone—salted, oceanic—that clung stubbornly in your head. The realization annoyed you more than his actual presence. It was unfair, you thought, that someone so irritating could smell that good.

A faint brush against your arm made you flinch. You turned your head sharply, catching the faint outline of his profile in the gloom.

“Keep to your own space, yeah?” you muttered, your voice low but sharp. You tried to shift farther away, but the closet was far too small, and you hated the way every movement brought you back within reach of him.

His laugh came quiet but deep, curling at the edges with smugness. “My bad, princess,” he murmured, leaning just close enough for the warmth of his words to ghost over your cheek. “Didn’t realize I’d already stepped on your toes tonight.”

You shot him a glare, even if you knew he probably couldn’t see much of it in the dark. His arm was still brushing yours, his casual lean making it clear he had no intention of shifting away.

“I will step on yours if you don’t move,” you warned, crossing your arms tight over your chest and turning your body slightly to shield yourself.

Instead of taking the hint, he tilted his head lazily. “So aggressive tonight,” he said softly, mock sweetness dripping from the words. “Acting like this isn’t the highlight of your night.”

You huffed, the sound sharp in the close air. “In what universe would this be my highlight?”

“In mine,” he answered smoothly, without missing a beat.

You scoffed, the sound sharp in the thick air between you. “You’re so full of yourself, Rafayel.” the words left your mouth like you were flicking a match, each syllable meant to cut.

He only hummed in response, low and lazy, and you hated how close the sound came—how it brushed over your ear like the faintest touch. The closet was warm, the air stale, and you could barely make out anything in the dark. But the sliver of light from the doorframe caught just enough of his face to make his expression clear—amused, entertained, like this was his own private game.

You scoffed again, softer this time, if only to keep from saying something that would sound too much like admitting defeat. He chuckled quietly, that smug undercurrent in every note, and then his arm brushed yours again. You stiffened, your jaw tightening on instinct, but he didn’t shift away. Instead, he leaned in just slightly, tilting his head toward you until you could feel the faint stir of his breath. One hand came up to brace himself on the wall behind you, close enough that you could feel the subtle press of his body against yours.

Your pulse ticked up despite yourself. This was absurd. Infuriating. And yet your chest felt tighter than it should.

“Stop touching me,” you hissed, shifting back as far as the wall would allow.

He gave a quiet laugh, as though you’d just said something endearing. “Where exactly do you want me to go, cutie?” he murmured, voice low enough that you almost missed it. “Closet’s only so big.”

The worst part was that he was right. There wasn’t an inch of space left between you. You rolled your eyes, even though you knew he could probably see the movement in the faint light. “Try harder.”

“Oh, I am,” he replied smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin you could hear in his voice.

Seven minutes had never felt longer.

He smirked, leaning in just enough to test your patience, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly casual tone he always used when he knew he was getting under your skin.

“Kind of convenient, isn’t it?” he murmured, the words brushing against you like a challenge. “Whole party out there, and somehow you end up locked in here with me. Almost like you rigged it. Guess you really can’t stay away, cutie.” his next words ignited the fire in you even harder, “Especially since you can’t beat me when it actually counts.”

Your teeth clenched, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Before you could think better of it, your hand shot out, gripping the front of his shirt and tugging him just enough to close the already minuscule space between you.

“You’re delusional,” your voice was low and pointed, every word pressed like a blade. “Your ego must be eating what’s left of your brain, because you’re lying to yourself if you think I’d choose this. I’d rather be anywhere else.”

You held his gaze, and now you were close enough to make out the sharp line of his jaw, the faint curve of his mouth, and—annoyingly—just how clear his eyes looked in the thin strip of light. He stared back at you with the same infuriating calm, only a slow tug of a smirk breaking the stillness.

“Funny,” he whispered, leaning in just enough for his breath to mingle with yours. “You’re the one hanging on to my clothes like you’re about to tear them off.”

Your own smile curled, deceptively sweet. “I’d rather tear your head off.”

The space between you tightened, silent except for the shallow drag of your breaths. You hated that the air felt heavier now, that the warmth radiating from him made your skin hum in awareness. Neither of you moved back, both locked in the same unspoken dare you’d been passing between each other since the day you met.

He smirked, and you felt your jaw tighten in sync with the way your fingers curled, bunching the front of his shirt in a hard grip. He was too close, close enough that your breath caught against his, every inhale shared in the warm, cramped dark. Your pulse spiked, not that you’d admit it, not even to yourself.

You hated this. Absolutely hated him.

A sharp scoff escaped you before you planted a hand against his chest, shoving him back just enough to reclaim a sliver of space. But before you could take another step away, his arm moved and slid down from the wall behind you until his hand brushed against your waist, steadying himself.

The light contact made your pulse trip over itself. You grit your teeth, biting back the words that wanted to snarl at him to stop touching you—though you weren’t sure if you meant it entirely.

“You don’t seem in a rush for me to let go,” his voice was carrying that lazy taunt that made every nerve in you itch. His hand stayed exactly where it was, with more purpose now, his fingers settling with a certain confidence at your waist.

Your glare could have cut glass. “What kind of delusional state gives you the nerve to think you can touch me?”

You shoved at his chest again, harder this time, but his grip only tightened, pulling you forward with the movement so that your body collided with his. Your breath left you in a startled grunt, the solid heat of him impossible to ignore.

You looked up at him, startled and seething, yet heat coiled traitorously low in your stomach at the new position. Every sharp exchange, every smug remark he lobbed your way had wound itself into something you refused to name, and you’d sooner die than admit Rafayel could have that kind of effect on you.

His smirk curved lower, slower this time, his voice brushing over you like the edge of a dare. “I like it when you bite back,” he murmured, leaning just enough that the air between you thinned. “Makes me wonder what you’d do if I touched you… on purpose.”

His gaze flicked down briefly, then back to yours, full of quiet challenge. “My guess? Not much. You can’t really one-up me.”

The air felt heavy, your breaths matching his in a quick, uneven rhythm. Tension held you both still, tethered in the narrow space between his chest and yours.

“Cocky bastard,” you whispered, every word sharpened between clenched teeth. “You’ll get more than you bargained for.” you tilted your chin up, closing the space by a fraction, your lips nearly grazing his. “So either move your hand… or I’ll make you.”

His smile didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened infuriatingly slow, like he was savoring the moment.

“Yeah?” his voice dipped just enough to brush against something inside you. “And how exactly would you make me?”

His fingers tightened on your waist, not painfully, but with the kind of deliberate pressure that felt like he was testing how far he could push before you snapped. Heat surged under your skin, your muscles tensing as your breath came shallow, matching his.

You couldn’t even say who moved first—only that suddenly his mouth was on yours, hot and unyielding, all teeth and heat and reckless challenge. He kissed like he expected you to fight him, so you did, matching the push of his lips with your own bite until the taste of him left you dizzy.

Your whole body pressed into him, seeking leverage you didn’t want to admit you needed. His grip on your waist anchored you, pulling you closer until there was no space left to guard. Your teeth caught his lower lip, hard enough to pull a groan from his chest, low and rough.

The cramped heat of the closet wrapped around you both, the world reduced to the tangle of limbs and breath and the sharp scent of him. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging as his bent knee slid between yours, shifting your weight until your back met the wall again with a muted thud.

He didn’t stop. Your mouths were a frenzy—hot, rough, and desperate in a way neither of you would ever admit aloud. Your hands clutched at him, fisting the fabric of his shirt, not to pull him closer—though it felt that way—but to keep yourself from stumbling under the force of it all.

The taste of him lingered on your tongue, sharp and consuming, each kiss a challenge neither of you wanted to lose.

You bit at his lower lip, he returned the favor, and your tongues tangled in a battle for dominance that left both of you breathing ragged. Teeth grazed swollen lips and the sensitive skin just beneath, his mouth dragging down to your neck. His lips were warm, his breath hotter, and when he sucked a mark there, his smirk was felt more than seen.

“Someone’s enjoying themselves,” he rasped against your skin, his voice low enough to scrape over your nerves.

“Shut up,” you bit back, shoving at his shoulder, though your body betrayed you, arching into him when his hands—bolder now—slipped beneath the hem of your shirt.

Your mouth found his again, urgent and unrestrained, and you yanked hard on his hair, pulling a groan from deep in his chest. The sound vibrated against your lips, and heat pooled low in your stomach.

You were both panting now, breaths coming fast and shallow, and then you felt his bulge—hard against your hip, impossible to ignore. His thigh pressed between yours, and without thinking, you grinded down against it, the friction dizzying.

He groaned again, but this time it was laced with that infuriating amusement. “Cute,” he drawled, his tone deliberately light, even as his grip on you tightened. “Almost desperate. Must be all that pent-up frustration from wanting to fuck me this whole time.”

Your nails dragged slow beneath his shirt, scratching from his ribs down to his stomach before sliding back up again. The movement earned a low, unrestrained groan from him, his breath hitching just enough to make you smirk—though you didn’t get long to savor the victory.

His hands were already on you, firm and unapologetic as they cupped your ass, pulling you down against the solid line of his thigh. The friction sent a jolt through you both, making your bodies lurch together, grunts and gasps spilling into the heat between your mouths.

Even breathless, neither of you could resist the game.

“Feel that?” he smirked, the words curling against your ear in a delicious rasp as he shifted his leg just right, making you gasp. “You’re soaking through, cutie. Didn’t know you could get this wet just from grinding on me.”

You hissed through your teeth, catching his smirk in your peripheral, and refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter.

“Yeah? Then maybe you should be more worried about yourself,” you shot back, your voice low and edged with heat. Your fingers slipped lower, brushing the waistband of his jeans. “You’re so hard, Rafayel. I bet if I touched you just a little, you’d cum in seconds.”

His grip tightened at that, a subtle, wordless admission he wouldn’t dare voice.

What you don’t expect is his low, rough voice brushing against the shell of your ear like he knows exactly what it does to you.

“Go on,” he murmurs, the words warm and wicked, “be a good girl… touch me. We could help each other out.” The tease is casual, almost lazy, but the weight of it coils heat deep in your stomach.

Before you can throw a retort, his fingers are already at your waistband, dragging the zipper down in a slow, deliberate pull. Then his hand slips inside, the heat of his palm startling against your skin. His breath hitches in something like satisfaction, and a soft grunt escapes him, carrying both a praise and a taunt.

“Slippery already,” he drawls, his tone dipping just enough to make it sound like a secret. “Must’ve been desperate for me, huh? Can’t help yourself… even just being close to me gets you like this.”

You grit your teeth, trying to swallow the sound building in your throat, but it escapes anyway—a low, unsteady moan—as his fingers slide inside you. He doesn’t ease in; his pace starts steady, controlled, and just dizzying enough to steal your breath.

You’re too far gone to argue, too caught between his touch and the heat thrumming through you to remember whatever insult you’d been ready to throw. Instead, you crush your mouth to his, the kiss greedy and unrestrained, tasting of defiance. His fingers work inside you in a steady, deliberate rhythm, just enough to make your knees threaten to give.

You don’t let him have all the satisfaction. Your hand drifts lower, finding the hard outline pressing against his jeans, rubbing in the same measured pace he’s set for you. The sound he makes is low and rough, pulled from somewhere deep, and you drink it in like victory.

Your mouths stay locked, swallowing each other’s shallow pants and quiet moans, the kiss breaking only for sharp gasps before crashing together again. Teeth catch lips, fingers dig into clothes and skin, both of you pushing harder, faster—daring the other to give in first.

The tension snaps for you in a shiver, your body tightening around his fingers as heat floods through you. He swallows your moan like it’s his, kissing you harder, deeper, until you’re dizzy. A moment later, his hips jerk, a muted groan breaking against your mouth as he follows, the heat between you spilling over into something ragged and messy.

Still, neither of you pull away. You kiss until your lips are bruised, until breath comes in broken pulls, until it’s impossible to tell if you’re clinging from want or because neither of you can stand without the other holding you up.

“Pretty sure that was more than seven minutes,” he murmured against your neck, his tone dripping with satisfaction before his teeth sank into your skin in playful retaliation.

A sharp sound slipped from you—half moan, half hiss—your body still humming from the high, even as irritation flickered hot in your chest.

“Who knew all it would take was a couple of my fingers to strip some of that attitude away, cutie?” he added, the bait curling lazily from his lips like he already knew you’d take it.

Your response was wordless at first—a firm grip on the half-hard length straining against his jeans, followed by a hiss against his neck as your other hand tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him suck in a breath.

“How about,” your voice was low and edged with challenge, “you get me out of here and fuck me until it’s all gone, hm?”

His mouth crashed onto yours before you could blink, the kiss bruising and impatient. His hands gripped your ass and hips with a possessive force, pulling you flush against him as his smirk ghosted over your lips.

“Gladly,” he breathed, smug as ever.

“Bastard,” you muttered against his mouth, earning nothing more than a quiet laugh before he hauled you out of the cramped closet.

The hallway erupted in whistles and amused voices from classmates, but Rafayel didn’t so much as glance at them—his only focus fixed entirely, and unapologetically, on you.

 —

Your hands roamed over him in desperate, greedy paths, grabbing at whatever skin you could reach—his back, his shoulders, the flex of his arms—as he drove into you with slow, delicious thrusts that somehow felt both sweet and merciless. His body hovered above yours, holding you caged between his hips and the mattress, each movement pulling ragged moans from your throat.

The air between you was hot, tangled with the sound of panting breaths and the wet heat of messy, biting kisses that kept breaking and reforming like neither of you could stay away for long.

“I can bet,” he moaned between thrusts, his voice rough but edged with that familiar smirk, “you were this wet every time you argued back at me… isn’t that right?”

His flushed face hovered over yours, his gaze locked on you as his palm slid over your breast, kneading and teasing your nipple until it peaked under his touch.

You answered with a scoffing moan, biting back the urge to roll your eyes even as pleasure shot through you when he angled his hips just right, hitting deep enough to make your stomach clench. You lifted your hips to meet his thrusts, still unwilling to give him the full satisfaction of your surrender.

“Why don’t you quit being insufferable,” you grunted, your voice breaking when his teeth grazed your neck, “and fuck me properly instead?”

His fingers found your clit mid-sentence, circling in maddening, precise strokes that made your breath stutter. “Make me cum again, I’m close.”

“Who am I to refuse you, princess?” he mocked in a low, wicked whisper, his tone all heat and challenge.

Your back arched helplessly into him as release tore through you, your body tightening around his cock in pulsing waves. His hips jerked with the rhythm of your climax, your moans mixing with his as you dragged him into a heated kiss, swallowing each other’s sounds. His grip on your hip tightened hard enough to leave faint, perfect marks you’d find later, a wordless claim in the shape of his fingers.

Your palms pressed firmly to his chest, the heat of his skin slick under your fingers as your nails dug in for balance. You rode him in a steady, unrelenting rhythm, each movement pulling a groan from deep in his throat.

Your head tipped back, lips parted, the sound of your panting filling the room as your breasts bounced with every rise and fall. His mouth caught one nipple, sucking greedily before his teeth grazed the sensitive peak just enough to make your muscles tighten around him.

“This must be new to you, right?” he asked, though the lift of his brows and the smug curve of his mouth made it sound more like confirmation than curiosity. His tone was breathless, feigning innocence, which only made it worse.

Too lost in the way his cock filled you, you could only grunt between gasps, “What are you talking about?”

His hands tightened on your waist, guiding you down harder onto him. He murmured against your chest, his lips brushing your skin before closing around your nipple again, biting until a moan escaped you.

“Being on top,” he rasped with a smirk you could hear, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “Considering you’re never above me in anything.”

The taunt was punctuated by a sharp thrust upward, his hips grinding into you as a low grunt rumbled from his chest. “How do you like it, princess?”

You bent forward, bracing a hand against his jaw, then sliding it to the back of his neck as his eyes locked on yours—amethyst and heat-drunk, his lips wet and kiss-bruised. Through a breathless moan, you rasped out your answer, your nails biting into his skin.

“Would like it better,” you panted, “if you didn’t run your mouth.”

He only smirked, that maddening curve of his lips catching the dim light before he ducked down to suck another mark into your neck—one of many already burning along your skin. His smugness was infuriating, but it was harder to focus on that when you felt him twitch inside you, his cock hitting deep enough to blur your vision.

“Oh, but you do like when I run my mouth, don’t ya?” his voice was low, curling with amusement before he caught your lips in a kiss that was all heat and teeth and unspent tension. You kept moving on him, chasing the high with relentless rhythm, your breath breaking against his. “Seemed to love it a few minutes ago,” he murmured between kisses, “when it was between your legs.”

A sharp moan tore from you when his thumb found your clit, already slick and swollen from the previous orgasm he pulled from you. The touch was almost too much, your body clenching around him in a shiver that drew a low, unrestrained groan from his chest. He chuckled against your skin, his fingers digging into the soft curve of your ass as if he meant to keep you exactly where you were.

“I even recall you moaning my name so nicely when you came around my tongue…” his voice rasped against your ear, warm enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Your head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut as you bounced harder, your mouth falling open on a broken gasp. You were so close you could taste it.

“Never heard my name sound that sweet from your mouth before,” he taunted, his words smug but tangled with his own uneven breaths, knowing it must turn you on.

The sound of his grunts matched the rhythm of your moans, your bodies locked in a pace that was more a challenge than surrender, both of you teetering at the edge.

You blocked out the smug noise spilling from his lips, focusing instead on keeping your rhythm steady despite the burn in your thighs. Your voice came out shaky but biting, laced with challenge. “You better not cum before I do, asshole.”

Your teeth sank into your lower lip hard enough to sting, and his answering thrust made your head tip back. He met your pace with deep, upward drives of his hips, each one threatening to push you over. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, guiding you, controlling the motion as if he owned the moment and you.

“Don’t worry that pretty head, cutie,” he chuckled between low, rough grunts, the sound vibrating against your chest when he leaned in. His eyes drank you in—your slack jaw, your unfocused gaze, the way pleasure had stolen the sharp edges of your expression. “I wouldn’t miss the chance to watch you cum around my cock… so freaking beautiful like this…”

His lips brushed your neck in a fleeting kiss just before your body seized around him. Heat and pleasure tore through you, your thighs trembling violently as you came with a broken, shaky moan. You felt the wet rush coat him, spill between you, soak into the sheets beneath.

His groan was deep and rough, the sound dragging low in his chest as his hips faltered. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was seconds away; you could feel it in the iron grip of his hands on your hips, in the heat radiating from his skin, in the breath he caught like he was holding back the inevitable.

Leaning down, you caught the warm line of his neck between your teeth, biting hard enough to draw another groan from him. Your lips found the sweet spot just beneath his ear, sucking until his muscles tensed under you.

That was all it took—he jerked inside you, twitching hard as heat spilled into you in thick, pulsing waves, coating your sensitive walls until you could feel it drip. His head tipped back, breath ragged, and you felt the faintest chuckle rumble in his chest, even through the haze of release.

“Can’t ever say you hate me now,” he rasped, his voice still rough with the edge of release, “not after letting me mark you like this, cutie.”

Before you could snap back, his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you down into a kiss that stole the rest of your breath. It was searing and messy, all heat and teeth, his lips moving against yours like he had no intention of letting you go any time soon. Your bodies were still pressed tight, the aftershocks thrumming between you, and every pull of his mouth tasted faintly of victory.

—

Rafayel wasn’t the type to cling to jealousy or waste energy on expectations he never asked for—but watching you slip back into that same dynamic, as if nothing had happened between you, lit something sharp and ugly under his skin. It was one thing to keep up the bickering, the constant push-and-pull you two seemed addicted to, but being so close to anyone else in this place? Laughing, leaning in, letting other people into your space the way you let him, even if just for one night? That ticked him off more than he wanted to admit.

He could lie to everyone else, but not to himself. He was jealous. Or at the very least, bothered—more than before, more than he had any right to be. Especially since you seemed intent on shoving it in his face, as though proving just how easily you could cozy up to other guys on campus might put him in his place.

Seeing you dance with that colleague tonight had made his jaw tighten, a scoff of disbelief escaping before he could bite it back. Because he knew better—he knew what you wanted. He’d felt it in every heated moment you’d given him, in the way your body melted under his hands, pliant no matter how sharp your words were.

You could pretend, you could deny—but he’d already dragged the truth out of you in the dark, in the messy rhythm of tangled sheets and bitten lips. And tonight, all he could think about was how you’d come undone for him, over and over again, chasing release like a spark to a fuse you couldn’t stop lighting—and now you were cozying up with another man.

The dynamic between you hadn’t shifted in the slightest—you still scoffed, still snapped at him, every exchange bristling with the same defiance he had come to expect. Normally, Rafayel thrived on it; it was what made this little game so addictive. But tonight, with the taste of you still burned into his memory, he had hoped for something different—some flicker of change, even if you refused to admit it.

He caught you alone near the drinks table, slipping into your space without hesitation, his shadow falling across you as you tipped the bottle. You turned your head sharply, eyes narrowing, your scoff cutting through the din of music and chatter. “What do you want now, Rafayel?”

The tone—biting, impatient—made his jaw twitch. Normally it thrilled him, but the sharp edge tonight dug deeper. Did you really despise his presence that much? Even now, after everything?

He leaned one elbow against the counter as though he had all the time in the world, his amethyst eyes catching the low light and glinting with that practiced, playful spark. He slipped the mask on as easily as a second skin, the one he always wore with you. “Back to making me work for your attention, I see.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the weight of his gaze as you poured yourself a shot. The liquid burned down your throat, leaving your lips wet when you licked the taste away. His eyes tracked the movement without restraint, though you didn’t seem to notice.

“Sometimes I seriously wonder if you don’t have better things to do than pester me all day,” you muttered, as though the idea of his presence alone grated on you.

He nearly laughed, the sound curling up the back of his throat, but the bitterness still lingered like ash. He could hide it well—he always did—but something in his chest coiled tighter, a heaviness he couldn’t smirk his way out of.

He poured himself a shot like it was second nature, tossing it back with the same careless ease he wore like armor. Then he leaned in, closing the space between you with an unbothered smirk tugging at his lips.

“Gonna pretend it never happened, is that it, princess?” his eyes found yours in the low light, sharp against sharp, daring you to flinch first.

You leaned in too, your voice dropping to a hiss that barely carried over the music. “Stop calling me that.”

His laugh was low, warm, almost affectionate in its own infuriating way. “Funny,” he murmured, tilting his glass aside. “Had you in my bed, moaning for me, and the first thing you pick up after is that attitude.”

Your glare could have cut straight through him. You scoffed, turning your head deliberately, your gaze sweeping the room—for him, it wasn’t hard to guess who you were looking for. The guy you’d been dancing with earlier. His jaw tightened before he could stop it, the weight of his stare narrowing back on you.

His voice came out rougher now, laced with the edge of something he usually hid behind a smirk. “So that’s what it is. Maybe I should fuck you slow next time. Sweet, steady—see if that’d finally get you to acknowledge it.” his head tilted slightly, the words a challenge, a taunt, but his eyes searched yours like he wanted the truth more than the fight.

You laughed, the sound sharp as glass. Through your teeth, bitter but smiling just enough to sting, you shot back, “There’s no next time. And I’d rather you dropped the cocky act.” your gaze flicked up, unwavering. “Not everyone wants to end up in your bed, Rafayel.”

The smirk didn’t falter on his lips, but the burn of your words sank under his skin all the same. Oh, how he loved your attitude. The sharpness in your voice, the fire in your glare—it always turned him on, but tonight it scraped against something else too. Annoyance. You dismissed him so easily, brushed everything off as if it hadn’t mattered, as if you’d rather erase it than admit it was real.

But he couldn’t forget. He didn’t want to forget the sound of your moans, the way your nails dug into his skin, the bite of your teeth against his shoulder, your mouth desperate and hot on his. Every mark you’d left on him still burned under his skin.

His smirk came quick, practiced, though his jaw ticked in irritation he couldn’t quite swallow down. “Well, you wanted it,” he drawled, voice low enough to coil between you, “and you seemed pretty determined to show me just how badly.”

The proof lingered—your mark, blooming faint but undeniable on the side of his neck. He saw the flicker in your expression when your eyes caught it, the twitch of your jaw before your glare sharpened even further.

You spit your words back at him, close enough now that he could smell you. Sweet perfume, deliberate and light, clinging to your skin like temptation. The thought of you applying it for someone else—for that guy you’d been pressed against earlier—made his stomach knot in a way he refused to admit. His smirk stayed fixed, masking the flare of heat in his chest, but it didn’t quiet the urge that nearly consumed him—to press his face into your neck, breathe you in, and let himself get drunk on you.

“Seriously, what’s your fucking problem?” you snapped, each word sharp enough to cut. “Yeah, we fucked. So what? You expect me to drop at your feet now and suck you off or something?”

Every syllable was a double-edged knife—turning him on even as it lit a flame of irritation low in his chest. Did you really think that’s what he wanted from you? While he’d never be opposed to the thought, that wasn’t it. Not even close. What he wanted was for you to stop pretending it meant nothing, to stop brushing it off like you hadn’t melted under him, clawed at him, begged for more until your voice broke.

His eyes lingered on yours, refusing to look away, holding the heat of your glare. You looked pissed, but he couldn’t tell if it was your usual game or if he’d really struck a nerve this time, dug under your skin deeper than you wanted him to.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” he said smoothly, smirking like he hadn’t just swallowed down the words he really wanted to say—that you were driving him insane, that you’d taken root under his skin, that it wasn’t just your body he wanted. He tilted his head slightly, voice curling like smoke as he added, “Do you want me begging for it first?”

The faint shift in your expression—hesitation, surprise, something flickering behind your eyes—was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. You scoffed, your laugh short and bitter, already angling your body away like you’d had enough.

“I want you to leave me alone,” you shot back, each word bitten off like you meant to end it right there. Your smile was cutting, the kind meant to dismiss, to wound. “Enjoy the party, Rafayel.”

And before he could stop you, you turned toward the crowd—toward him, the other guy—and something inside him twisted sharp, the smirk still plastered on his face doing nothing to smother the frustration building in his chest.

Watching you dance, flirt, and laugh with that guy for hours ticked Rafayel off in ways he couldn’t keep buried—not with alcohol humming in his veins. His eyes followed the sway of your hips, the way sweat caught the low lights on your skin, turning you into something untouchable and magnetic. The guy had slipped away a few minutes ago, probably for another drink or a bathroom break—Rafayel couldn’t be bothered to care.

His focus was on you, only you. The words you’d thrown at him earlier replayed like a broken record in his mind, cutting sharper every time. He hadn’t expected you to cling to him, hadn’t even expected softness or anything close to it—but acting as if you hadn’t spent a night tangled together, bodies desperate, mouths bruised—it set something raw and restless burning in him.

He hated it. Hated how much it mattered. Hated the circumstances, hated that it made him feel like this—like he wanted to drag you away and make you admit every mark you left on his skin meant something more than just a mistake. And he knew it would probably end badly. But watching another man press into your space, lay hands on you—watching you let him, welcome him—it made his blood run hotter than the whiskey in his glass.

Rafayel wasn’t stupid enough to believe you were doing it on purpose just to rile him up. But still, the thought gnawed at him. The possibility that you knew exactly what effect you had on him—and chose to wield it—made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t laugh off anymore.

Your hips swayed slow and unbothered to the rhythm, a lazy, carefree roll that pulled him in before he could stop himself. You hadn’t even realized who pressed up behind you—he could see it in the way you welcomed the touch too easily, as if you thought it was that other guy. That thought alone made his jaw clench, the bitter edge of alcohol still coating his tongue.

His hands settled on your waist, fingers splaying possessively over the curve, and you arched in response without hesitation. That simple movement—that you’d done it for someone else—made frustration coil low and sharp in his chest. His grip tightened, pulling you flush as he dipped his face into the slope of your neck. The scent of your perfume laced with heat and sweat filled his head, dizzying, intoxicating, far too easy to get drunk on.

“You smell so good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low enough to sink right into your bones.

You stiffened instantly, the realization snapping through you. It was him, not the guy you thought. Your body shifted as if to turn, to throw him a glare or maybe shove him away, but his arms circled tighter around your waist, holding you still, pressing you into the steady rise of his chest. His nose brushed just beneath your ear, his mouth dragging close enough that his words threaded warmth into your skin.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you asked, your voice pitched low, sharp but not steady—caught off guard, unsettled.

His lips ghosted another breath over your neck, dangerous and calm all at once, the lazy drawl of his voice cutting through the bass of the music. “Couldn’t keep watching that guy put his hands all over you.”

You scoffed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of stillness, your body swaying side to side with the beat as though he weren’t pressed so close. He took it for annoyance, maybe even defiance, and you threw your words like sparks over your shoulder. “Then don’t fucking look, Rafayel. It isn’t any of your business.”

His chest brushed against your back, solid and warm, crowding you until there was no space left to claim as your own. You rolled your hips again, half in spite, half because fighting him always ended like this—like gravity itself had shifted around him. His breath trembled against your neck, catching faintly on the perfume he couldn’t seem to stop drinking in.

“Are you drunk?” you muttered, sharp with irritation.

“No,” he rasped, voice rougher than usual, his hips sliding in sync with yours. The deliberate press made it impossible to ignore the unmistakable hardness straining against your ass. His fingers found your hips, not tentative but claiming, tightening when you didn’t shrug him off.

You scoffed under your breath, but your body betrayed you, still moving, still letting him. “Then why the hell are you all over me right now?”

He didn’t answer in words first. His lips ghosted along your neck, deliberate and lazy, before catching against your skin in a kiss that lingered too long to be innocent. He pulled your hips flush against his, making sure you felt exactly what you’d provoked, exactly how hard he was.

“It’s how it should be,” he murmured, his voice a low curl of smoke, the smirk etched against your skin as he leaned into your ear. “So do me a favor, cutie, and tell that guy to back off.”

Your laugh came sharp, edged with a bite. “I thought I told you to back off, Rafayel.” still, your hips betrayed the venom of your words, grinding against him like you couldn’t stop yourself. “I’m leaving home soon, anyway.”

That pushed him too far. His patience snapped into something darker, frustration coiled tight with want. His mouth brushed your ear, tone suddenly rougher, meaner, though still soaked in heat. “The next words out your mouth better not be that you’re leaving with him.”

His grip tightened at your waist, and the pressure sent a shiver down your spine no matter how hard you tried to fight it. You hated that your body still reacted, hated that even when you were frustrated—angry, even—it didn’t stop the rush of heat that pooled beneath your skin.

His breath brushed your ear as he leaned in, the low bass of the music vibrating through the floor and through your bones, but all you could hear was him. The two of you swayed together, not to the rhythm, but to something far more reckless.

“Get your act together, Rafayel.” your voice cut sharp, laced with sarcasm as you turned to face him. The flashing lights caught the tension in your jaw, as tight and unyielding as his own, and for a moment it felt like you weren’t dancing so much as locked in combat.

His lips curved—not into a smile, not really—but into that insufferable smirk he wore whenever he wanted to rile you. “Mm, harsh. Though, to be fair, I’m not the one grinding against strangers for an audience.” his words came low, casual, but there was a rawness underneath, the kind that betrayed too much.

Your eyes narrowed, voice dripping with annoyance. “You’re either drunk out of your mind, or you’re jealous. Whichever it is—you have no right to say that.”

His hold only tightened, and the jealousy he refused to name aloud lingered in every breath he refused to let you take alone. His jaw ticked, a scoff breaking past his lips. It was supposed to sound amused, the way it usually did when he was poking at you, but the laugh carried a sharpness he couldn’t quite disguise. Jealousy bled through no matter how smooth he tried to make it. His eyes locked on yours, unblinking, the crowd and the music dissolving into a blur behind you.

“Don’t go home with him.” the words came out low, bitten off, heavier than he intended.

You scoffed, the sound sharp enough to cut, pushing against his chest to put some space between you. He barely gave, his body rooted in place, but you turned anyway, your voice tossed over your shoulder, drowned by the bass but still slicing through him all the same. “Unbelievable.”

The sway of your hips as you walked away was infuriating, deliberate, as if you knew exactly what you were doing to him. His jaw clenched tighter, watching you head straight toward the direction that bastard had gone. Before the thought could even settle, his hand shot out, catching your wrist.

You barely had time to gasp before he was dragging you through the crush of bodies, threading you through the mess of perfume and sweat and music until the two of you spilled into a darker corner, half-hidden near the bathroom hallway.

“What the fu—” the curse was barely past your lips before his mouth was on you.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t measured. It was a smash of lips and teeth and bottled-up want that burned through every ounce of restraint he had left. He couldn’t hear another word of you telling him to back off, couldn’t stand the thought of you storming away toward anyone but him.

And to his reckless satisfaction, you didn’t shove him off. Not right away. Instead your lips parted, your tongue chasing his with a heat that shocked him as much as it thrilled him. The back of your shoulders hit the wall with a thud, and he pinned you there, his hand curling around your jaw like he needed to hold you still, like he couldn’t risk you slipping through his fingers again.

He broke just enough space to breathe, his forehead nearly pressed to yours, breath ragged against your lips. His voice was hoarse, raw in a way you’d never heard. “I’m jealous.”

The confession scraped out of him like it cost something, but his eyes didn’t waver. They bore into you, dark, heated, a storm of frustration and something softer underneath. His cheeks were warm, but his gaze was sharp, almost accusing.

“Didn’t think your little act of indifference would get to me, and it didn’t at first,” he said, his tone clipped, defensive, as if he needed to convince himself more than you. His fingers dug harder into your hips, holding you where you were, his frustration bleeding through every touch.

“Until I saw him all over you. And you—” his jaw tightened again, the words heavier, almost bitten through his teeth. “You couldn’t have welcomed him more sweetly.”

“Is that so?” you scoffed, though the sound came out thinner than you wanted, betraying the heat gathering in your chest. His eyes caught the flicker of yours dropping just once to his mouth before darting back up, a slip you couldn’t take back. You hated that he noticed, hated the way he thrived on it, as if your irritation was his favorite game.

“I don’t remember owing you anything, Rafayel,” you managed through a ragged breath, voice sharp but trembling at the edges.

His grip tightened at your waist, fingers digging into the fabric just enough to make you stumble the slightest step into him. The closeness burned. There were people all around you—laughing, drunk, tangled in the music—but the crowd blurred into nothing, leaving only the thrum of his pulse pressed against yours, the friction of your remarks colliding.

“It’s like you’re trying to piss me off on purpose,” he muttered, low and rough, the words curling warm against your ear before his mouth stole yours.

The kiss was hard, bruising—more a clash than a surrender—but your body betrayed you, answering with the same fever. Your fingers curled into the half-buttoned placket of his shirt, yanking him closer until the last breath of air between you vanished. He groaned against your lips, the sound half frustration, half need, his tongue meeting yours in a reckless tangle. The taste of him was dizzying—bitter with jealousy, sweet with desire—and it made your head spin worse than the alcohol.

When he tore back just enough to speak, his voice was ragged, every word bitten off as though it cost him something.

“I’m jealous and pissed, and so fucking turned on.” his teeth grazed your skin as he caught the line of your jaw, then your throat, nipping at the place where your pulse fluttered out of control.

His breath spilled hot over your perfume, a scent he knew wasn’t chosen for him—and that knowledge set his temper alight.

He inhaled against your neck, lips brushing dangerously close. “Tell me, cutie…” his tone dipped into mockery, sharp and soft all at once, “is that what you were aiming for?”

—

Shutting Rafayel up was easy enough if you played your cards right. And right now, with your thighs draped on each side of his head, his face buried between them, it was the most effective method you’d ever discovered.

He’d pulled you straight out of that party—cocky grin, sharp remarks, his hand at the small of your back like he had every right to lead you wherever he pleased—and somehow, the two of you ended up here again, tangled in the mess of his sheets, tearing at each other’s clothes like you were starving.

He hadn’t wasted a second once the door shut. The moment he shoved you back onto his bed, Rafayel dragged you over his mouth, pinning you there with a kind of desperate arrogance, tongue lapping at your folds like he had something to prove.

Your thighs trembled with every stroke of him, the slick sound of his mouth against you filling the room. He groaned into you, the vibration making you jolt, fingers tightening around the headboard as you rocked against him.

“Fuck—Rafayel,” you gasped, the words breaking into a moan as his hands urged you down harder, forcing you to grind over his mouth like he wanted you to drown him.

You couldn’t help laughing breathlessly, the edge of smugness curling your lips. “Didn’t know you liked shutting up this much,” you panted, voice cracking as he sucked hard on your clit, pulling another shaky cry from you.

He hummed against you in response, and the casual defiance in it made your chest tighten with something more dangerous than lust. Still, you couldn’t resist taunting him, voice pitched with a mix of moan and tease. “Do you wanna make me cum, Rafayel? Hm? So eager to please me for once?”

That had his fingers digging into your thighs, bruising and possessive. He pushed his tongue deeper, fucking you with it, and you cursed, head falling back, vision hazing. But you weren’t done. You leaned into the crueler edge of the game, your smirk curling even as your words hitched mid-breath.

“Maybe the other guy would’ve been just as eager… you know, the one who whispered all kind of things in my ear while grinding behind me—”

Your taunt cut off in a broken scream when he growled low into your pussy and sealed his mouth around your clit, sucking so hard your whole body jerked. The orgasm ripped through you with a violence that made your thighs quake against his grip, soaking his face as you cried out his name like you couldn’t hold it back. And the bastard didn’t even slow down.

“S-shit, ahh…” you gasped, the sound breaking out of you before you could bite it back. His mouth didn’t let up, not until you cried his name, your whole body trembling as your hips moved helplessly against his tongue, too sensitive to bear it yet too desperate to stop. A low growl rumbled in his throat at the sound of your curse, vibrating against you, and then suddenly—his grip clamped around your thighs, dragging a startled cry from your lips as he flipped you onto your back.

Before you could catch your breath, he was already over you, stealing your mouth in a kiss that left you dizzy, his hips grinding down into yours, the hard line of him pressing insistently through the fabric of his pants. His lips broke away only to trail down your throat, and then his teeth found you, sucking rough marks into your skin like he meant to brand you.

“You already got me so worked up…” his voice was rough, almost bitten out, “but then you go and say his name while I’m between your legs?” he sank his teeth lightly into your neck, the sting chased by the drag of his tongue.

Your protest melted into a groan as his fingers slid inside you, stretching you with merciless precision. He moaned low when your release slicked against his touch, making each movement faster, deeper, your body clenching around him in desperate pulses. His other hand spread over your ass, holding you open for him as his mouth closed around your breast, sucking hard, leaving your nipple aching under the wet heat of his tongue.

When his eyes lifted, messy hair falling into his flushed face, the burn in them was enough to make your stomach twist. Jealousy and hunger sharpened the edges of his gaze, the sound of his voice rough and almost mocking. “If you wanted it rough, cutie, you could’ve just asked. No need to piss me off, pulling shit like this on me.”

Your laugh came out broken, shaky, your voice trembling on each gasp. Still, you managed, “Where’s the fun in that?”

He kissed you then like he was trying to win something, all heat and defiance, his mouth clashing against yours in a mess of teeth and breath. You answered with equal force, your hands already curling tighter in his hair, dragging him closer until you broke the kiss just to flip him beneath you.

The motion was sharp, your thighs locking around his hips as you shoved him down onto the mattress, stealing a groan out of him that sounded far too satisfying.

“You’re so easy to trigger, aren’t you?” you taunted, breathless as you pressed your mouth to his throat, nipping at the skin until he tilted his head back with a curse. Your fingers fumbled at his belt, deliberately slow, grazing him in ways that made his jaw clench.

“Maybe it’s time someone puts you in your place. Because clearly…” you scoffed, dragging your nails lightly over his stomach as you marked his neck, “…you don’t know where you stand.”

His hips twitched under the drag of your palm, his breathing uneven now—finally losing that insufferable composure that always drove you mad. His pants and boxers were gone in what felt like seconds, and you perched just above him, teasing, stroking him in slow, deliberate movements that had his eyes darkening, his chest rising sharp with every breath.

When your mouth wrapped around him at last, he swore violently, a hand flying to your hair, gripping hard enough to make your scalp sting. The sound that tore out of him was raw, unguarded, his back arching off the sheets.

“S-shit, fuck…” he hissed, the word breaking, and you almost laughed around him, because the victory was already rushing through your veins, warm and heady. The Rafayel who always had a sharp retort, always stayed a step ahead, was now groaning under your mouth, bucking helplessly into you, fingers threaded tight in your hair as if he’d lose himself without the anchor.

He looked almost beautiful like this—breathless, undone, stripped of every cocky remark he usually wielded like a weapon. You could admit it now, he was dangerous when quiet, his charm sharper in the silence between gasps.

“Cutie shit—just like that,” his voice cracked, raw and heavy as his hand tightened in your hair. “I’m not gonna last.”

The ragged sound of his breathing filled the space, and just when you felt him twitch against your tongue, he pulled you away with a guttural growl. His mouth caught yours in a kiss that was messy, desperate, teeth clashing as if he couldn’t stand the distance for even a second longer.

“Not yet,” he rasped against your lips, his grip bruising your hips as he dragged you up into his lap. “Not until I fuck you so good you forget whatever guy you were entertaining earlier.”

You barely had time to roll your eyes before he flipped you over with startling ease, pressing you down and sliding into you in one rough, unrelenting thrust. The breath tore out of you in a broken moan, nails sinking into his shoulders as your body stretched around him.

“You’re tight, princess,” he groaned into your ear, hips snapping forward, the sound spilling out of him low and guttural. “Fuck, you take me just as good as last time.”

Whatever sharp retort you might’ve had died the moment he set a brutal rhythm, pounding into you with a pace that stole the ground from under your thoughts. Pleasure tore through you too fast, too much—until you were trembling around him, clenching hard as your release crashed over you.

“So sweet when you come for me,” he rasped, voice unraveling as your walls squeezed him tighter. “Squeezing me so goddamn t-tight…”

He pulled out only to drag you forward, manhandling you face-down, ass high, the mattress dipping under his weight as he shoved back inside without warning. The thrust punched a scream out of you, raw and unguarded, and he chuckled darkly at the sound, his fingers digging deep into your hips as if to brand you there.

“You wanted rough, didn’t you?” His tone was half-growl, half-smirk, sharp with the kind of heat that left no space to breathe. He snapped his hips hard against you, deeper, faster, each movement sharp enough to leave you reeling. “Wanted to make me jealous, huh? Then take it.”

Your mouth hung open, words failing as he pushed you past every edge, the drag of his jealousy turning him feral, reckless—eager to ruin you until there was nothing left in your head but him. And in truth, you loved every second of it. Because this version of Rafayel—the one who burned with want, who touched like he was starving, who let his jealousy unravel into raw need—was utterly, devastatingly irresistible.

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You weren’t really sure what had happened — one second you were practically leaping out of your spot on the couch to welcome Caleb home, and the next you were being pushed backwards, your back pressing into the cushion, and Caleb’s face pressed against your thigh as he dug his fingers into your pyjamas shorts, looking up at you.

“You just got home aren’t you tired?” You looked down at him, one of your hands moving to pull the colonel hat off his head and dropping it in the space next to you. He shook his head, your fingers drifting into the strands of his hair as they gently brushed against you, messing it up further. His eyes trailed down your body as his cheek pressed firmer into your thigh before looking back up at your face.

“You haven’t even changed yet…” Your eyes drifted away from his face, taking in the sight of him on his knees in front of you, desperately tugging your shorts off as he still adorned his uniform. The sight would’ve made you go feral if you weren’t focussed on the fact that he had just arrived home after being gone for almost two months and was probably exhausted.

“Pips,” his voice came out husky as he spoke, “you think too much about shit that don’t matter.” He offered you a small devilish grin before pressing a kiss into your bare thigh, tossing your bottoms behind him as he shifts in his spot. His eyes focus on your lace panties, the pale red colour deepening as your wetness grew from his words.

“This,” he pressed a kiss further up on your thigh, “is all i care about right now,” another kiss; right next to the band of your panties as he pushes your legs further apart.

You shuddered at his actions, realizing that theres no way you’re going to get him to do anything before he takes his time to greet you properly.

“You really missed me that much huh?” You teased, shifting your hips downwards. “How could I not? Look at you” he mumbled, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses over your clothed pussy, his tongue pressing flat against your clit on top of the fabric. You gasped at the sensation, your hand resting on his head as you stared down at him.

“How are you still teasing after being gone for so long?” You whined, tugging at strands of his hair. He looked up at you from between your things, his tongue moving to slide along your clothed slit, adding to the wet patch already on your panties. His purple eyes seemed darker as he chuckled, the vibrations making your twitch. “Yknow… you’re so wet I can taste you even through these.”

Your eyes widened at his words, feeling a new wave of heat coarse through you as your hand moved to smack into his shoulder. “Caleb! Oh my god” Your face was red, you could feel it. His intense gaze did nothing to help the burning under your skin; the slight twitch of your body every time his mouth ghosted over you. It was insane. How did this man want to devour you and tease you at the same time? He knew exactly how to make you go crazy for him.

He laughed again, pulling away slightly to stare at the damp spot on your panties. His index finger hooks into the top of them, pulling them down your legs and letting them fall to the floor next to him. His hand moved back between your thighs, his thumb slowly pressing into your clit and rubbing circles into it.

The sensation had your legs spreading wider, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. His face moved closer to you, his tongue licking into your slit as his thumb continued to slowly rub at your clit. Your head rested back against the pillows, your hips shifting down against his face.

“Fuck Caleb…” you moaned softly at his actions, eyes locked on him as he moves between your thighs. His own eyes flutter shut as he pressed against you further, his tongue pushing inside you. He hums at the taste, a low sound that vibrates through you, the heat building under your skin growing. He lazily fucks his tongue inside of you, grinning against your pussy as your legs tighten around his head and you moan out louder.

His hand moves down from your clit to press your thighs open wider, folding you in half on the couch as his mouth moves up from your slit, lips wrapping around your clit to suck on it gently.

You cry out at the action, his middle and ring finger teasing your entrance — the tips of his fingers pressing inside slowly before pulling out, barely sinking inside you. “D-dont be fucking mean ‘leb” you whine, tugging at his hair. He releases your clit from between his lips, looking up at you with a grin.

His chin and lips are soaked, your slick on his face glistening in the faint lighting of your shared Linkon apartment. Your skin was flushed, chest heaving as his fingers push into you, sinking in till the knuckles. Your eyes flutter shut as he takes his time, slowly fucking his fingers into you and curling them.

“Youre so pretty like this, Pips” he groans against your skin, biting into your thigh and sucking until you twitch away from him. “Wanna make you cum all over my face, say sorry for leaving for so long” his eyes look at your face, free hand trailing up your body to push your shirt up, freeing your tits for him.

His eyes lock on them, face moving back to suck at your clit, free hand grabbing at your tits while his other spreads up, fucking his fingers into you harder. You moan out, the pressure in your lower stomach building steadily as you clench around his digits, eyes squeezing shut.

“Can tell she missed me,” he mumbles against your clit, sucking it into his mouth between words, “squeezing me so fucking tight”

“Calebbbb” you whine out, the sound ripped from your throat and high pitched. You wish you weren’t folded like a pretzel beneath him, only for the reason that you wanted to drag your hips across his face and ride it.

“I know, princess, feels soooo good right?” He teases, biting back a laugh as he watches your reactions. He decides to take pity on you, doubling his efforts and speeding up, teeth nipping at your clit as his fingers push into you faster, loud squelches filling the room.

The pressure in your stomach feels like it’s gonna explode, you’re so wet, slick dripping down around his fingers and pooling on the cushion below your hips. Your head falls back, a loud moan of his name falling from your lips desperately as you claw at his shoulders before tugging back at his hair.

“Caleb- fuck- ngh!” The pressure snaps before you can warn him, pussy gripping around his fingers as you gush, squirting on him. His fingers pump deeper, a wicked grin on his face as his mouth latches onto you, drinking in the liquid gushing out of you.

Your leg tries to move, tries to push him away as your orgasm washes through you, vision going white as you sees stars. His actions dont let up, even as you come down from the high, hips twitching and your hand reaching down to swat at his shoulder.

“C-caleb-!”

He shakes his head as you whine out his name, looking up to see small tears pricking your eyes from the overstimulation. He grins, pulling his fingers from you, soaking wet as slick drips down into his palm. He licks it up, sucking on them as he looks at you before stuffing them into your own mouth.

You let out a small gasp as theyre pushed past your lips, sighing at the taste of you before his tongue runs back over your entrance, lapping up your juices.

“Tastes so fucking good” he mumbles against your skin. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, raising from the ground to crawl onto your body. Your legs are still thrown over his shoulders as he kisses you, knees pressing into your shoulders as he grinds his hard cock against your core through the slacks of his uniform.

He breaks the kiss, mouth moving to latch onto your neck and jaw, kissing along the skin. “Could stay down there forever, my pretty girl just tastes so good” he emphasizes the word with a groan, biting into the skin of your neck. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, small moans and whimpers escaping your lips as he marks your neck, taking his time.

His hips grind against your pussy, the rough fabric of his military slacks rubbing against your clit deliciously. You try to move against him, still folded beneath him in a mating press, a small whine escaping you. “Caleb… please”

He moves down to your chest, sucking and biting over your tits. He smiles into your skin, his voice low as he ruts against you again, “what is it baby? Need something from your Colonel?”

“Need you” you moan out, pulling his head back up to kiss his mouth, biting into his plush bottom lip. He kisses you back desperately, hands sliding down your body to grab at the button of his pants, tugging it undone before pushing them down to free his hard, throbbing cock.

He moans into your mouth, hands gripping your hips as he ruts his length against your folds, slick coating him. He breaks the kiss by biting your lip and you whimper out in response, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Gonna fuck this pretty pussy so good,” he groans out, forehead dropping to yours as his tip prods at your entrance, “stuff you so full your pussy never forgets what i feel like”

He lets out a laugh as you moan at his words, biting and kissing at his own neck. “Tell your Colonel how good that sounds, say please sir i want it” he teases, pushing into you and slotting himself inside until theres no more room.

You moan out, pushing at his shoulders so you could look at his face better. “Sounds s-so good, sir”. His grin widens at your words, hips pulling back to thrust into you roughly, tip hitting your cervix. You grip him harder as he pulls away, eyes locked on how your stuffed pussy spreads around him, how pretty you look taking him.

“Fuckkk, theres my pretty girl” he groans out, spitting onto your clit before his finger moves to rub it. His thrusts are hard and slow, cock dragging through your walls to the tip before slamming back in. You cry out every time his tip slams into your cervix, fingers trailing down to his arms to dig your nails into his biceps, pulling a whimper from his lips.

“Need m-more Caleb, please” you whine out breathlessly, your cunt so full of him but still not enough. “W-want you to fuck me like you really missed me”

His eyes snap up to yours, head tilting as he gives a few more slow, hard thrusts before nodding. His hips immediately picking up their pace, pistoning into you roughly. “Like that, baby?” He asks, eyes still on yours as he presses your legs further against your shoulders, fucking into you harder.

You cry out at the pace change, highpitched moans leaving you as your head falls back and your eyes squeeze shut. Hes so deep inside you, every inch stuffed into you and every vein dragging against your tight walls. You squeeze around him, drool slipping from your lips as the pressure in your stomach builds.

“Answer your Colonel” he grunts out, voice low as he speeds up even more. The couch slides back on the floor as he thrusts into you, one of his hands flying up to grip onto it to stop himself from falling. He lets out a laugh, hips not slowing their motion as his other hand return to your clit, fingers rubbing quick circles into it before pinching.

Your body jerks at the motion as you nod, struggling to find words. “J-just like- fuck- like that”. Your legs are sore, thighs burning from being bent in half, nails still digging into his skin through his stupid uniform. You wanted to rip it off of him, wanted to see the sweaty, soft skin underneath the layers of it. Everything feels fuzzy, your eyes opening slowly to look down at where he sinks in and out of you lewdly, wet noises filling the livingroom. You look up, eyes trailing over where his toned abs and chest hide behind his uniform, before settling on his face. His cheeks are flushed, sweat drenching his messy hair as it falls in front of his face. His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, eyes half lidded and dark with lust. Curses fall from his lips along with small grunts and whimpers, eyes shutting briefly every time your slick gummy walls clench around him deliciously.

You shudder at the sight of him, pussy clenching impossibly tighter around him as you twitch, right on the edge of your orgasm. You whine and moan, clawing at him as he fucks into you, spitting down onto your clit against before slapping it roughly. “Need you to cum, baby,” his eyes meet yours and he shivers “fuckkk i wont last if you keep looking at me like that” he groans out, head dropping to rest on your chest as he ruts into you wildly, fingers slapping at your clit again.

You cry out his name, insides squeezing as you cum, white hot bliss washing over you as you twitch and shake under him. You babble out useless words, things that dont even make sense as drool slips from the corner of your lips, vision going white. Your ears are barely able to register his words as he moans above you, lips kissing over your breasts.

“Gonna cum inside, gonna make sure it sticks. You’d l-love that right? If you had my baby then I really will be inside you forever, youd always be mine”.

You feel so dizzy, his words making pleasure bloom right under the orgasm your body was still coming down from, his hips relentless as they chase his own high. His mouth latches onto your nipple, sucking it into his mouth as his fingers still play with your clit. You try to push his hand away, overstimulation making your nerves feel like theyre on fire.

He slams his hips into you till the hilt, emptying inside of you. Thick spurts of his cum paint your walls, filling you up to the brim before slowly slipping out and rolling down the curve of your ass. You tumble into a second orgasm, less intense but still enough to punch the air from your lungs as you cling onto him tighter, walls squeezing him like a vice.

He whimpers as he cums, hips rocking against yours before stilling, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he pants above you. Your fingers slip into his hair, both of you coming down from your highs as you twitch against each other.

He kisses your shoulder before pulling away, softening cock pulling out. He looks down, watching his cum slip out of you and soak into the couch below your hips, the fabric now thoroughly ruined.

You look at him with a lazy smile as he pushes strands of hair from your face. “I missed you”

His boyish grin lights up his face as he pulls your legs down from being pressed against your shoulders, the pressure easing as he massages your thighs. He slides down to the floor in front of you, kissing your lower belly before moving to your thighs.

“Missed you so much too. Never wanna leave again”

life did not become bad, but it simply became scheduled. you learned how to live by calendars now, by meetings and reports and client dinners. your phone buzzed more often from work than from friends these days, and your closet slowly filled with silk blouses, neutral heels, and fitted office dresses instead of oversized hoodies and school event shirts. 

sometimes, you missed how easy everything used to feel. other times, you were grateful it no longer did.

“you’re thinking again.” you blinked and looked up from your untouched drink. across the table, your colleague and closest friend from work, tara, narrowed her eyes at you knowingly beneath the warm restaurant lighting. around the two of you, friday night chatter filled the rooftop bar while city lights glittered far below the building.

you laughed quietly. “i’m literally just sitting here.”

“exactly,” tara replied. “you only get that existential look when you start thinking about life.”

you rolled your eyes and finally took a sip from your drink. it tasted expensive and barely alcoholic, which felt very fitting for the kind of establishment your coworkers liked frequenting after successful presentations.

you leaned back into your chair with a sigh, letting their voices blur together briefly while laughter continued around the table. honestly, they weren’t wrong. the past year had been exhausting. being a corporate manager at your age sounded impressive on paper until people realized it mostly involved sleeping too little and carrying everybody else’s problems on your back, while pretending you had everything under control.

still, you liked the work, the independence, knowing you built this version of your life yourself. your phone buzzed suddenly beside your drink, bringing your eyes to it. 

it’s the family groupchat. 

your younger cousins were apparently spamming blurry photos from their movie night at your aunt’s house. one picture showed three of them wrapped together in blankets while another was just an aggressively close image of pizza. you smiled despite yourself.

tara noticed instantly. “family?”

“yeah.” you shook your head. “my cousins.”

“the little kids?”

“not little anymore,” you murmured.

that part still felt strange too. the youngest cousin who used to cry over scraped knees now posted dance covers online and borrowed makeup from you occasionally. another had recently started driving lessons. they were all growing too fast, stretching taller and louder and more complicated each year while you somehow stayed stuck remembering them as children.

maybe adulthood was just constantly realizing time moved without asking permission first.

—

the invitation arrived on a random tuesday night while you were half-awake in bed, still wearing your work blouse and scrolling mindlessly through your phone after answering one last email. you almost ignored it, thinking it was just another notification buried between work group chats, promotional messages, and missed calls from relatives... but then your eyes caught familiar words.

senior high alumni homecoming.

you blinked once. now you were fully awake.

the invitation opened into an elegant digital poster washed in dark navy and gold, far more sophisticated than anything your old student council could’ve designed years ago. beneath the formal lettering sat the event details neatly arranged across the screen. the venue, the date, the dress code... and then, at the very bottom says—

costumed masquerade theme.

you stared at the word longer than necessary. for some reason, it made your chest feel strangely light. below the poster, old batchmates were already reacting in the comment section. 

it had been years. years since senior high—since crowded hallways and sports festivals and summer evenings that felt endless back then. life after graduation moved too quickly for everyone. college separated people, and careers scattered them further. friendships became birthdays greeted through instagram stories and occasional “we should meet soon” conversations nobody had time to fulfill.

and yet, this invitation felt like somebody opening an old bedroom window after years. all at once, the memories from before drifted back in quietly.

you sat up against your pillows, phone glowing against the dark room while the city outside your condo windows stretched endlessly beneath the midnight sky.

would it really feel the same? you doubted it. 

everyone was older now, real adults. people had careers, licenses, responsibilities, and probably relationships too. the thought made something inside you shift faintly. still, despite yourself, excitement curled somewhere in your chest.

you imagined seeing your old classmates again after all this time, imagined hearing familiar voices you hadn’t heard in years, briefly becoming younger again just by standing in the same room together.

it sounded nice, dangerously nice. which was exactly why you hesitated.

for the next few days, the invitation in your phone stayed unanswered. you kept reopening the poster during work breaks only to lock your phone again afterward. every time someone new confirmed attendance, your curiosity deepened a little more. 

you were grocery shopping with your mother beneath painfully cold supermarket air-conditioning while your mother pushed the cart slowly through the produce aisle, occasionally handing you random items to place inside.

you trailed beside her absentmindedly while checking your phone again, seeing someone had just sent another reminder poster.

“three weeks left before the masquerade reunion!”

your mother glanced at you briefly. “what are you staring at?”

“nothing,” you answered.

she hummed suspiciously before tossing oranges into the cart. “you’ve had that same expression since yesterday.”

“what expression?”

“the one you get when you’re thinking too hard.”

you looked down at the invitation again. you could almost picture it already—old batchmates rediscovering each other beneath adulthood and years apart.

it felt like an invitation back to youth, just for one evening.

before you could overthink yourself out of it again, you accidentally pressed the attendance button.

confirmed.

your mother blinked when you suddenly looked so petrified. “what happened?”

you slipped your phone into your pocket. “…i think i’m going to a party.”

and that’s it. 

the night of the alumni homecoming arrived wrapped in gold lights.

the convention center occupied almost the entire upper floor of the hotel, glowing warmly behind towering glass windows while valet attendants guided cars beneath the entrance canopy downstairs. 

...you didn’t expect for the party to be this well-prepared and budgeted. from outside alone, the event already looked far more elegant than anything your old batch could have afforded years ago. adulthood really did strange things to people—apparently one of those things included having enough money to rent out ballrooms and pretend everybody had always been this sophisticated.

you stood before the large mirrored elevator walls one last time before stepping out onto the event floor.

you decided to dress as catwoman. the costume had started as a joke between you and tara during a late-night online shopping spree. but now, beneath the hallway lights of the hotel, you almost regretted how good it actually looked on you.

music pulsed through the ballroom doors ahead as hotel staff welcomed arriving guests. the moment you stepped inside, warm lighting and noise swallowed you whole.

the venue was enormous! massive chandeliers reflected gold across glossy floors while alumni crowded around cocktail tables beneath dim ambient lights, meanwhile the dance floor already held clusters of people as servers carried trays of drinks through the crowd.

and everywhere, everyone wore masks. beautiful, elaborate, confusing masks. half the challenge of the reunion seemed to be figuring out who anybody actually was. some people wore elegant masquerade masks while others committed entirely to themes and costumes dramatic enough to make identification nearly impossible. every few seconds, somebody somewhere would suddenly shriek after recognizing an old batchmate.

thinking about it, it was kind of genius. years changed people enough already, so hiding everyone’s faces behind masks only made the nostalgia feel stranger.

for a moment, you simply stood there near the entrance taking it all in. years ago, something like this would’ve overwhelmed you almost immediately. it’s too loud, too crowded. too many social expectations pressing against your chest all at once. but adulthood had apparently beaten professionalism into you. now, instead of panicking, you simply adjusted your clutch beneath your arm and moved forward calmly into the crowd.

look at you.

a functioning adult...sort of.

time moved strangely inside the venue, though. 

one moment you were laughing over old classroom stories and forgotten teachers, and the next you were standing beside an open bar while somebody from your old literature class passionately explained why he quit law school to start a café business instead. everywhere you looked, old versions of people kept appearing beneath unfamiliar adulthood. 

it felt a little like opening a time capsule only to discover everything inside had learned how to breathe on its own.

you drifted further into the venue eventually, drink balanced loosely in your hand while conversations came and went around you in fragments. the ballroom had grown warmer now from the amount of people filling it. for once, you allowed yourself to enjoy it. to exist inside this strange overlap between who you used to be and who you became.

“do you think caleb’s actually here?”

huh? 

your steps slowed. it happened so naturally your body reacted before your mind did.

“oh my gosh, wait, is he? did anyone see caleb?”

caleb.

the name landed against your chest with quiet, terrible familiarity. for a second, all the noise around you dulled.

instead of turning around, you stood near one of the ballroom pillars with your fingers tightening subtly around your glass.

“i think he is,” another woman answered excitedly. “someone said the guy wearing the nightwing costume might be him!”

...of course caleb was here. why wouldn’t he be? it would’ve been more strange if he wasn’t here. the realization should not have unsettled you this much after all these years, and yet suddenly your chest felt oddly tight beneath the fitted black fabric of your clothes. because if caleb was here... then, is the other also here? 

your thoughts stopped themselves before fully forming the name.

...zayne.

something you tried your best to bury after all these years... now had been brought up to the surface. it’s pretty naive of you to think that this wouldn't happen one way or another tonight, right? 

you stared blankly toward the moving crowd ahead while your pulse shifted unevenly somewhere beneath your ribs. it had been years since you last saw either of them properly, years since that unbearable summer, years since tangled confessions and emotions too large for any of you to handle correctly at eighteen.

years since you walked away.

would they look different now? what if you ran into them tonight? what exactly were you supposed to say after all this time? the thought alone made heat creep faintly up your neck.

you were no longer teenagers. no longer those messy, emotionally reckless kids orbiting around each other beneath suburban summers and friday night gatherings. 

adulthood had happened already, surely time had done its job. surely they had moved on.

“honestly,” one of the girls behind you continued with a laugh, “i still can’t believe i dated him.”

you blinked.

another voice groaned. “you dated caleb and survived? tell us everything.”

dated.

the word echoed unpleasantly inside your chest.

“oh please,” the girl laughed again. “it wasn’t that dramatic. we broke up because of distance after graduation. he was already flying all over the place for training back then.”

flying?

ah, right.

your parents did let you know a year ago that he had become a DAA pilot. somehow hearing it spoken aloud made the years feel even more real.

“he’s gotten more ridiculously handsome though,” another added. “if he’s really here tonight, maybe this is your chance to get back together.” their laughter then blurred afterward beneath the music.

you stood still for one second too long, before looking over your shoulder to see the face of the girl caleb had apparently dated.

did he really?

pfft, of course he did. why wouldn’t he?

he was caleb. the golden boy turned golden man. the kind of person people naturally loved. and yet, the image still unsettled something quiet and unpleasant inside you. before memory could drag you any further backward, you immediately resumed walking deeper into the ballroom.

enough.

your heels clicked steadily against polished floors while you lifted your chin and forced yourself through the crowd again. you refused to let old emotions creep back into your chest this easily after everything.

you were not eighteen anymore. you were a grown woman now—one who handled negotiations, presentations, and difficult people for a living. for god’s sake, you paid taxes and managed teams and owned matching dinnerware now.

get yourself together.

whatever existed between the three of you belonged to another lifetime already. tonight was only a reunion. nothing more.

you tried to shake the feeling off afterward. really, you did.

deciding you needed something sweet—or maybe simply a distraction—you wandered toward one of the longer dessert tables situated near the center of the venue. unlike the crowded cocktail area, this side of the ballroom felt calmer. at the center of the table, a large chocolate fountain cascaded endlessly downward in glossy ribbons.

okay, maybe adulthood never truly erased simple joys.

the fountain looked ridiculously good. you grabbed one of the small dessert cups from beside the table and leaned slightly forward, carefully positioning fruit skewers beneath the flowing chocolate. the scent of cocoa drifted warmly upward.

for a brief moment, you relaxed again.

and then—that feeling returned. just enough to make the back of your neck grow strangely aware. you straightened slightly, fingers tightening around the dessert cup as you sensed someone standing nearby behind you. not close enough to be inappropriate, but close enough to feel deliberate.

your eyes lifted instinctively...

to a man dressed in a nightwing costume stood only a few meters away, dark domino mask shadowing his face while he casually held a drink in one gloved hand.

tall, broad shoulders, dark hair. even the posture—

oh my god.

your entire body went rigid beneath your clothes.

shit. that had to be caleb, right?

your mind raced embarrassingly fast while the man remained completely unaware—or at least seemingly unaware—of the internal crisis currently unfolding beside the chocolate fountain.

okay, you were an adult. a very functional adult. this was not high school anymore. if that really was caleb, then the correct thing to do would obviously be acting normal. mature and emotionally unaffected. you absolutely refused to look like somebody still hung up on old teenage history years later.

hesitantly, you cleared your throat and turned toward him fully.

the man finally glanced up from his drink.

god, why did he still feel familiar even after all this time?

forcing composure into your expression, you offered him a polite smile. “…hey, caleb, how’ve you been?”

for a few long seconds, the man simply stared at you.... strangely.

his silence stretched enough to make heat slowly creep up your neck beneath the mask. behind the dark lenses of his nightwing costume, his expression looked almost alarmed, like you had approached him with deeply concerning information instead of a simple greeting.

your confidence began deteriorating immediately. why did he look so confused?

a horrible thought then crossed your mind all at once.

did caleb seriously forget about you now?

no, that was ridiculous! surely not to that extent. before you could spiral any further into your own embarrassment, the man finally spoke.

“…i’m not caleb.”

the ballroom lights shifted overhead at the exact same moment, finally illuminating his eyes properly through the mask.

hazel brown, not purple.

oh.

how did you even make that mistake?

“ah,” you muttered beneath a short embarrassed laugh. “i’m sorry, i thought you were somebody else.”

he really looks a lot like caleb...

the man stared at you for another second before chuckling lightly into his drink. “well, now i’m curious. you looking for caleb?”

you frowned. “no,” you answered perhaps a little too quickly. “i just thought you were... him.”

“ah.” the man nodded knowingly in a way that irritated you slightly. then he casually added, “i heard he wasn’t able to attend anyway because of his schedule.”

your fingers loosened around the cup. “is that so,” 

“yep, something work-related, i think.”

that made sense. pilots probably weren’t exactly known for stable schedules.

the strange tightness lingering inside your chest eased just slightly afterward. maybe because uncertainty felt worse than disappointment somehow. at least now there was an explanation, a clean one.

he simply wasn’t here.

you nodded politely. “well, thank you anyway.”

the man raised his glass toward you. “good luck finding whoever you’re actually looking for.”

you gave him one last embarrassed smile before immediately turning away. jesus, what an unbelievably humiliating interaction.

as you walked deeper through the ballroom again, you tried forcing yourself not to think about it too much. honestly, maybe it was better this way. you wouldn’t have to worry about awkward reunions or unresolved history suddenly resurfacing. caleb wasn’t here. and if caleb wasn’t here—then maybe zayne wasn’t either. 

you continued moving through the venue with quieter steps, eventually drifting toward the grand staircase leading upstairs to the hotel’s lounge area. unlike the crowded ballroom below, the upper floor looked dimmer and more intimate.

except, there was a crowd gathered near the lounge entrance.

you slowed, watching the way people stood clustered together around one side of the room, several guests leaned against the railings trying to peek through the gathering, while others whispered to each other with visible amusement.

your brows furrowed. what exactly was happening up there?

curiosity carried you upstairs before caution could stop you. most of the crowd, however, seemed gathered around one particular table near the center of the lounge. you stepped closer carefully, weaving between guests until the scene finally came into view.

a proper poker setup occupied one of the longer tables, cards scattered beneath the amber lighting while chips piled carelessly around half-finished drinks. several masked alumni sat around the table already looking halfway defeated.

and seated among them—was ghostface.

it’s not the ridiculous halloween-store version. this one looked… unfairly good.

instead of the long black robe usually associated with the mask, the man wore fitted black clothing that sharpened the broadness of his shoulders and arms, dark fabric stretching cleanly over muscle before disappearing into grey baggy jeans that somehow made the whole look even more attractive. black gloves covered his hands while the ghostface mask itself showcased its expression permanently frozen into that eerie open-mouthed grin.

you folded your arms while lingering near the edge of the crowd, attention slowly drifting toward the game unfolding before you.

“that’s like his sixth win already.”

“no seriously, this guy’s terrifying.”

soft laughter circled around the table, and the ghostface man only leaned back slightly in his chair, cards resting between gloved fingers with suspicious ease.

you watched another round unfold. and unfortunately, they were right. he was good, very good. 

he played patiently, almost lazily at times, like he already knew how each round would end before the others did. every movement looked deliberate, the way he shuffled chips, the way he held cards. even the way he sat there silently while everyone else talked too much.

you narrowed your eyes beneath your mask. okay, that irritated you.

because for as long as you could remember, you had always been good at card games. most especially poker. annoyingly good, according to several cousins and former classmates who stopped agreeing to play against you years ago. and now this ghostface man was sitting there collecting victories like he owned the table, so your competitiveness stirred before you could stop it.

you remained watching for another minute, then another.

the ghostface player revealed another winning hand.

“oh come on,” someone complained loudly. “this guy’s impossible.”

through the mask, ghostface only tilted his head in amusement.

that did it.

before you could reconsider, you stepped forward through the crowd. “can i play too?”the moment you stepped closer to the table, several heads turned toward you at once.

years ago, that amount of attention probably would have made your stomach fold into itself. you used to hate moments like this in school—the sudden awareness of eyes, the fear of saying something awkward, the feeling of being perceived too closely.

unlike everyone else who only glanced briefly your way, the ghostface guy seated across the poker table looked up at you and… stayed there.

one second, and two, and three.

his mask revealed absolutely nothing, which somehow made it worse. the frozen expression carved into ghostface’s face remained permanently unreadable while he simply stared at you in complete silence.

you resisted the urge to fidget beneath his attention. 

why did that suddenly feel intense? 

“is that okay?” you finally asked, gesturing toward the empty chair. “or am i intruding?”

for a brief moment, ghostface remained motionless. then—as though suddenly realizing he had been staring too long—he leaned back and nodded once.

“it's okay.”

your breath caught.

that voice...

you narrowed your eyes even more beneath your catwoman mask while slowly taking the seat across from him.

his voice is dangerously familiar, not enough for certainty, but just enough to disturb you. you settled into the chair anyway while the others around the table perked up at the possibility of fresh entertainment.

“oh thank god,” somebody groaned dramatically. “please humble him for us.”

“seriously,” another added. “this guy’s been robbing everybody blind.”

ghostface said nothing. he only lowered his gaze back toward the cards in his hands while the dealer reshuffled for the next round.

thankfully, once the game resumed, the mask itself stopped being distracting surprisingly quickly. maybe because ghostface rarely lifted his head fully while playing. most of the time, his attention remained lowered toward the table, gloved fingers handling chips and cards with calm precision.

the first few rounds unfolded carefully. you played cleanly, watching your opponents more than your own cards while the lounge buzzed around you. years of corporate meetings had apparently sharpened your poker face because some of the players folded too early against you. ghostface, however, remained annoyingly difficult to read. his movements were too controlled, too measured. 

you frowned while studying him across the table.

the game had somehow become quieter around the two of you, in the sense that your attention had narrowed toward the man seated across. somewhere along the way, the others around the table stopped mattering. it became a strange tug-of-war existing only between you and ghostface.

and annoyingly—he really was good.

the current round had gone sideways faster than you expected. one by one, the other players folded until only the two of you remained at the table, chips scattered between dim amber light and half-empty glasses.

you leaned back in your chair while mentally rearranging possibilities.

shit.

ghostface had cornered you beautifully.

your fingers tapped once against your cards while you forced yourself to think. if you folded now, you’d lose the round entirely. but if you pushed too aggressively and guessed wrong—ugh. your ego genuinely would not survive losing to this stupid masked man, especially not in front of an audience.

across the table, ghostface remained infuriatingly calm. it made you bite against your lower lip while studying the chips, trying to search for another angle, another bluff, another opening somewhere inside the round.

come on. think!

you glanced upward absentmindedly—then immediately looked back down—before your eyes snapped upward again.

because ghostface was staring at you.

... very openly.

his elbow rested against the arm of the chair while his gloved fist supported the side of his face, posture almost lazy beneath the dark clothing. yet despite how relaxed he looked, the attention directed toward you felt sharp enough to press against your skin.

and unlike before—he did not look away. it's like he knew exactly what position he had cornered you into and wanted to watch you struggle through it.

fine.

you stared back.

the lounge lights shifted overhead while the two of you remained suspended in this strange silent challenge across the poker table. the longer you looked, the more your eyes adjusted to the thin dark material shadowing the eyeholes of the ghostface mask.

and then, you saw them.

purple eyes...

faintly obscured beneath black fabric and low lighting, but unmistakably purple. for one horrifying second, your mind blanked completely.

wait. how common even were purple eyes? no, that wasn’t the correct question. how rare were they?

your pulse stumbled unevenly while you stared at him, but ghostface remained motionless, watching you. those purple eyes continued to pierce into your soul. now, the mask felt less anonymous than before.

your gaze dropped quickly back toward the cards in your hands.

don’t get distracted.

it did not matter who this man was. it did not matter why his voice sounded familiar or why his eyes looked dangerously recognizable beneath that mask. right now, there was only one thing that mattered:

you were winning this round.

you inhaled slowly and forced yourself to think again. and then—like a spark suddenly catching—you saw it. a narrow opening hidden beneath the way ghostface had structured the round. risky but possible.

slowly, you reached forward and pushed your chips inward. the table quieted, and ghostface tilted his head at your bold move.

someone nearby muttered, “oh this is evil.”

you finally lifted your gaze toward him again.“call,” for the first time all night, ghostface hesitated. it was barely noticeable, but very much enough.

the reveal came seconds later.

“no way.”

“finally!”

got you.

after being cornered for nearly the entire round, somehow—somehow—you managed to turn it around against him!

the moment your win settled in, the lounge around the table reacted instantly.

“she actually did it,” one of them laughed.

“our man got humbled,” another added, half incredulous.

you could feel the attention return to you again, lighter this time, less intimidating than before. your shoulders eased beneath the catwoman mask as you offered a small, polite smile. and then, you turned your attention back across the table toward ghostface. “that was a good game,” you smiled a bit wider. “you’re really good.”

that was a fact.

he didn’t respond though. 

ghostface remained perfectly still, head tilted slightly downward as if studying you through the black void of his mask. the silence stretched just long enough to feel intentional, like he was weighing something he had no intention of sharing with anyone else in the room.

you couldn’t read him, not even a little. then, after a beat too long, he lifted his hands and gave a slow, lazy clap.

once... twice... thrice.

“congratulations, miss poker,” he said at last.

you held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, because his mannerisms bothered you. it’s the tilt of his head, the stillness between movements, and even the way he spoke felt like something your memory almost knew but couldn’t fully grasp.

a familiar ghost of familiarity.

you swallowed the thought before it could form properly. instead, you let out a small breath and returned a light smile. “thanks,” you replied casually, as if none of this lingered beneath the surface.

you pushed back your chair and stood, smoothing yourself as the crowd began shifting around you again, some still talking about the game while others moved on to their own conversations. excusing yourself politely, you stepped away from the table, and as you walked past ghostface, you felt his presence remain still behind you. but you didn’t look back.

you weaved through the lounge crowd toward the hallway, heels clicking against the floor. you needed a moment where your thoughts didn’t feel like they were circling something you couldn’t name.

the nearest restroom sign came into view at the end of the corridor. it was blissfully quiet compared to the lounge outside.

the moment the door closed behind you, the noise of the party dulled into distant vibrations through the walls, softened enough for you to finally exhale properly.

you reached up and removed your mask. “ugh,” 

finally.

cool air brushed against your skin almost instantly, easing the slight warmth that had gathered beneath the mask throughout the night. for a moment, you simply stood there staring at your reflection in the mirror, fingers adjusting loose strands of hair that had shifted during the evening.

after using one of the cubicles, you washed your hands slowly beneath warm water, your thoughts inevitably drifting back toward the lounge outside.

toward... the ghostface guy.

your brows furrowed faintly at your own reflection, thinking about how... everything about him felt familiar. not just one specific thing, but everything. and then there were those purple eyes.

could it really be—?

no. the nightwing guy downstairs already said caleb wasn’t here. besides, years had passed already so people changed. maybe you were simply projecting old memories onto strangers because tonight had dragged too much nostalgia out of you all at once.

that had to be it.

you shut the faucet off firmly and shook the thought away before it could root itself any deeper.

it was just a man in a mask. nothing more.

composing yourself again, you slipped your mask back on and headed toward the restroom exit. except the moment you opened the door and stepped back into the hallway, your footsteps stopped completely.

someone stood just outside the women’s restroom.

him.

the one you were thinking about just now.

he leaned lazily against the wall several feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his grey jeans while one boot rested loosely against the baseboard beneath him. 

you blinked once.

did he follow you here...?

ghostface only turned to you and stared back silently.

you abruptly cleared your throat, forcing politeness back into your expression before the silence became strange. “are you waiting for someone?” you asked with a small smile.

ghostface tilted his head slightly at your question. after a pause that lasted just long enough to make your chest tighten again, he answered quietly, “yeah, i was.” voice muffled enough beneath the mask.

you tilted your head at him, still trying to keep the conversation light despite the strange tension gathering in the hallway. “there’s nobody else in the women’s restroom,” you pointed out gently. “whoever you’re waiting for isn’t there.”

ghostface stayed leaning against the wall for another second as he chuckled, low and dangerously familiar. “really?” 

your breath caught immediately.

there it is. that stupid laugh. warm, teasing, and unfairly boyish beneath all the black fabric and broad shoulders. the sound hit you harder than recognition should have, crashing straight into old summers, friday nights, basketball courts, laundry afternoons, and eighteen-year-old heartbreak all at once.

this is... caleb. 

you knew it now.

the hallway felt even more unbearably narrow around the two of you.

you wanted to run, to run before you lose whatever careful distance you spent years building between yourself and the past. “well,” you said carefully, “your ex isn’t anywhere nearby either. she’s downstairs.”

for the first time since you stepped outside the restroom, ghostface, or rather caleb, looked genuinely confused. “…my ex?” he repeated slowly.

you nodded once, trying to sound casual despite the heat climbing beneath your skin. oh god, you immediately decided this conversation needed to end before your dignity dissolved entirely. clearing your throat again, you stepped forward and gestured politely toward the hallway. “anyway, excuse me—”

you brushed past him. or at least, you tried to.

“y/n.”

you stopped, and the silence afterward felt strangely loud. slowly, you turned back toward him. and for some reason, the fact that he didn’t call you pips or pipsqueak or those silly childish names anymore lingered in your chest.

of course he didn’t. you were adults now, after all. 

grown people with careers and separate lives and years between you. maybe those childish nicknames belonged to another version of him entirely, another version of the three of you. maybe this only proved what you already suspected downstairs—they had moved on now. and maybe you were the only one still haunted by old things.

no, that wasn’t true either.

you weren’t clinging to the past. tonight only dragged it back into your hands unexpectedly. that was all.

your gaze lifted hesitantly toward him again just as he finally moved. slowly, he reached beneath the collar of his black shirt and pulled something free from underneath the fabric, revealing a dog tag necklace with a tiny apple charm attached near the chain.

it’s the one you gave him years ago when you were still taller than him as kids. he had laughed so hard back then. you remembered the exact sound. and now—now it rested against the black fabric of his chest like something treasured too carefully for too long.

so he still had it after all these years. 

“it’s me, dummy,” he says.

yeah, you knew.

maybe not the moment you first saw him near the poker table. but somewhere between the voice, the eyes, the way he stared too intensely, and the unbearable familiarity wrapped around every little mannerism he had—you knew.

your hands curled quietly into fists against your sides, because now that caleb was standing here in front of you after all these years, your body suddenly remembered too many things at once. “i know,” you murmured. “you always make things obvious.” 

deep down, you missed him. you missed caleb. standing this close to him again made something ache inside your chest.

you wanted to hug him, the kind where your face disappears into someone’s shoulder and years melt apart for a moment. and, now that you're thinking about that, you also somewhat hoped to see zayne around here and do just exactly that.

but adulthood had taught you restraint in places where younger versions of yourself used to act freely. so you stayed still.

caleb watched you carefully for a beat before fully turning toward you, one shoulder lifting lazily against the wall. “how’d you know it was me?” 

you let out a small huff through your nose, “i just do.”

that answer silenced him only briefly, but enough for you to notice. something shifted in his posture before he straightened fully, removing the ghostface mask completely with one hand.

and there—there he was.

he wasn’t the boy you remembered anymore, but a grown man.

caleb had always been handsome in that effortless, bright sort of way people naturally felt attracted to, but adulthood sharpened him into something almost unfair. his features had grown more defined over the years, jaw stronger now beneath the dim lighting, cheekbones sharper, even the bruises of exhaustion beneath his eyes somehow added to it instead of taking away.

he knew that too.

you could tell by the way he leaned casually against the wall afterward, completely comfortable inside his own skin. his grin tugged crookedly. “there she is, thought maybe corporate life killed your personality already.”

you only smiled back. “you’re the one dressed like a murderer at a school reunion.”

caleb barked out a laugh, warm and genuine. the sound echoed softly down the hallway.

“there she is,” he repeated quieter this time, almost to himself. you pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on you as he slipped his hands back into his pockets. “so how’s your family? your mom still forcing everybody to take leftovers home after gatherings?”

you smiled faintly despite yourself. “yes.”

“and your cousins?” he continued. “they still following you around like ducklings?”

you chortled at that. “they’re teenagers now. they barely acknowledge my existence.”

“that's tragic.”

you shook your head, still smiling. but somewhere in the middle of the conversation, something settled strangely inside your chest. caleb kept asking about everyone else, your family, your cousins, your parents. everything surrounding your life except—

you.

he never asked how you were. that tiny omission lingered heavier than it should have.

if this was how caleb acted now, then maybe he really had moved on already. maybe years were enough to soften whatever existed between the three of you back then, enough to turn obsession into memory and memory into something manageable. adulthood had a way of doing that to people, didn’t it? sanding sharp feelings down into old stories you only revisit every once in a while.

maybe caleb was normal now, maybe he had loved someone else already. maybe he went through heartbreaks and hookups and whole relationships himself while you stayed tucked away in a corner of his past like an old neighborhood photograph.

you swallowed and forced yourself not to linger too long on the thought. “what about you?”

caleb looked up. “what about me?”

“how’ve you been all these years?”

for a second, something flickered across his face. surprise maybe. as if nobody had asked him that sincerely in a long time. he grinned again, slipping back into that familiar warmth he wore so naturally. “good, been very busy you know.”

“wow, incredibly detailed answer.”

he laughed under his breath. “i mean, what d’you want me to say? i fly planes now. half my life’s in airports. i drink too much coffee. sometimes i forget what country i’m in.”

“that sounds mildly concerning.”

“it’s called occupational hazard.” his eyes stayed on you while he spoke, and it made something inside your chest feel unsteady in a way you hated noticing.

caleb still looked at people too directly. 

he continued talking afterward, telling you random pieces of his life in fragments. about long-haul flights, ridiculous passengers, getting stranded once because of weather conditions, and his coworkers apparently thinking he had anger issues because he got into arguments too easily.

“that part’s believable,” you muttered.

“oh, shut up.” his grin remained, but thinner now somehow. “i miss our neighborhood though,” 

the words were simple, but something about the way he said them made your stomach tighten faintly. he didn’t say he missed home, he didn’t say he missed being younger. he just said he missed the neighborhood.

you looked at him carefully, trying to understand what exactly he meant by it. or maybe—what exactly he was trying not to say.

caleb must’ve noticed your stare lingering too long because he straightened and gave you another crooked grin, this one almost sheepish beneath all the confidence he usually carried. “anyway,” he clears his throat, “i should probably stop hiding in hallways before people think i’m actually kidnapping women tonight.” he steps away from the wall afterward, clearly about to leave.

but before he could, you stopped him. 

“how’s zayne doing?”

caleb halted mid-step, and you watched it happen in real time.

the subtle dimming in his eyes, the way the looseness left his shoulders, as his smile slowly weakened at the corners before disappearing entirely. something restrained passed across his expression so quickly you almost missed it, held-back and quiet in the way real emotions usually were.

your brows knitted faintly together. for a second there—he looked like someone trying very hard not to let something show.

but the switch quickly flipped.

his smile returned so naturally that, if you weren’t looking directly at him moments earlier, you probably would’ve missed the crack entirely. “he’s good. a successful doctor now. annoyingly successful, actually.”

that sounded like zayne.

something inside you eased hearing it from caleb himself. you didn't doubt zayne’s success—you already knew what he became years ago through mutual acquaintances and scattered updates from families—but hearing caleb say it aloud made it feel more real.

you nodded. “that’s really good to know.”

caleb only hummed. 

but then, unexpectedly, he steps closer.

the movement was so unexpected that your body nearly reacted on instinct, feet threatening to retreat backward against the hallway floor. except you stopped yourself midway, tilting your head up at him instead with quiet confusion.

he was close enough for you to notice the faint shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes, close enough to catch the subtle scent of cologne mixed with something colder, cleaner.

your pulse stumbled once when caleb looked down at you before his hand slowly lifted.

and then, he patted your head.

it wasn’t really a pat, though. 

his fingers lingered.

they slid gently into your hair near your temple, brushing softly through the strands beside your ear before trailing lower down your shoulder with unbearable slowness. the touch felt absentminded on the surface, almost affectionate in a casual way, but there was something underneath it that made your body go completely still, something that lingered too long to mean nothing.

his eyes softened almost imperceptibly while his fingers slipped away from your hair. “you really grew up,” his voice had changed again, less teasing. “no longer the little scatterbrain i used to know.”

his hand dropped back to his side afterward. “you don’t have to worry about zayne too much, you’ll see him soon anyway.”

you blinked. “what?”

so he really isn't here, then? 

caleb tilted his head. “granny’s birthday. did they tell you yet?”

your mind stalled for half a second before realization hit.

oh right, granny’s birthday. the same granny who practically raised entire neighborhoods through force-feeding and unsolicited life advice. miraculously, this year, her birthday landed on a friday.

“she wanted everyone together again,” caleb continued. “same setup as before.”

you stared at him. “oh, you and zayne are going?”

caleb looked almost offended by the question. “of course we are,” he said. “it’s granny.”

—

the hotel lights had long disappeared behind you, now swallowed by distance and the slow quietness of the road.

your mind remained back there somehow, back in that hallway with caleb.

you sat behind the steering wheel with one hand loosely resting against it, the other drumming near the gearshift as the city lights blurred past your windows in streaks of gold and white. the catwoman mask had already been tossed carelessly onto the passenger seat beside your purse, abandoned the moment you got into the car, but the rest of the costume remained annoyingly intact against your skin.

you suddenly understood why actresses always complained about tight outfits during interviews. you adjusted uncomfortably in your seat while stopping at a red light, your thoughts drifting back unwillingly toward caleb again.

his smile. that stupid dog-like grin he gave you before disappearing back into the crowd with a “i’ll see you around, y/n,”

no longer pipsqueak, huh.

your grip tightened lightly against the wheel. you should stop thinking about him.

before your thoughts could spiral any further, your car suddenly jerked faintly beneath you, making your brows furrowed. then the engine made a strained clicking sound.

once, twice, before it died.

“…you’ve got to be kidding me.” the steering wheel stiffened beneath your hands as the car slowed awkwardly toward the side of the road. you managed to park safely beneath a dim streetlight, but when you tried restarting the engine again, the car only answered with another pathetic clicking noise.

you stared blankly ahead through the windshield.

for fuck’s sake. out of all nights.

you leaned back against the seat and exhaled harshly through your nose, fingers rubbing against your temple while frustration crawled into your chest. the road around you was unusually quiet this late at night, with only the occasional distant headlights passing every few minutes. after another failed attempt to start the engine, you finally groaned and grabbed your phone from the cupholder to call tara.

you dialed her impatiently while pushing the car door open.

humid night air wrapped around you the second you stepped outside. the heels you regretted wearing clicked sharply against the pavement as you walked around the front of your car, hugging your arms briefly against yourself while the phone rang beside your ear.

“come on, tara…”

the street remained mostly empty around you, lined with sleeping establishments and darkened storefronts that looked strangely eerie this late into the night. somewhere nearby, a dog barked once before silence swallowed the sound again.

and... headlights?

you looked up instinctively, only to see a dark car sat parked several meters behind yours on the opposite side of the road.

you were almost certain it hadn’t been there earlier. 

the vehicle remained completely still beneath the weak glow of a streetlamp, windows tinted dark enough that you couldn’t make out whoever sat inside. 

maybe it was nothing. maybe another driver had simply pulled over too? but something about it made your stomach tighten. your phone continued ringing unanswered against your ear while your eyes remained fixed on the unfamiliar car.

suddenly, standing out here alone in your stupid tight costume didn’t feel very smart anymore.

without thinking twice, you lowered the phone and quickly walked back toward your car. the moment you slipped inside the driver’s seat again, you locked the doors immediately.

you looked through the rearview mirror.

and the dark car remained there, watching.

or maybe you were only paranoid. you hoped you were only paranoid.

the sight unsettled you more the longer it stayed there. so you tried calling again, straight to ringing. but your frustration only tangled itself together with nervousness until your shoulders felt stiff beneath the tight leather of your costume. you then sighed heavily and lowered your phone. 

maybe you should just call roadside assistance instead. or maybe—

knock knock.

you physically jolted so hard your shoulder hit the seat. your head snapped violently toward the driver-side window, pulse instantly spiking into your throat.

and there—leaning slightly down beside your car beneath the dim streetlight—was a familiar face.

older, sharper.

the softness youth once gave him had long disappeared, carved away into cleaner lines and composed restraint. even through the shadows, there was no mistaking him. not the calmness in his expression, not the piercing emerald eyes staring directly at you through the glass.

zayne.

for a second, you could only stare at him blankly.

what was he doing here? and more importantly—why did this somehow feel exactly like something zayne would do? appearing at the exact moment your life tilted sideways without warning.

when your eyes met, you watch him straighten up and step aside.

was he really back in town now? 

your fingers tightened around your phone before you slowly unlocked the car door, the cool night air hitting your skin again the moment you stepped outside.

up close, the sight of him almost startled you a second time. you swallowed once and forced yourself to compose properly despite the strange tightness gathering beneath your ribs. 

there was no time to be overwhelmed. not here, not now.

you smiled politely in that careful adult way people did after years apart. the kind of smile exchanged between relatives reconnecting after too much time passed. “zayne,” you greeted softly. “it’s been a while. how’ve you—”

“what’s wrong with your car?” the interruption was immediate, clean and direct.

your words stopped midair, as the smile on your face faded before you could even help it.

huh.

for some reason, the bluntness stung more than it should have. you looked at him for a second, suddenly unsure where to place your hands or your voice or yourself beneath his attention. maybe adulthood really had made him colder, or maybe he was simply always like this and you only forgot.

“i—” you started awkwardly. “sorry, i just—”

“don’t be.” his voice wasn’t harsh. if anything, it was too calm. 

you blinked once before pressing your lips together tightly.

the silence stretched briefly between you while distant cars occasionally passed somewhere farther down the road. beneath the streetlight, zayne’s gaze flicked toward your vehicle again before returning to your face.

you finally cleared your throat. “uh, my engine suddenly stopped working, i don’t even know why.”

zayne nodded once. then, without another word, he stepped past you toward the front of the car.

you turned instinctively to watch him. and suddenly, embarrassingly, your chest tightened again. because it hit you all at once then—this was the first time you had been alone with zayne in years.

really alone.

without any family gatherings, crowded parties, and without caleb between the space separating the two of you. there’s just the quiet road and the warm night air. and zayne standing beside your broken car with rolled sleeves and tired eyes.

he leaned slightly over the hood of the car, brows furrowing in concentration as he examined something beneath the front light. his forearms flexed when he rested one hand against the edge of the hood, and the sight made your stomach twist in a way that felt deeply inconvenient.

seriously, what the hell was wrong with you tonight?

as if sensing your stare lingering too long, zayne looked back at you directly. the eye contact hit harder now that you were adults, less innocent.

quietly, with the same unreadable composure he always carried, he asked. “why are you out here alone this late?”

“there was an alumni homecoming,” you explained, hugging your arms a little closer against yourself while standing beside the car. “for senior high.”

zayne remained crouched near the front of the vehicle, one hand braced against the hood while the other adjusted something beneath it. he only glanced up briefly before returning his attention back to the engine.

“i attended the party,” you added after a second, suddenly hyperaware of what you were wearing. “which is why i look like… this.”

the corner of zayne’s mouth twitched faintly, enough to make your stomach betray you a little.

“i noticed,” he says.

you cleared your throat and stepped closer to the car, heels crunching lightly against stray gravel near the roadside. up close, you could smell faint detergent and something sterile clinging subtly to him beneath the night air, like hospital corridors and clean laundry somehow followed him everywhere.

it felt unfairly familiar.

you looked down at him. “you didn’t hear about the homecoming?”

silence.

“that means no, then.”

zayne hummed, entirely unbothered by your accusation. honestly, that tracked. he was always strangely detached from things happening around him unless someone physically dragged the information to his face. back then, people used to joke that zayne could probably miss the apocalypse if nobody updated him personally.

you opened your mouth to tease him again when suddenly—

“fuck.” grease smeared darkly against the cuff of his rolled sleeve and streaked lightly across his forearm.

instinctively, you moved toward the passenger side door. “wait, i have wipes inside—”

“it’s okay.” zayne said it so quickly that you paused mid-motion. he barely even looked at the stain. you stood there awkwardly for a second before slowly nodding and stepping back again.

silence settled afterward, the kind of silence that carried too many things beneath it.

you watched zayne work quietly for another moment. he really had changed... or maybe matured was the better word. oh — his phone is ringing.

buzzzzz!

zayne stopped immediately. with his clean hand, he pulled the phone out and glanced briefly at the screen before answering.

“baby?”

your body stilled, completely.

zayne turned slightly away while speaking into the phone, voice lower and calmer in a way that sounded unintentionally intimate beneath the quiet road. “yes, i’m still outside.” he paused. “no, don’t wait up.”

your throat tightened before you could stop it.

oh.

he had a girlfriend now. 

you stared blankly at the road instead, suddenly unable to figure out where to look. how? when? where did he even meet her? and more importantly—why did you care so much? the realization embarrassed you instantly. because what exactly were you expecting after all these years apart? that both of them would remain frozen in time waiting for you forever?

you swallowed and looked down at your hands. this entire situation felt strange and wrong somehow.

zayne was here late at night helping you alone on the side of the road while his girlfriend waited for him somewhere else. and you stood beside him in a skin-tight costume looking at him too much and thinking about things you absolutely should not be thinking anymore.

it made guilt creep slowly beneath your skin.

zayne ended the call not long after and slipped his phone back into his pocket. before he could return to fixing the engine, you stepped forward quickly and lowered the hood shut with a dull metallic thud.

the sound cut through the quiet road sharply, making zayne blink up at you.

then one of his brows lifted.

the expression was so familiar it almost threw you off balance. that look he had on his face looked exactly like his younger self again—the same boy who used to silently judge everybody with one unimpressed glance.

you pressed your lips together awkwardly. “you don’t have to fix it. i’ll just call for assistance or something.”

zayne remained leaning slightly against the car, grease staining his sleeve while he looked at you like you’d just said something ridiculous. “i can fix it.”

“yeah, but you don’t need to.”

“it's fine.”

you exhaled through your nose. “zayne, seriously, i don’t want to take too much of your time.”

his gaze stayed on you for a moment, and then he straightened fully, brushing his stained hand against his slacks without much concern. “the radiator hose is damaged. your engine overheated. it’s not something you should drive home tonight.”

you stared at him silently while he spoke, watching the way the streetlight caught faintly against the sharp bridge of his nose and the loose strands of dark hair falling near his forehead.

“It’s better if i drive you home,” he added calmly. “i’ll call assistance for your car afterward.”

your body stilled faintly at the offer. 

drive you home...?

the intimacy of it settled strangely beneath your ribs, because this wasn’t high school anymore. you weren’t teenagers stumbling through friday nights.

you were adults now. and being alone in a car with zayne at this age felt infinitely more dangerous than it would’ve back then. you swallowed once before the thought escaped your mouth. “…don’t you have a girlfriend?”

zayne paused, actually paused. his brows furrowed slightly as he looked at you with genuine confusion. “what?”

you immediately regretted asking.

ugh, you sounded insane now that you realized it. you cleared your throat and gestured vaguely. “the... call earlier.”

realization dawned across his face slowly. and then—to your complete disbelief—zayne almost looked amused. “my assistant? her name is baby.”

“…what?”

“baby jane,” zayne repeated calmly. “one of the assistants in the hospital.”

you continued staring at him.

that was the dumbest thing you had ever heard.

if this explanation came from literally anybody else, you would’ve laughed directly in their face and called them a liar. but zayne looked entirely sincere standing there. because zayne couldn’t lie to save his life. back then, he used to get caught hiding things within five seconds simply because guilt physically manifested on his face.

awkwardly, you nodded. “…oh.”

a tiny silence followed, then you noticed the look on zayne’s face. subtle but definitely there—mild amusement lingered quietly in his eyes while he watched you process everything.

your cheeks instantly felt warmer as you looked away. “well, that’s a ridiculous name.”

“everyone says the same thing.”

after zayne finished calling assistance for your car, the two of you stood awkwardly beside the road for a moment while waiting for the details to settle. it turns out that the dark tinted car from earlier belonged to none other than zayne. 

several minutes later, you found yourself slipping into the passenger seat. the interior smelled faintly like coffee and something distinctly him—subtle enough that you probably wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t sitting this close. zayne also settled into the driver’s seat beside you, adjusting the wheel before glancing toward you.

“are you cold?” he asked, fingers already reaching toward the air conditioning controls.

you shook your head. “i’m fine.”

he paused briefly before pulling his hand away again without argument.

you stared out the passenger window while absently rubbing your thumb against your phone screen. you still felt worried about your car despite everything. what if the repair became expensive? what if the engine problem turned out worse than expected? and on top of that—sitting in zayne’s car after all these years felt so odd in a way you couldn’t properly explain.

the silence between you wasn’t awkward exactly. it was worse. it was familiar.

you cleared your throat to distract yourself. “do you still remember the way to my house?”

instead of answering verbally, zayne simply opened his maps application. you stared at the glowing screen for a second before letting out a tiny huff of disbelief.

“wow,” 

“i remember the address,” he said calmly while typing it in. “not the route.”

that reminds you... back then, zayne used to remember everything about you—which snacks you hated, which route you preferred walking home, which pencil brand you always lost within two days.

he used to notice little things without even trying. but now he needed maps.

you looked down at your lap quietly.

this was good. this was normal. people grow up and move on. you were expecting too much from ghosts of adolescence that no longer existed the same way they once did. and, weren’t you relieved? if both caleb and zayne had truly moved on from whatever complicated mess existed between the three of you back then, then you could finally breathe properly too. you no longer have to carry that strange lingering guilt that followed you through adulthood like an unfinished sentence.

now, all of you could finally leave everything behind.

when the car stopped outside your house, relief and disappointment tangled together unpleasantly inside your chest. you unbuckled your seatbelt slowly and turned toward him with a polite smile. “thank you for driving me home. i really appreciate it.”

zayne nodded. “mm.”

you stepped out of the car carefully, heels crunching lightly against the pavement again. you were already halfway toward your gate when—

“wait.” your name left zayne’s mouth behind you.

you turned around and stilled at the sight of zayne stepping out of the car too. in his hands was a small cake box decorated with your favorite flowers tucked neatly around the ribbon.

where did that suddenly come from? and... is that for you? 

something about his composure became almost painfully awkward beneath the porch lights. “i heard about the reunion,” he admitted quietly. “but my schedule didn’t allow me to attend.” his tone remained flat in that very zayne way, but you caught it immediately—the subtle stiffness beneath his voice whenever he was embarrassed about sincerity.

it almost made you smile.

“so, i brought something instead.” he sounded like someone reluctantly explaining why he accidentally cared too much.

slowly, you stepped closer and looked down at the lettering written carefully across the cake.

“congratulations for getting promoted.”

you remember caleb texted you about your promotion months ago while zayne never did, but this felt exactly like the sort of thing zayne would do instead of sending a message. quietly remember just to quietly show up. quietly carry around a cake for god knows how long because he didn’t know how else to express congratulations properly.

you looked back up at him. “thank you for still remembering, zayne.”

—

after a few months of postponed plans, missed friday dinners, and relatives constantly saying “we'll be finally complete next time”, granny’s birthday finally came by.

your family arrived earlier than everyone else, mostly because your mother believed being late to family occasions was some kind of moral failure. by eight in the morning, you were already outside in granny’s front yard wearing house slippers and comfortable clothes, sitting on a small plastic stool beneath the shade while blowing balloons until your cheeks hurt.

from the open kitchen windows came the scent of garlic fried in oil, sweet spaghetti sauce simmering in giant pots, and the faint buttery smell of cake that somebody had already sliced prematurely despite strict instructions not to touch it yet. inside the house, the older aunts moved around carrying trays and arguing over whether the pasta needed more sauce while old love songs played from a speaker.

it felt so comforting, like childhood preserved in a glass jar.

your younger cousins ran circles around the yard while chasing each other with uninflated balloons, their slippers slapping against the fake grass. every few minutes one of them would come bother you for help.

at one point, one of the smaller cousins climbed directly onto your lap while you were tying ribbons around balloons, nearly making you inhale the entire thing from surprise. “oh my god,” you laughed breathlessly, pushing his forehead away. “you’re trying to kill me before granny’s birthday even starts!”

the child only grinned mischievously before stealing one of the candies from the nearby table and sprinting away before his mother could catch him. you watched him disappear around the gate with a smile still lingering on your face.

every now and then, the familiar metal gate creaked open again and another relative stepped inside carrying containers of food or grocery bags or wrapped gifts while greeting everyone.

and every single time, granny would brighten like sunlight itself. she sat proudly near the terrace in her favorite floral duster while greeting every newcomer as though they had returned home from war instead of merely driving fifteen minutes away. sometimes she forgot stories halfway through telling them. sometimes she repeated the same joke twice. and nobody minded.

somehow, granny had always been the center thread tying everybody together. without her, everyone drifted.

you noticed that more clearly now as an adult. how people got jobs, moved cities, entered relationships, built schedules too crowded for friday gatherings and random visits. the neighborhood no longer felt permanently alive the way it once had when you were younger. but today felt different—today felt like somebody, in this case, granny, had reached into the past and carefully stitched it back together for a few hours.

you finished tying another cluster of balloons near the gate before standing up to stretch your sore shoulders. immediately, one of your aunts shoved a tray of barbecue sticks into your hands on her way past.

“bring this inside please.”

“why am i suddenly unpaid labor?” you complained.

“because you’re unmarried and still useful,” your mother replied from somewhere behind you without even looking up. almost the entire yard burst into laughter at that, so you groaned while carrying the tray toward the tables, though the smile on your face stayed anyway.

and maybe that was the strange thing about coming back here. for the first time in a long while, adulthood felt far away. here, you were still just you. still someone’s granddaughter. still someone’s cousin. still the girl who grew up inside these walls.

the moment you stepped inside the house carrying the tray of barbecue sticks, you immediately regretted it.

“come here,” one of the older women called instantly, patting the empty seat beside her. another older relative leaned forward with dangerous curiosity already sparkling in her eyes. “so, when are yougetting married?”

oh no.

you forced out a polite smile as you carefully balanced the tray in your hands. “good morning to you too.”

that only made them laugh louder. within seconds, you found yourself trapped near the dining area while several elderly women interrogated you about your love life. somebody asked whether you were secretly dating, another asked if your standards were too high now because you were a corporate manager, then one uncle declared that women became “too intimidating” once they earned too much money.

you stared at him blankly while chewing your barbecue in silence. honestly, you would rather reorganize all the monoblock chairs outside one by one than survive this conversation.

thankfully, salvation arrived in the form of chaos. one of the younger cousins suddenly darted past you like a tiny criminal and snatched another barbecue stick straight from the tray.

“hey!” you yelped. 

the little girl burst into delighted laughter before sprinting outside barefoot while the adults erupted into noisy scolding.

“go catch her!”

“that child keeps stealing food!”

you did not even pretend to hesitate. “i’ll go,” you announced, already escaping toward the doorway before another marriage question could be launched at your forehead.

outside, you spotted the little girl racing across the front yard triumphantly with the stolen barbecue held high in the air.

“come back here!” you laughed, chasing after her across the grass. “you little thief!” the child shrieked happily and nearly reached the gate before—someone suddenly caught her mid-run.

two large hands lifted her clean off the ground like she weighed absolutely nothing, and the little girl gasped before bursting into giggles.

you stopped in your tracks.

even before your mind fully processed the uniform, the broad frame, or the sunglasses glinting beneath the sunlight—you already knew it was none other than your childhood friend.

they’ve arrived.

he stood there casually in his brown DAA uniform, one arm holding the laughing child against his side while the other stole the barbecue stick directly from her hand. “crime doesn’t pay,” he informed her seriously before taking a bite himself.

the little girl gasped in betrayal. “caleb!”

caleb only grinned around the barbecue. even after all these years, he still carried that same careless brightness around him. the uniform hugged his frame, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal toned forearms lightly browned from the sun, while the dark sunglasses somehow made his grin look even more radiant.

caleb finally turned toward you and smiled, crooked and familiar and terribly easy. “wow,” he drawled while lowering the child back onto the ground. “they got you working like hired staff already?”

you let out an embarrassed laugh despite yourself. “somebody has to do the labor around here.”

“yeah?” caleb tilted his head while looking you over openly. “you even look the part.”

your eyes widened. “what does that even mean?”

he laughed beneath his breath, clearly entertained by how fast you reacted. “relax, you look adorable.”

the word hit you stupidly harder than it should have. before you could recover, caleb already brushed past you casually toward the relatives gathering near the entrance. and just as instantly, loud greetings exploded from the yard.

“caleb!”

“you got thinner!”

“no, he got bigger!”

relatives crowded around him fussing over his arrival while younger cousins clung to his arms asking endless questions about airplanes and flying. and somehow, quite unlike you, he handled all of it effortlessly.

then, a quieter presence approached behind him. unlike caleb’s easy warmth, zayne arrived like winter air drifting through an open doorway. with a dark trench coat resting against his arm despite the sun, he wore an all-black clothing with a composed posture that remained untouched by the noisy chaos surrounding him.

he looked absurdly polished compared to the rest of the family bustling around in slippers and casual clothes. that only made him more familiar too.

his gaze found you almost immediately, quietly taking in the sight of you standing there breathless beneath the sunlight with messy hair, barbecue smoke clinging faintly to your clothes, and ribbons still tied around your wrist from decorating earlier.

your throat suddenly felt dry.

zayne gave you the smallest nod before moving past you as well, greeting the older relatives respectfully while they began fussing over him too.

and until lunchtime, you barely sat down. 

every time you thought you finally had a moment to rest, another relative suddenly needed help carrying something, reheating food, arranging chairs, or finding missing utensils. at some point, you became the unofficial runner of the entire gathering.

still, you didn’t really mind. there was something oddly comforting about the exhaustion. meanwhile, both caleb and zayne had become trapped in their own corners of socialization. every few minutes, you’d catch glimpses of them between rooms.

you saw caleb sitting comfortably among a noisy cluster of uncles and neighbors outside near the terrace, laughing easily while answering endless questions about work abroad. zayne, on the other hand, remained inside most of the time, seated neatly beside the older relatives who adored him for entirely different reasons. every auntie in the room seemed eager to brag about him to somebody else. zayne endured all of it with quiet patience, occasionally adjusting his sleeves while listening attentively whenever elders spoke to him.

by the time lunch was nearly ready, the heat inside the house had become unbearable enough that your head started hurting slightly. after setting down another tray of food onto the dining table, you exhaled and leaned toward your nearby aunt. “is there still cold water left?” 

your aunt nodded while fixing plates. “there should be some in the fridge—” before she could even finish speaking, you hear two chairs scraping against the floor at the exact same time.

you froze at the loud sound, only to see that caleb and zayne had both stood up simultaneously.

“i’ll get it,” caleb said.

“i can get it for her,” zayne spoke at almost the same time.

silence...

your fingers tightened around the empty glass in your hand. and there you go.

you felt eighteen again. 

caleb blinked first before glancing sideways at zayne with a crooked look of disbelief. zayne slowly sat back down first, though the faint tightening in his jaw betrayed him. then caleb followed a second later, leaning back into his chair while exhaling through his nose in amusement.

the younger cousins were very quick to catch on. of course they did. children always noticed first.

“they’re doing it again!” one of the young teenagers quickly blurted out from the couch.

another cousin burst into laughter. “oh my god, just like before!”

“right? they used to fight over helping her all the time!”

several older relatives started chuckling too, while others exchanged those suspiciously observant looks older people had whenever they sensed gossip material forming in real time.

you felt your entire face grow warm. “okay,” you interrupted, forcing out an awkward laugh. “i can just get water myself.” you escaped toward the kitchen before the conversation could worsen further, clutching your empty glass like it could protect you from humiliation.

behind you, the teasing unfortunately continued anyway. you opened the fridge and grabbed the cold pitcher of water with slightly unsteady hands. the cool air spilling from the refrigerator against your overheated skin felt heavenly as you poured yourself a full glass, trying to ignore the muffled conversations continuing from the dining area.

except certain words drifted into hearing range anyway.

“so, do either of you finally have girlfriends now?”

you paused unconsciously while lifting the glass toward your lips. outside, someone laughed, another relative joining in. “there’s no way handsome men like these stayed single this long.”

“what about exes?”

“secret children?” one uncle joked. the room then bursts into noisy reactions. you stared down quietly at your glass of water. and then—

“none,” zayne answered.

one of the aunties sounded genuinely shocked. “none at all?”

“i’ve been busy,” 

it sounded believable, painfully believable. of course zayne would sacrifice romance for career progression with terrifying efficiency—but then the attention shifted toward caleb.

“what about you?”

you waited absentmindedly for the obvious answer, because surely someone like caleb—

“don’t want one.”

“what do you mean you don’t want one?” somebody laughed.

caleb’s voice came easier this time. “just never wanted anybody enough.”

huh?

you hated that your mind immediately tried to interpret it. you forced yourself to drink your water while keeping your back turned toward the dining room.

they had both moved on obviously. people didn’t stay stuck on childhood feelings forever.

you had barely finished your glass of water when granny suddenly shuffled into the kitchen, drawn in by the noise and laughter echoing through the dining room. “why is everybody so loud in here?” she asked suspiciously, though the smile already tugging at her mouth betrayed her amusement.

“we were asking them why they’re both still single!”

“apparently nobody wants to date these two.”

the room erupted again into laughter. you closed your eyes briefly in secondhand embarrassment while setting your empty glass down on the counter. unfortunately, when you turned around—you accidentally made eye-contact with both caleb and zayne at the same time.

shit.

you immediately focused very hard on literally anything else.

before the room could spiral into even more teasing, granny suddenly clapped her hands together as though remembering something important. “oh! since you’re all just sitting there talking anyway, do me a favor, will ya.”

and just like that, every younger adult in the room developed selective hearing.

granny ignored them expertly. “haiya, the speaker outside stopped working again,” she said with a sigh. “the extra one should still be in the attic somewhere.”

before you could quietly escape the kitchen, granny’s eyes landed directly on you. “you,” you stopped yourself from reaching for the plates. “you were in the attic this morning, right? guide them.”

you turned. “…them?”

granny pointed directly toward caleb and zayne.

fuck?

being alone upstairs with the both of them is significantly more dangerous than it logically should! but refusing would only make everyone tease you harder.

you forced out a smile. “sure.”

eventually, the three of you walked upstairs together while the noise slowly faded behind you into muffled laughter. the old staircase creaked beneath your steps exactly the same way it always had growing up, and the familiar sound alone made something in you stir.

you tried to fill the silence before it became unbearable. “the attic’s probably messier now, granny keeps throwing random things there.”

“some things never change,” caleb replied easily from behind you. “including this house.”

you glanced back briefly, remembering once upon a time, this exact staircase had carried the three of you toward childhood conspiracies instead of polite adult conversations.

the attic door creaked loudly when you pushed it open, and warm dusty air greeted you immediately. the room smelled faintly like cardboard, old books, wood polish, and trapped summer heat. sunlight slipped through the tiny circular window near the ceiling, illuminating floating dust particles drifting through the air like tiny fireflies.

you could see boxes stacked everywhere of old christmas decorations, broken electric fans, bags of clothes nobody wanted to throw away, photo albums, and your forgotten toys.

all three of you simply stood there quietly.

you remembered rainy afternoons hiding here together to avoid chores downstairs, remembered flashlight games, remembered lying on flattened cardboard boxes while listening to rain hammer against the roof above you. the attic still carried traces of those years somehow, small ghosts preserved inside warm dust and old sunlight. except now, the air between the three of you felt... different.

heavier.

caleb wandered toward one side of the attic where several labeled storage boxes rested against the wall. he crouched near one marked with messy handwriting that literally read CALEB and laughed quietly beneath his breath. “wow, granny really archived my entire existence up here.”

zayne had already started scanning the room practically. “where is the speaker supposed to be?” he asked while looking around.

you shrugged. “i honestly have no idea. i was only here for extra chairs earlier.”

“how helpful,” caleb commented.

you shot him a look. “then you find it.”

he grinned without looking up from the box he had opened.

you exhaled before stepping farther into the attic yourself, carefully weaving between old storage containers while searching as the attic slowly filled with the sound of things being moved around.

caleb sat crouching on the floor near his old storage box while sorting through random junk he apparently used to own—old basketball magazines, tangled earphones, a broken handheld game console... “damn,” he muttered, holding up an ancient toy car. “i remember crying over this.”

you laughed while brushing dust off yourself. “you used to cry over everything.”

“excuse me,” caleb replied with fake offense. “i was just emotionally expressive.”

“you cried because i beat you at mario kart once,” zayne deadpanned from across the attic without looking up from the boxes he was checking.

caleb pointed at you as he looked at zayne. “because she cheated.”

“i didn’t cheat,” you defended.

“you absolutely cheated, you manipulative girl.”

you snorted before you could stop yourself, bending slightly to look through another box near the far wall, unaware that both men had unconsciously looked toward you at the same time until caleb suddenly spoke again. “heh, you still do that.”

you glanced back. “do what?”

“that thing when you bite the inside of your cheek.”

your lips parted, and without realizing it, you immediately stopped doing it. caleb smiled faintly when he noticed.

“you still remember that?” you asked carefully.

“yea, i remember a lot of things about you, miss poker.”

you quickly looked away and crouched beside another stack of boxes, pretending to search harder for the speaker. across the room, zayne finally straightened from where he’d been kneeling near an old shelf.

“so you cut your hair,” he suddenly said.

your hands paused before looking at him. his tone had remained completely neutral and observational, almost clinical. but somehow, hearing it from him affected you differently. you touched your hair absentmindedly near your shoulder. “a few months ago, yeah.”

zayne nodded once. “it used to reach your waist.”

caleb leaned back against the wall nearby, one knee propped upward while watching the two of you. “he noticed that immediately when we walked in earlier,” 

zayne’s gaze shifted toward him. “caleb.”

“what?” caleb shrugged innocently. “i’m just saying.”

you forced yourself to keep searching. “you two are still so dramatic.”

“we’re not dramatic,” caleb replied.

zayne adjusted his sleeves, turning to caleb. “you are.”

“says the guy who used to get jealous over card games.” caleb grinned wider. “remember that?” he continued casually, though his eyes remained fixed on zayne instead of you. “she used to sit beside me during poker nights and you’d stare holes through the back of my head the entire time.”

“because you always cheated.”

“again with the cheating accusations,” you muttered.

“you liked it when i let you win,” caleb now looked at you.

your heartbeat stumbled, because the way he said it didn’t sound playful anymore. it sounded personal. for some reason, your mind replayed the night of the alumni event, when you unknowingly played poker against him.  slowly, you stood upright again while clutching one of the dusty boxes against your chest. “i never needed you to let me win.”

caleb looked at you then, fully. the sunlight slipping through the attic window caught faintly against the gold-brown tones of his skin while dust drifted through the space between all of you. “i know,” 

nobody spoke for several seconds.

downstairs, you could hear someone screaming and laughing over karaoke lyrics.

and then caleb exhaled suddenly through his nose before speaking again, “you know what’s funny?” he rested his forearm over his raised knee, gaze lingering on you beneath lowered lashes. “i thought seeing you again after all these years would make things easier.”

your throat tightened. you should not ask, you absolutely should not. “did it?”

caleb stared at you for a long moment, then smiled. “not even a little.”

you stilled at caleb’s answer.

the words lingered strangely inside the attic, hanging somewhere between the dust-filled air and the slow heat pressing beneath your skin. for a second, you became painfully aware of the sunlight touching the side of your face, of the old floorboards beneath your feet, of the way your heartbeat had suddenly become embarrassingly noticeable to yourself.

and then you noticed zayne looking at caleb, but it wasn’t an annoyed look, wasn’t surprised either. it was quieter than that, like there was an entire conversation happening inside one glance alone.

something restrained passed between them before zayne’s eyes eventually shifted toward you instead.

you immediately laughed and shook your head, forcing lightness back into the room before the atmosphere swallowed you whole. god, they still had the same effect on you somehow. that alone irritated you a little. so instead of shrinking away from it, you turned toward caleb with a deliberately playful expression. “what? does that mean you still haven’t moved on yet?” it was meant to be teasing, something to defuse the tension. except the moment the words left your mouth, you watched caleb’s face slowly change.

there it was again.

that same crooked, dangerous little smirk he used to wear years ago whenever you accidentally walked yourself into his traps. he leaned further back against the wall behind him, eyes dragging slowly over your face before answering. “depends,” 

your stomach tightened instantly. before he could continue—and before zayne could speak either—you quickly cut in. “okay, i’m just gonna ask granny where the speaker actually is before we die up here.”

you turned around and headed toward the attic door before either of them could say anything else that would make your entire nervous system malfunction. the wooden floor creaked beneath your steps when you grabbed the doorknob quickly, twisting it while already half distracted by your own embarrassment.

but the knob didn’t move.

you frowned, trying again harder.

“huh?” you jiggled the handle again, now using both hands, but the old wood only rattled loudly beneath the force.

your brows furrowed deeper. “wait.” you pulled harder this time, but the door refused to budge completely. confusion now immediately shifted into disbelief. “are you serious?” you shoved your shoulder lightly against it before trying the lock again, only for the handle to stubbornly remain stuck in place.

behind you, you heard movement.

“what happened?” zayne asked.

“the door won’t open.”

caleb laughed at first like he thought you were joking, but the sound faded when you hit the door again with genuine frustration.

“i’m serious.” you knocked loudly this time, “hello?!” your voice disappeared beneath the thunder of karaoke downstairs. somebody was aggressively singing an old love song now, complete with cheering relatives and clapping somewhere below.

of course. of fucking course nobody could hear you.

you tried again anyway, knocking harder until your palm stung against the wood. “granny?!”you abruptly turned around. “do either of you have your phones?”

for one tiny second, caleb and zayne exchanged a look. and something about it immediately made suspicion flicker inside you.

zayne checked his pockets first before speaking calmly. “i left mine downstairs.”

your eyes moved toward caleb, watching the way he patted his jeans before exhaling through his nose. “mine too.” caleb had the audacity to look mildly entertained already. “guess we’re stuck,” 

“what do you mean ‘guess we’re stuck’?”

“relax, someone’ll notice eventually.”

“eventually?” you repeated incredulously.

the attic suddenly felt significantly smaller than before. way too small. especially now that you were hyperaware of everything again.

you swallowed.

absolutely not. there was no universe in which getting trapped inside an attic alone with these two men counted as a survivable situation. especially not when the tension between all three of you already felt thick enough to physically breathe in.

you crossed your arms tightly. “there’s no way.”

caleb tilted his head. “no way what?”

“no way i’m getting stuck up here with both of you.”

zayne looked away for a brief second, though not fast enough to hide the faint amusement threatening at the corner of his expression.

“wow,” caleb muttered. “that sounded personal.”

“because it is personal,”

“geez, pipsqueak, we’re not gonna eat you alive.”

your heartbeat stumbled traitorously at the nickname. so he still does call you that, huh? 

eventually, pacing around the attic stopped accomplishing anything except making you hotter. so with an exhausted sigh, you finally sat down onto the wooden floorboards near one of the storage boxes, crossing your legs beneath you while leaning your back against the wall. the longer the three of you stayed trapped up there, the warmer the space became.

there was barely any airflow at all.

the tiny circular window near the ceiling let in sunlight but absolutely no breeze, and the trapped heat had started settling heavily against your skin until even breathing felt sticky. 

you fanned yourself weakly using the corner of an old magazine you found nearby. “it’s actually so hot,” you groaned. “how is this room legally allowed to exist?”

caleb snickered from where he sat a few feet away against another stack of boxes. “who's dramatic now?”

“you’re sweating too.”

“well, i sweat beautifully.”

fair. he actually was sweating though.

caleb had always been the type to run warm easily, and now that the heat had thoroughly caught up to him, the strands of his dark hair had started sticking damply against his forehead and temples, the slight sheen of sweat along his neck catching under the attic sunlight whenever he moved. with a quiet exhale, he dragged one hand through his hair and pushed it back, exposing more of his forehead before unzipping his brown DAA jacket halfway down just to loosen it.

the movement pulled your attention before you could stop it, but you instantly averted your gaze—to where zayne is quietly settled.

zayne sat near the shelves, though the heat had clearly begun getting to him too. he rarely looked disheveled, so the subtle signs became painfully noticeable once you started paying attention; his sleeves had been rolled upward twice already, dark hair sat slightly messier now near his forehead. every few minutes, he adjusted the collar of his black shirt like the fabric had become unbearable against his skin. a bead of sweat also slowly slid down the side of his neck before disappearing beneath the collarbone of his shirt.

you glanced away while continuing to fan yourself. “summer’s getting really evil,” 

caleb tipped his head back against the wall. “if i pass out up here, tell people i died handsome.”

“nobody would say that.” you tugged lightly at the fabric of your shirt where it clung uncomfortably against your skin from the heat. honestly, at this point modesty felt significantly less important than survival. so before you could overthink it, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it off over your head, leaving yourself in only your thin undershirt.

immediate silence.

you looked up instinctively and caught both men staring. not even subtly.

caleb’s eyes had visibly paused on you before he looked away first with a low exhale through his nose. zayne reacted faster, immediately turning his gaze aside and adjusting his shirt again.

“geez,” you muttered defensively. “don’t make it weird.”

“we’re not making it weird,” caleb replied too quickly.

you gestured vaguely toward them. “then take yours off too instead of suffering. we literally all grew up together anyway.”

caleb looked at you for a second before grinning slowly. “nah, you might die seeing my biceps.”

“you’re insufferable.”

to your surprise, zayne suddenly spoke from beside the two of you. “she’s right about one thing.” you blinked toward him, only to see that he had reached for the hem of his black shirt, pulling it off completely—completely shirtless!

your brain short-circuited. 

because unlike caleb, who at least still had clothes on, zayne had apparently decided modesty was optional now as well. the attic air suddenly vanished from your lungs, your eyes betraying you before you could stop them.

sweaty broad shoulders, defined arms, sharp collarbones damp from heat, and the... abs.

you instantly busied yourself with absolutely anything else—the dusty floorboards, the ceiling, the old christmas decorations nearby. anywhere except directly at zayne’s now shirtless body.

ah, spiritual enlightenment.

across from you, caleb immediately noticed. he leaned forward with visible amusement sparkling in his eyes. “why’re you looking away? thought we all grew up together.”

your face burned hotter. “shut up.”

“what?” caleb chuckled. “suddenly shy now?” while speaking, he shrugged off his DAA jacket completely too, leaving only the fitted white tank top stretched across his chest and shoulders, all sweaty. the heat had dampened the thin fabric slightly near his collarbone, and the sight of his forearms flexing as he tossed the jacket aside did absolutely nothing good for you. 

zayne peacefully folded his discarded top ontop of a storage box while watching the interaction unfold beside him.

“leave her alone,” he said to caleb.

caleb raised a brow. “why?”

zayne’s eyes shifted toward you briefly, calm and knowing. “she’s always been a scaredy kitten like that.” the familiarity of the remark hit you directly in the chest. years ago, he used to say things like that all the time too.

you frowned at zayne’s comment. “i am not a scaredy kitten.”

caleb laughed under his breath instantly. “yeah? tell that to your eighteen year old self, i bet my life she'd also just space out and stammer around.”

“fuck you.”

“it was funny.”

“you’re evil.”

caleb grinned. “and yet you still followed us everywhere back then.”

you opened your mouth to rebutt that immediately, only for the memory itself to betray you first. because annoyingly enough—you had followed them everywhere. the three of you used to move around the neighborhood like a tiny dysfunctional unit impossible to separate—summer afternoons spent biking aimlessly around streets, convenience store runs at midnight, and then hiding in this exact attic whenever adults downstairs assigned chores nobody wanted to do.

you smiled while shaking your head. “we were actually unbearable teenagers.”

“you were unbearable,” caleb corrected.

“says the one who somehow always ended up in neighborhood clashes.” you looked up to remember. “it was always at the... where was it again? oh right, the street four blocks away here.”

“and yet i survived.”

zayne spoke without looking up. “barely.”

caleb whistled. “and the one who always used to snitch spoke just now, finally.”

“who wouldn't snitch on a cheater.”

“where did that even come from? and why do you always say i'm a cheater?”

“because you are a cheater,” you and zayne answered simultaneously.

the three of you paused, before unexpectedly bursting into laughter together. real laughter this time, the kind that slipped out before anybody could control it. laughter made it easier to forget how much time had passed, made it easier to fall back into old rhythms.

you hugged your knees loosely against your chest while smiling. “i thought both of you would completely forget about me after college.”

the moment the words left your mouth, caleb glanced toward zayne briefly. “that was unlikely,” zayne said.

you tilted your head, now rummaging again through the photoalbums inside a nearby box. “why?”

“you were hard to miss,” caleb replied, walking toward you to crouch closer and look at the same albums.

your brows furrowed. “we barely even talked after.”

“didn’t mean we didn’t hear about you.”

you looked up. “…what?”

caleb looked up as well, meeting your eyes. “your... promotion.”

“ah.”

“congratulations, by the way,” zayne added calmly. “for also successfully advertising that one campaign your company did.”

your eyes snapped toward him. “…how do you know about that?”

zayne looked almost confused by the question. “you posted it.”

so they've been updated of you from afar, huh.

at some point during the conversation, both men had gradually moved closer without you noticing. caleb now sat near enough that his knee almost brushed yours, while zayne leaned against the wall beside you instead of across the attic, close enough for you to catch the clean scent of his cologne beneath the heat and dust.

suddenly, you remembered the lack of clothing again. you glanced at your own thin undershirt, and to zayne completely shirtless beside you, then to caleb in only a tank top with damp hair falling over his forehead. you cleared your throat quickly. “anyway, what about you two? you seriously never dated anybody?”

“why?” caleb asked lazily. “you curious?”

“normal people ask questions during conversations.”

“you first,” he replied.

zayne glanced toward you too, quieter but no less attentive. somehow, having both of them looking at you at once made the space inside your chest tighten. you tried to stay unaffected. “i already answered downstairs, i think. i have never been in a serious relationship in my life.”

“no serious relationships,” caleb corrected carefully. “that’s different.”

you looked down at your hands, shrugging. “i don’t know, i guess work just became easier to focus on.” that wasn’t the full truth. the fuller truth sat heavier beneath your ribs—that intimacy had always felt strangely incomplete after them.

after whatever the three of you had become all those years ago.

you let out a forced chuckle to lighten the mood again. “which sounds depressing now that i say it out loud.”

“it doesn’t,” zayne says, glancing down your chest, and back up your eyes. maybe it was the trapped closeness of the attic, but something about the way he looked at you right then made warmth slowly spread beneath your skin, a kind of longing stretched too thin over too many years.

caleb rests his chin against his fist. “so really no boyfriends, no exes?”

your face warmed beneath the attention. “why are you interrogating me?”

“because... it’s weird imagining nobody trying.”

you opened your mouth to deflect the conversation somewhere safer. “did either of you even find the speaker yet?” 

caleb groaned. “look at her running away.”

you ignored him entirely after that, standing up too quickly from the floorboards and dusted your hands against your shorts as if you were suddenly very determined to continue searching for the missing speaker—anything to keep yourself occupied. “if we actually find this thing, maybe granny will finally stop making me carry trays around.” the old wooden floor creaked beneath your steps as you moved toward another pile of boxes near the shelves. 

it almost grounded you. almost.

the moment you bent to check behind one of the boxes, you feel a hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist, urging you to stop and look back.

you found zayne standing closer than you realized, close enough for you to notice the faint sheen of sweat still lingering along his collarbones and chest, catching the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. his grip around your wrist wasn’t painful, but it stopped you completely. “look at me,”

what’s gotten into him all of the sudden?

your gaze flickered everywhere except directly at him because he was still shirtless and because something about the expression on his face right now made your chest feel strangely full. “zayne—”

“look at me.”

so you did, and his eyes looked nothing like they did downstairs around the family.

this wasn’t the polite zayne. not the distant adult zayne carefully controlling every word. this looked much closer to the boy you used to know years ago.

his fingers tightened around your wrist, enough to slightly hurt. “you always do this,”

“...do what?”

“run away.” 

the words landed harder than they should have. you immediately tried pulling your wrist back a little, but zayne didn’t let go. behind him, caleb had gone unusually quiet. you could feel his presence somewhere behind zayne without directly looking, still crouched, still listening.

your throat tightened slightly. “there is... nothing to run away from.”

so they really haven't moved on yet, huh.

zayne gave you a look, one that felt almost cruel in how accurately it saw through you. “you are right now.”

“i was-... literally just looking for the speaker. doing what we’re actually here for.”

“you can do that while talking to us, can’t you?”

“well, whatever you both were talking about is weird.”

“weird?” he repeated quietly. his grip loosened slightly afterward, but he still didn’t fully let go. “y/n, you never changed. like before, and until now, all you’ve ever done is run away.”

your chest further tightened at his words, brows furrowing as you still tried to look somewhere else.

“after what happened, you just disappeared on us.”

you swallowed hard.

“and you stopped showing up.”

hearing it said out loud like this made it sound uglier than the version you’d told yourself all these years—that everyone simply grew apart naturally, that time passed, and that adulthood happened. but deep down, you knew. you knew you had distanced yourself on purpose after what happened between the three of you.

after that summer.

your voice came out smaller now. “things got complicated. you know that.”

zayne raised a brow. “so you left?”

the sunlight filtering through the attic window suddenly seemed painfully bright against the dust floating lazily in the air. “what was i supposed to do?” you asked exasperatedly. for the first time since grabbing your wrist, zayne hesitated. that tiny hesitation somehow hurt even more, because it meant he didn’t have an answer either.

behind him, caleb finally moved. 

you glanced toward him instinctively.

he still sat low against the floorboards, elbows resting loosely over his knees now while he stared somewhere toward the old shelves instead of directly at either of you. his expression looked incredibly unreadable, but his jaw had tightened faintly.

“you left us behind,” zayne breaks the silence again.

your eyes stung unexpectedly, whispering, “that’s not fair,”

zayne’s gaze softened for only a second before hardening again beneath restraint. “isn’t it?”

you hated this, you hated how small you suddenly felt beneath the weight of his stare, beneath the years sitting unsaid between all three of you. you instinctively shrank slightly backward, only for your wrist still trapped in his hand to stop you halfway.

caleb finally exhaled from behind zayne before speaking for the first time in several minutes. “zayne, don’t corner her.”

zayne looked toward him briefly. “i’m not.”

“you are.”

the attic remained painfully quiet after that. not truly silent—because downstairs, somebody was still butchering an old love song through the karaoke microphone while relatives laughed loudly between clinking plates and glasses—but up here, inside the heat and dust and years sitting between the three of you, everything felt suspended.

your wrist still tingled faintly where zayne had held it, but neither him nor caleb looked away from each other. somehow, being caught between their silence felt worse than shouting.

and then, zayne spoke, still calm. “do you ever think about that summer?” caleb’s gaze flickered toward him slowly. and zayne continued before either of you could interrupt. “we were kids, scared kids.”

your heartbeat quickened, you already knew what summer he meant. of course you did. there had only ever been one summer capable of following all three of you into adulthood like this.

“did you wonder once, caleb,” zayne’s eyes remained on him, steady and honest in a way that almost hurt to witness. “if we were brave back then, would something have happened?”

the question settled heavily into the attic air.

caleb didn’t answer. for once, he actually looked speechless. his brows slowly straightened while his lips parted faintly, like he almost had words but couldn’t quite force them out. and then, eventually, his eyes shifted away from zayne—and landed on you instead.

when your eyes met, you looked away immediately.

somewhere throughout the years apart from them, hidden beneath careers and distance and adulthood, you had slowly realized something terrifying. you never actually stopped wanting them, not one more than the other, not one instead of the other.

just them. just caleb and zayne—the boys who ruined every normal definition of love for you before you were even old enough to understand what love properly was. and maybe you could have buried that forever, maybe you almost did.

until today. 

zayne took another step closer. this time, he was looking directly at you. “can we have the answer now?” 

christ, you could hear your own heartbeat. it’s fast, loud, humiliatingly obvious. you were always afraid to admit it, but perhaps—a part of you wanted to cross that line now, to stop pretending none of this existed and to finally say something honest after years of repression.

your eyes flickered helplessly between them. and then—your wandering gaze accidentally caught something sitting atop one of the higher shelves across the attic.

you blinked out of yourself. 

wait. isn’t that the speaker? the stupid missing speaker? 

your restraint grabbed onto it instantly like a lifeline. before your courage could betray you completely, you took the first opportunity to escape. the moment zayne’s hand loosened from your wrist, you slipped around him quickly and pointed toward the shelf. 

“there!” you said too fast. “the speaker’s there.”

both men turned instinctively toward where you pointed, and you waste no time crossing the attic toward it before either of them could stop you again. your heart still hammered wildly inside your chest as you reached the shelf and looked upward. the speaker rested frustratingly high near the top, partially hidden behind old storage bins and random decorations.

“…seriously?” you stretched upward, but it’s absolutely nowhere near close enough. the shelf was too tall. you frowned while standing on your toes, fingers barely reaching for it. you glanced around desperately for something to stand on, but there weren’t any proper chairs nearby. before you could stubbornly insist on climbing higher onto the unstable boxes, caleb suddenly walked up behind you. 

“need help?” he asks.

you blinked toward him over your shoulder. for some reason, your brain completely failed to produce a normal response. you watch how caleb’s hair remained damp from the attic heat, dark strands falling messily over his forehead while his white tank top clung slightly against his chest and stomach. 

“i…” 

caleb’s mouth twitched like he noticed your sudden inability to function. without another word, he crouched down in front of you with one knee against the wooden floorboards and a broad back facing you. “c’mon,” he said while motioning over his shoulder. “get on.”

your eyes widened. “…wh-what?”

“you need height, pips, unless you wanna risk your life or sumthin.”

you hesitated. behind you, zayne stepped closer too, setting a box he’d moved earlier more securely against the shelf before looking toward you. “if you’re getting it, pass the speaker to me immediately after. it’s heavy.”

you nodded weakly.

okay. fine.

you swallowed once before carefully stepping toward caleb’s crouched form. “don’t drop me,” 

caleb laughed. “you wound me.” still, his hands steadied against your calves as you awkwardly climbed onto his back. the moment your thighs wrapped around either side of his neck, heat rushed violently into your face.

this was humiliating.

caleb stood up carefully afterward, and the sudden loss of ground beneath your feet made you instinctively tighten your hold around him. his hands then immediately gripped more firmly on your thighs to stabilize you.

large hands...warm palms... strong fingers pressing securely against the bare skin just below your shorts... 

you stared determinedly at the shelf instead.

focus! focus on the speaker, not on the fact that caleb’s shoulders flexed beneath your hold every time he adjusted his grip on you.“comfortable up there?” he asked, rubbing a thumb along your skin.

fuck.

“stop talking.”

“yes, ma’am.”

behind you, zayne cleared his throat once. “can you reach it?” 

you forced yourself to focus again and stretched upward toward the speaker stacked near the top shelf. this time you could finally reach it properly, fingers brushing against the dusty handle. “almost—” but then, something suddenly moved near your hand, making you freeze. the ticklish sensation of what might be something alive made you look closer, and see...

“A COCKROACH!” your scream ripped through the attic instantly, jolting violently backward on instinct. “SHIT—” 

caleb startled hard beneath you from the sudden movement. “what—?!”

“THERE’S A BUG—” you wiggled frantically trying to get away from it while caleb lost balance underneath your panicked thrashing. then, the speaker tipped dangerously over the edge of the shelf. thankfully, zayne reacted fast enough to catch the heavy speaker against his chest before it crashed onto the floor.

the problem was everything else, though. you were still screaming, while caleb was still trying not to drop you. and the next few seconds happened far too fast—caleb’s balance finally gave up.

CRASH!

you landed very hard against caleb’s chest as both of you crashed onto the floorboards together, the air knocking from your lungs. caleb grunted sharply beneath you from the fall, one arm instinctively wrapping around your waist to keep you from hitting the floor harder.

“are you okay?” he coughed.

“the roach—!” your heart still hammered wildly while you tried pushing yourself upright—until sudden sharp pain tore across your palm. “ah—!”

a splintered piece of wood had been sticking upright between the uneven floorboards where your palm landed during the fall. a thin but deep cut now stretched across the center of your hand, bright red blood immediately welling against your skin.

“shit,” caleb muttered, staring at you.

you winced hard, clutching your injured hand against yourself while still half sprawled against caleb’s chest.

he pushes himself upright quickly despite clearly getting hurt from the impact too. you only noticed now the way he’d scraped part of his arm against the floorboards during the fall, redness already forming along his elbow. he didn’t even look at it as his attention stayed entirely on you. “let me see,” 

you shook your head weakly out of reflex while pressing your wounded palm closer against yourself. “it’s fine—”

“you’re bleeding.” his voice came lower, more serious. the teasing undertone went gone instantly. before you could protest again, caleb carefully grabbed your wrist to examine the cut more closely.

his brows furrowed hard. up close, you could see the same shift in his face whenever he got worried about you, the slight narrowing of his eyes and the way his touch became gentler without him seeming to realize it.

meanwhile beside both of you, zayne had already set the speaker down safely. you heard quick footsteps approaching, then suddenly zayne crouched near you too, immediately reaching for your injured hand with frightening calmness.

“move,” he told caleb.

“i’m helping her.”

“and i’m a doctor.”

caleb clicked his tongue but loosened his hold enough for zayne to inspect your palm instead. now you sat there trapped awkwardly between them on the attic floor, breathing unevenly while both men focused on your injured hand. despite the pain, your face still burned hotter from the way caleb’s arm remained securely attached around your waist the entire time.

instead of dwelling on that, you observed the way zayne’s entire demeanor shifted the moment he properly saw the wound. it happened so naturally that it almost startled you more than the injury itself.

one second he had been the same restrained, unreadable man from earlier, standing in the attic shirtless with sweat dampening the edges of his dark hair. and then suddenly, the doctor in him surfaced so seamlessly that it felt like watching somebody step into their true skin.

you watch his posture straightening, expression sharpened. his fingers wrapped around your wrist with control as he tilted your palm toward the sunlight. fresh blood continued slipping slowly from the cut, bright against your skin before trailing down the inside of your wrist and arm in thin warm lines.

the wound pulsed really painfully, every heartbeat making it throb even harder, enough to make you wince again.

immediately, zayne’s eyes flicked upward. “does it sting or ache?” 

you blinked at him for a second. “both.”

zayne hummed under his breath before looking around the attic quickly, scanning the cluttered shelves and old boxes. his brows drew together—of course there was nothing useful here. no bandages, tissues, nothing clean enough. “we shouldn’t wrap it with anything dirty,” zayne murmured more to himself than to you.

you shifted against caleb’s chest, still painfully aware of the way his arm remained firm around your waist from behind. his body felt warm beneath yours, solid, breathing against your back despite the awkward position the two of you were still trapped in on the floor.

“it’s okay, i can just use my shirt for now and wash it downstairs later when someone notices we’re missing—” you stopped yourself when zayne suddenly moved, your breath caught when he leaned downward toward your injured arm. “…zayne?”

he didn’t answer, his gaze stayed lowered instead, almost avoiding yours. and then you felt it—the warmth of his tongue dragging slowly along the thin trail of blood that had begun slipping down your wrist. 

“z-zayne!” it made you flinch hard in shock, but his hand tightened carefully around your wrist to steady you before the blood could drip further. he still wouldn’t look at you, expression remained frighteningly focused despite the intimacy of what he was doing, dark lashes lowered while his tongue traced upward once more against your skin.

the sensation made your stomach twist painfully because it hurt and because it didn’t. because his mouth was warm and the attic was hot and your pulse was beating too hard beneath his touch. “you’re insane,” you whispered weakly.

that finally made the corner of his mouth twitch, but he still didn’t stop. slowly, carefully, zayne lifted your wounded palm closer toward his mouth. you could see the brief hesitation in his face this time, almost like he knew crossing this line would change things. 

but even then, his lips pressed softly against the center of your palm.

“hng—!” pain flared immediately when he applied pressure to the cut, sucking the blood from the wound to keep it temporarily clean. but the sting made your entire body tense. your free hand immediately grabbed onto the closest thing near you—

caleb.

you pressed backward against his chest hard enough that he physically stiffened beneath you. “it hurts,” you shakily breathed.

behind you, caleb let out the faintest grunt, low and strained. his arm around your waist tightened before he could stop himself. but you failed to notice completely—too distracted by zayne, by the overwhelming feeling of his mouth against your skin.

zayne’s eyes finally lifted toward yours then, emerald green, but darker now somehow. you had never realized before how intimate being cared for could feel until this exact moment. his lips remained close against your palm while his fingers held your wrist steady.

meanwhile behind you, caleb’s ears had gone bright red. but you still failed to catch on the visible effort it took for him not to move beneath the repeated pressure of your body pressing against him every time the pain made you squirm. you were sitting directly between his legs, half against his chest, and every small movement from you dragged against him in ways that were making his breathing increasingly uneven.

“nghh...” caleb’s grip flexed once against your waist. but before you could process that, zayne pulled back slowly from your injured hand.

your skin burned so badly it almost felt feverish, heat spreading up your throat and cheeks while your injured palm still throbbed beneath zayne’s careful hold. you stared at the faint sheen of blood left near his lower lip before he calmly wiped it away with the back of his hand. he inspected your swollen palm again with doctor-like focus despite the fact that he had literally just licked you off to suck your blood.

your breathing became uneven all over again, because you suddenly felt eighteen. painfully eighteen. back in that summer version of yourselves where standing between zayne and caleb had always felt like standing too close to a storm.

zayne tilted your wrist once more, checking the wound carefully. “the bleeding stopped,” he murmured, in which you nodded weakly to. but he stayed crouched close in front of you though, way too close. his eyes lifted toward yours. “can you still run away now?”

fuck’s sake, how are they this persistent?

you almost wanted to scream. why were they still like this? why were they still capable of unraveling you so easily after all these years? you swallowed hard and forced yourself to push back before you completely lost whatever remained of your sanity. “what if i don’t?” you retorted. the words slipped out before you could stop them. 

and the second they did—something behind you suddenly twitched hard against your rear. your entire body went still, feeling the solid and warm thing press against your bum, twitching ever so slightly.

is that... caleb? 

behind you, caleb sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, like he was physically struggling, and then he made a strained sound under his breath. you felt the arm around your waist flex harder for half a second before he abruptly loosened it like he’d finally remembered himself. “okay,” caleb muttered roughly from behind you. “get off me.”

you turned your head slightly in confusion, only to find caleb looking away toward the opposite wall with a deeply tense expression, jaw tight enough to visibly flex. the tips of his ears were brightly red, damp hair sticking messily to his forehead while sweat slid slowly down the side of his neck into the collar of his tank top. he looked both irritated and embarrassed at the exact same time, which somehow made him even worse to look at.

“you get—”

“seriously,” he muttered with a grunt, finally glancing at you briefly before immediately looking away again. “it’s hard.”

“i-i mean, it’s hard to breathe.” caleb quickly corrected himself.

zayne exhaled quietly through his nose beside you like he was holding back amusement. you stared at caleb in absolute disbelief while your brain scrambled uselessly trying to process what he’d just admitted out loud. 

so what you’re sitting on is his...

zayne leaned toward you again before you could recover properly from caleb’s admission. instinctively, you leaned backward to create distance—but all that did was press your body more firmly against caleb behind you.

that caused a strangled grunt escaping low from his throat, his hands instantly tightening around your hips hard enough to make you inhale sharply. “that hurts—” 

you tried shifting away again, but there was nowhere to go. there was zayne in front of you, and caleb beneath and behind you. zayne’s eyes flickered downward briefly at the way caleb’s grip dug into your waist before returning to your face. strangely, he didn’t look annoyed. if anything, he looked calmer now. certain.

the faintest flush had spread across the bridge of his nose from the heat, but his gaze remained painfully steady on you. “earlier, you asked what happens if you stop running.”zayne leaned closer still, one hand braced beside your knee against the floorboards. “prove it.”

you stared at him helplessly. “what? what do you—”

“prove you’re not running anymore. and if you can do that,” he murmured, “then we’ll leave you alone.”

you swallowed hard. after all these years, after all the distance and silence and pretending nothing happened between the three of you—they were still here, looking at you like this, wanting you like this. but deep down, you already knew something terrifying. you certainly didn’t want them to leave you alone. 

your teeth pressed lightly against your lower lip. “deal.”

it was now or never. if they wanted you so bad to prove them otherwise, then let them take it.

before you could stop yourself, your hand lifted toward zayne’s face, fingers curled against his jaw. for the first time since reuniting with them, you stopped thinking—pulling him toward you to kiss him.

it didn't feel rushed nor hesitant, it just felt like years and years of restrained tension finally colliding all at once.

zayne froze for barely half a second, then immediately kissed you back. harder. “fuck,”

his hand came up almost desperately to cradle your face, fingers spreading gently along your cheek and jaw like he’d imagined touching you this way too many times before. he kissed like a man who had spent years holding himself back. careful at first, then increasingly less careful every second after.

despite everything, there was still something achingly romantic about zayne. even now. even like this. his thumb brushed softly beneath your cheek while his mouth moved against yours, and the tenderness of it nearly undid you completely.

behind you, caleb exhaled shakily. “it’s so... painful,”

you had forgotten you were still sitting against him, pressing against him every time the kiss made you move unconsciously. this time, though, you didn’t pull away. if anything, your body pressed more firmly backward on instinct as zayne kissed you deeper. 

caleb physically tensed beneath you. his fingers dug harder into your hips. “fuck,” he breathed hoarsely, the sound barely registering through the haze that clouded your thoughts.

zayne tilted his head, kissing you slower now but somehow deeper, his grip on your face tightening when you instinctively kissed him back harder. your injured hand trembled weakly against his shoulder while the other remained curled near his jaw.

you could feel his breathing becoming uneven too, could feel the way even zayne—always composed, always restrained—was starting to lose control of himself.

behind you, again, caleb let out another rough exhale. his forehead dropped briefly against the back of your shoulder like he was trying to survive this somehow. 

you stopped trying to hold yourself back. maybe that was the most dangerous part of all this—not them, not the attic, not the years of tension finally collapsing into something tangible. but it was you finally letting yourself want them back.

zayne’s mouth left yours only briefly before he leaned closer again, “quite too much for someone who only wants to prove something, no?” breath warm against your jaw as he buried his face near your neck. the scrape of his breathing against your skin alone nearly made your thoughts dissolve. instinctively, your eyes fluttered shut and your head tilted slightly to the side, exposing more of your neck to him without even realizing it. and zayne’s lips brushed there once, slowly. a quiet breath escaped him against your skin, and the sound alone nearly weakened your spine.

but then reality crashed back in all at once. these weren’t boys anymore. they were men who had spent years wanting you, years imagining this.

before zayne could kiss your neck again, your hand came up against his jaw and pushed him backward firmly.

the movement startled him, his brows furrowed faintly as he looked at you, lips flushed from kissing. zayne genuinely looked caught off guard, and you stared back at him for one second.

if you were losing control tonight, you were at least going to make it fair.

“let me,” you leaned downward instead, toward him. but at the same time, your hips deliberately moved backward against caleb beneath you. you started to grind your ass against his crotch in a slow, circular motion, like you were drawing his name with your hips and his growing bulge as the material. 

instantly, a rough moan caught in his throat as his hands clamped harder around your hips, fingers flexing almost desperately against your skin. “more... a little more...,” caleb muttered under his breath, but you ignored him on purpose. which only made him grip you tighter.

you bent toward zayne and let your lips brush teasingly along the side of his neck, just enough contact to make him inhale sharply.

this time, you were the one watching him carefully, watching the way his composure cracked apart in tiny fractures beneath your touch.

zayne’s eyes lowered, lips parted slightly as you kissed just beneath his jaw once—soft and slow—and you physically saw the tension leave his shoulders, a quiet sigh escaping him, relieved.

beneath you, caleb gave up entirely. “you’re really g-getting bold, huh,” his head tipped backward while his grip on your hips grew bolder, guiding your movements against him with less restraint—every small drag of your ass against his bulge made his breathing rougher, hotter.

zayne stared down at you with slightly wide eyes, his breath hitching in his throat as you leaned forward to press your lips against the sensitive column of his neck. he couldn't believe the sheer boldness of you—the girl who had once fled from them was now claiming them like this. as your lips trailed a searing path down his bobbing adam's apple and over the sharp line of his clavicle, his eyes fluttered shut, and his hands, trembling with a mix of reverence and lust, slid into your hair.

with a low, commanding hum, you pushed against zayne’s chest, forcing him to lean back just enough to create a sliver of space. “lean back.” you say. 

as you moved, your lifted your bum from caleb's crotch, momentarily breaking the contact. instead, you descended upon zayne, your mouth finding the expanse of his chest. you began to leave a trail of blooming hickies across his skin, teeth grazing his pectoral muscles as you worked your way down the hard, defined ridges of his abdomen.

“you’re quite eager to prove it, aren’t you?” zayne murmured, watching the way you kissed him lower. 

and while you did that, your lower body continued its job on caleb. you were dry humping him through his pants with a rhythmic pace, driven by a hunger that had been denied for far too long. it made caleb into a moaning mess beneath you, his strength failing him as he braced one hand against the floorboards to keep from collapsing entirely. his other hand was white knuckled, gripping the hem of your tanktop so tightly the fabric strained.

fuck it, you were far past the point of teasing; the ache between your thighs became a sharp, demanding pulse that demanded satisfaction. driven by instinct, you slid your hand lower, trailing past the ridges of zayne’s toned abs until your fingers hooked into the leather of his belt. you were ready to tear it open, to strip him bare, but a firm, warm hand clamped over yours.

“what exactly are you doing?” zayne rasped.

you paused, fingers still curled in his belt, and you looked up at him with a defiant glint in your eyes. you intentionally stopped grinding your hips against caleb, leaving him momentarily unanchored. “funny,” you retorted, your voice a breathless purr. “for someone who kept on calling me a runaway, you're the one running away now.”

at that, a slow, amused smirk spread across zayne’s face, an expression that made your heart hammer against your ribs. “running?” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips before returning to your eyes. “you've finally caught me.” without breaking eye contact, he unbuckled his own belt with a decisive clink, tossing the leather aside to clatter against the floorboards.

you were already breathless, a thin thread of saliva glistening on your lip as you watched him. he unbuttoned his pants and shoved his underwear down in one fluid motion. and the moment his manhood sprang free, it nearly slapped against your cheek, a heavy, throbbing weight that made your eyes widen. 

he was... massive. 

“can you actually take this, y/n?” zayne whispered as he began to stroke himself, the rhythmic schlickof his hand against his skin echoing in the small space. he brings the head of his cock dangerously close to your eyes, teasing you with the scent of his musk.

an instinctive, heavy throb pulsed between your legs, and you felt a sudden, overwhelming rush of moisture. you were fucking incredibly wet, your panties clinging to you as you swallowed hard. but before you could find your voice, you felt a shift behind you. the floorboards suddenly creaked under a new weight.

you turned your head slightly, your breath catching in your throat. caleb was moving, his eyes glazed with a raw hunger as he knelt behind you. he was already unbuckling his belt, his movements frantic and desperate. “don’t think you're getting off that easy,” as he released his own huge cock, he leaned in. “how much can you even take from us, huh, pipsqueak?”

he didn't wait for an answer. his hands were suddenly on your hips, pulling your shorts down. when the fabric fell, it revealed your white panties, darkened and translucent from how much you were soaking. the sight of your drenched lace made caleb’s dick twitch violently. he didn't wait to strip you completely; instead, he pressed the hot, blunt head of his length against your entrance, rubbing the damp fabric of your panties against your swollen clit.

“still runnin’ away from this?” he grunted, a low, needy sound. “bet you can’t. you’re too wet.” a high, broken whimper escaped your throat, and your strength gave out, your body collapsing forward until you slumped heavily against zayne’s muscular thighs.

zayne reached down though, his fingers firm and warm as they hooked under your chin to tilt your head back. you were met once again by the intimidating sight of his throbbing manhood. you were too far gone, too lost in the heavy, wet heat of caleb’s dick pressing on you to offer any resistance. when zayne leaned forward, guiding his thick, pulsing head toward your lips, you opened for him instinctively. “open for me.” he pushes into your mouth with a slow force that filled you to the brim.

a soft, helpless moan escaped you around him, and a thin trail of drool escaped the corner of your mouth, glistening in the sunlight. you looked up at him through hazy, hooded eyelids, eyes wide and glazed with unadulterated lust. zayne let out a groan at the sight of you—his beautiful girl now wrapped around his dick. your hands reached up, clutching at the fabric of his pants as he wrapped his fingers around your head, guiding your movements to ensure you felt every vein of his length.

“that’s it... just like that. take it all, y/n. show me how much you want it.” his words came to you like a caress, but below, caleb let out a frustrated, needy grunt, his pace increasing as he felt you getting even wetter, the damp fabric of your panties sliding slickly against your clit with every heavy thrust of his hips.

zayne’s head fell back, his eyes squeezing shut as you began to suck him with a slow, rhythmic pace. he was fighting for control, muscles corded and straining as he fought the irresistible urge to simply slam himself into your throat. instead, he gently pushes his hips upward to meet your mouth. and when you finally took him deep enough that the tip of your nose brushed against the base of his shaft, an uncharacteristic, broken groan tore from his throat, his fingers tightening convulsively in your hair. 

“ahh, fuck,”

caleb watched it happen, and a sting of jealousy immediately came through him. he decided to silently reach down, his slender fingers hooking into the side of your soaked panty to shove the damp fabric aside, exposing your dripping, swollen entrance to the cool air. without a moment's hesitation, he positioned his pulsing cock at your opening and began to push.

you instantly gasped into zayne’s dick. 

“shhh, it’s okay,” he coaxed you.

but caleb hit a wall of resistance nonetheless. you were incredibly tight, your body still reeling from the shock of the sudden attention, and the sheer girth of him was overwhelming. he let out a strained grunt, muscles bunching as he struggled to force his way past your narrow walls. “you're...too small, too tight—” he hissed through gritted teeth, working hard to breach you, while above you, zayne remained a patient man, his hands steadying your head as he waited for your mouth to finally adjust to the weight of him.

to soothe the tension, you reached up to wrap your hand around the base of zayne’s shaft while your mouth continued to worship his tip. you began to bob your head in a frantic, fast motion, your tongue swirling around him with a desperate hunger. the sudden change in pace caught zayne off guard; he let out a choked, startled sound, nearly swallowing his own saliva as he gasped, “slow... slow down, y/n...”

you didn't listen. instead, you treated his massive length like a sweet lollipop, swirling and sucking with a playful fervor. and zayne could do nothing but revel in the sensation, his head tilting back as he shut his eyes tight, a thin string of saliva escaping his parted lips.

he tasted so fucking good in your mouth.

the sight of you so focused on zayne was the final straw for caleb. a low grunt erupted from his chest, before reaching down, his large hands clamping onto your hips with a bruising, painful grip that forced a small gasp from your lips. then, with a sudden surge of strength, he slammed himself forward, driving his entire length into you in one singular thrust.

shit.

“angghh!” you screamed, the sound muffled by the weight of zayne’s dick still filling your mouth. you were finally, blissfully full, but the sensation was immediately followed by a staggering shock. 

the moment caleb buried himself within you, he stiffened violently. a ragged, breathless gasp tore from his lungs as he felt his climax hit him with the force of a tidal wave. he was inside you, fully, and he was already coming.

“shit, shit, shit—” caleb choked out, his voice a  broken mess. trembling, his hips continued to thrust in a desperate, involuntary rhythm, but he couldn't stop. even as he pounded into you, he felt the hot, thick jets of his semen pulsing deep inside your womb, a continuous, unending stream that seemed impossible. 

how could this happen? he had masturbated to you a thousand times, always maintaining a disciplined control, but now, the mere feeling of your heat was undoing him. he couldn't even stop coming; it was as if your body was a vacuum, pulling every drop of his cum from him in one long, continuous release.

thwack! thwack! thwack!

seeing the way his thick cock disappeared into you with every frantic thrust, caleb let out a loud moan. “so tight f’me, you’re going to... kill me,” he hooked a powerful arm beneath your thigh, hoisting your leg high up onto his shoulder to tilt your pelvis back, allowing him to drive into you even deeper. “can you take this, huh? do you still wanna leave us behind after this, hm?” each time his tip slammed against your cervix, your eyes rolled back in your head, your vision blurring as you struggled to keep your grip on zayne’s dick.

but zayne was not about to let you find your footing. seeing caleb’s dominance, he instantly felt competitive. he wasn't just a spectator anymore. he reached down, his fingers tangling firmly in your hair to tilt your head back at a punishing angle, and began to pound his dick into your mouth with a relentless pace. “unghhh...” he groaned, matching caleb’s rhythm. “proving it well, aren’t you?”

at this point, you could do nothing but cry out, your voice breaking into a series of high, desperate moans and whimpers as the two men relentlessly pounded into you, claiming every inch of you as their own.

—

downstairs, life went on completely unaware.

the previous broken speaker suddenly crackled back to life, making the older relatives cheer in relief while somebody loudly complained that they were in the middle of a sad song before the speaker died. immediately, music flooded granny’s front yard again, echoing beneath the afternoon sunlight while barbecue smoke drifted lazily through the air.

children ran around the plastic tables with juice boxes in hand, somebody’s uncle was already tipsy enough to start singing off-key, one of your aunts kept scolding people for stealing food because apparently there were still some late visitors.

granny herself sat proudly near the karaoke television with the microphone in hand, it was only after a few minutes that she suddenly looked around the crowded yard and frowned slightly. “where are those three?” she asked.

one of the younger teenagers nearby nearly choked trying not to laugh. another one immediately elbowed him hard. “they’re probably still playing upstairs,” the girl answered innocently. except the snickering afterward completely ruined the lie.

granny narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “what did you children do?”

“nothing!” which obviously meant something.

eventually, after enough threatening looks from the adults, the truth slipped out in pieces.

they had planned on pulling a prank on the three of you by locking the attic. the plan to leave the three of you stuck there “for only a few minutes.” apparently, the younger cousins thought it would be funny after overhearing all the teasing downstairs earlier.

granny sighed so deeply it nearly sounded spiritual. “those poor children,” she muttered while shaking her head.

except she still didn’t go upstairs immediately, because one of the older uncles suddenly begged her to sing another song first. and like always, granny gave in.

and completely unbeknownst to everyone downstairs—something irreversible had already bloomed upstairs in the attic.

not a fight, not an accident, not even just old feelings returning. it was worse than that, warmer than that. something that had spent years quietly burning beneath distance and growing up.

something that had long been marking you under seasons of summer.

a sunburn.

—

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

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

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

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

they looked nothing alike even back then.

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

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

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

“it literally cannot.”

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

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

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

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

“you skipped the steps again,” zayne muttered.

“because your steps are booooring.”

“or they’re efficient.”

“same thing.”

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

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

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

“we’re winning,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“that sounds so made up.”

“it’s literally science, you idiot.”

“better than a nerd.”

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

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

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

especially the three of you.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

unsurprising. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

*buzzzzz!*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you hesitated, then typed back anyway.

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

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

*buzzzzz!*

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

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

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

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

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

what does caleb even want right now?

a knock on your door sounded.

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

then, another knock, louder this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“uh, so i can see you.”

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

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

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

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

“because life is balanced,” 

“that’s not even— never mind. go.”

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

you blinked. "...that’s it?”

“yup."

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yea, probably.”

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

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

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

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

he already opened it. "hmm, why not?”

“because it’s mine.”

“so?”

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

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

“exactly.”

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

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

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

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

“i am focused.”

“you’re touching my curtains.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

you frowned. “what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"of course you are.”

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

“also of course.”

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

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

caleb’s eyebrows lifted a little at that.

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

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

you immediately recoiled. “ah—”

"think about it, okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

great. now you were alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, of all people. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you focused very hard on walking normally.

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

gosh, you could finally breathe again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a deck of cards.

“you’re into those?”

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

“hm.”

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

zayne shook his head once. “no.”

“then why do you sound interested?"

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

“…ooh, what kind of tricks?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

“kinda?”

“don’t get arrogant.”

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

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

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

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

you blinked. "woah, that's shit.”

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

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

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

“seriously?”

“there’s one involving drinks.”

you perked up. “show me.”

"...i haven’t actually tried it.”

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

“i’ve seen it.”

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

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

“but you do.”

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

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

“thank you.”

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

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

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

“one your mother would disapprove of.”

“that makes me want to know more!"

“that is exactly the problem.”

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

“i absolutely can.”

“you coward.”

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

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

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

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

silence. the realization alone nearly killed you.

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

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

“you called me a coward.”

“because, you were acting mysterious.”

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

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

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

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

“…what.”

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

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

“seems effective.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what? 

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

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

“i did know what i was doing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“where’s the relay list?”

“who moved the cones?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

whistles exploded instantly. “foul!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

summer is nearby.

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

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

you clipped another shirt onto the line harder than necessary. 

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

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

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

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

“coming!” you shouted back.

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

you nodded. “okay!”

“don’t forget your laundry outside later!”

“i know!”

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

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

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

the doorbell rang.

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

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

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

huh, talk about a coincidence.

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

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

oh, this was horrible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what?”

“nothing.”

“you’re smiling.”

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

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

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

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

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

“aren’t you gonna let us in?”

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

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

“you live just three houses away.”

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

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

you looked over your shoulder, “obviously.”

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

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

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

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

“why not?”

“because it’s laundry.”

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

caleb noticed. “see? she needs us.”

“don’t sound so happy about it.”

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

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

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

“scientifically impossible,” zayne murmured.

“tell that to my mother." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m not.”

“mhm.”

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

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

caleb laughed. “she likes us helping.”

“i never said that.” you cut in.

“well, you didn’t have to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“offering a better option.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*buzzzzz!*

all three of you paused.

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

caleb leaned slightly. “who is it?”

“my tutor.”

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

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

“is it important?” you asked.

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

caleb whistles, "that's brutal."

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

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

“in this scorching heat?”

“still possible.”

typical zayne answer.

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

just like that, the genius left.

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

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

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

“only towards you.”

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

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

“mhm.”

“and it covered more.”

“sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

“no.”

“caleb.”

“you’re still so soaked.”

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

“let me do it for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

you freeze at the gesture, eyes widening at him.

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

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

the fabric smelled like him. it made you warm.

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

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

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

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

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

“no, i don't.”

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

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

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

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

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

“see what?"

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

your breath caught.

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

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

your eyes slightly widened at that.

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

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

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

wanting. waiting. holding himself back.

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

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

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

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

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

“say something,” he murmured.

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

you frowned. “that’s not true.”

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

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

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

“caleb, you're..."

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

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

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

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

“shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it felt ordinary and safe again.

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

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

*buzzzzz!*

your brows furrowed, glancing down at the screen.

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

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

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

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

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

“…your watch?”

“i took it off while helping earlier.”

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

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

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

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

you frowned. “…anything else?”

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

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

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

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

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

“did you eat already?”

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

“good.” 

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

“you sound tired,” you murmured.

“i am.”

“how were your classes?”

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

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

“indeed it was.”

“poor zayne.”

“don’t mock me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your face warmed, “oh."

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

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

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

“…so you weren’t uncomfortable?”

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

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

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

“you should be more careful around caleb.”

“what?”

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

"what does that even mean?”

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

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

“he hides things better than people realize.”

“like what?”

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

that made you still. "sorry?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

it felt safer that way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you looked up from your phone.

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

“…hello, yes?" you said cautiously.

“have you heard?”

your brows furrowed. “heard what?”

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

your eyes widened at the news. “what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“mace?”

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

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

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

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

the entire walk back to your classroom felt strange afterward.

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

“—heard it was stolen—”

“—someone from the committee—”

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

this didn’t involve you anyway.

or at least, that’s what you thought.

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

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

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

your confusion deepened. “what?”

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

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

his jaw tightened. “are you sure?”

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

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

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

“exactly.”

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

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

“but you were there during the last audit.”

“and so were you.”

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

the classroom went completely silent.

you stared at him. “you're joking.”

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

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

jesus.

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

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

your classmates then leaned forward openly.

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

this entire thing felt really insulting. 

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

your brows furrowed immediately. wait, what?

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

“no way, y/n—”

“that’s the envelope—”

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

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

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

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

“this is literally the missing funds!”

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

someone must've framed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“because someone put it in my bag.”

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

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

they didn’t fully believe you either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

god this was awful.

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

the room fell quiet for a moment. 

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

you wiped quickly at your eyes as someone stepped inside.

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

your adviser blinked in surprise. “zayne?”

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

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

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

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

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

your brows slowly knitted together.

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

“what…” you whispered.

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

“he planted it himself,” zayne finished.

nobody spoke for several seconds.

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

zayne found proof. he actually found proof.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you walked side by side in silence.

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

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

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

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

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

before it lifted.

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

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

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

you looked at him finally.

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

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

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

—

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

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

you hated that.

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

you learned that today.

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

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

normal things. you needed normal things.

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

...or zayne.

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

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

“outside for a bit,” 

“outside where—”

but you were already halfway out the front door.

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

you just—you needed to thank him properly.

the neighborhood blurred around you as you walked faster through familiar streets lined with glowing porch lights and flowering plants. eventually, the familiar houses came into view.

caleb’s house first, then zayne’s right beside it.

you slowed near the gates. for some reason, your eyes drifted briefly toward caleb’s house. the lights inside were dimmer than usual tonight.

strange. you hadn’t really seen him around since the accusation incident started earlier. but before your thoughts could linger there too long, you shook your head lightly. that wasn’t important right now.

you walked toward zayne’s front porch and pressed the doorbell.

your pulse suddenly felt ridiculous. why were you nervous?

after a few moments, footsteps approached from inside the house before the door finally opened.

zayne looked exactly the same as earlier. same loosened tie and same slightly tired eyes behind his glasses.

had he only just gotten home too?

you noticed the genuine surprise crossing his face upon seeing you standing there. you immediately felt awkward. “uh, hi.”

zayne blinked once, before stepping aside. “come in.”

once you reluctantly entered, he shut the door gently behind you and turned back toward you again. “what’s wrong?” there it was again. that immediate concern. his first instinct was always checking whether you were okay.

“i didn't get to thank you properly earlier,”

and before you knew it, words started spilling out of you all at once.

“sorry, i just— i really wanted to thank you properly because what you did earlier was really...,” your hands twisted together nervously. “you saved me in there and i don’t even understand how you managed to gather all that evidence so fast, and if you didn’t show up i genuinely don’t know what would’ve happened to me because they were already looking at me like i was guilty and—”

you barely even paused to breathe.

“and i know you probably think it’s not a big deal, but it is to me because nobody else believed me and somehow you just... you just immediately knew i didn’t do it. so thank you. seriously. i don’t think you understand how much that meant to me.”

finally, your rambling slowed—mostly because zayne was faintly smiling at you and the sight completely stole the rest of your words.

you had seen zayne smile before, technically. small amused smirks and quiet little reactions hidden behind sarcasm. but this was different. soft and tender, almost. the kind of smile that made him look suddenly less untouchable somewhat. 

“hush,” zayne stepped a little closer then, gaze gentler than you’d ever seen it before. “it’s okay,” the single word settled over you so gently it nearly melted every remaining ounce of tension still trapped inside your chest. “you don’t have to thank me that much,” he murmured. “i was going to help you either way.”

his words came to you like a pencil attempting to sketch the smile lines across your features, and you smiled the kind of smile that came naturally after somebody caught you before you shattered. it was small, tired around the edges after the terrible day you’d had, but genuine enough that it softened your whole face beneath the room's light.

and, for all that you are, zayne's expression changed so subtly most people would have missed it. but you didn’t, not anymore. 

the faint curve of his lips slowly disappeared as he looked at you, almost like the sight stunned him more than he expected. his emerald eyes lingered on your smile for a second too long, darkening with something quieter than surprise and far more dangerous.

affection, raw and unguarded.

it hit him hard enough that he actually had to look away. you watched his throat move in a slow gulp before his gaze drifted briefly toward the floor, one hand tightening faintly at his side like he was collecting himself.

zayne never lost composure. and yet here he was, undone by nothing more than your smile.

“thank you,” you said again softly, almost laughing beneath your breath now. “seriously.”

zayne exhaled through his nose before looking back at you. “it’s to make up for what i did.”

“what did you do?”

he gives you an uncertain stare. “the call.” your heartbeat slowed strangely, as you remembered how the late-night conversation went, and the memory settled heavily into the room between you. zayne’s gaze flickered briefly over your face before dropping somewhere near your shoulder. “i pressured you that night.”

you opened your mouth. “zayne, i—” but the words never fully came out.

suddenly, his hands found your waist, warm and firm.

your breath caught at the sudden gesture, as zayne stepped forward until the space between your bodies disappeared entirely, his arms wrapping around you with a restraint that somehow made the intimacy worse. like he was holding himself back even now, like this was already more than he’d allowed himself to take.

you froze, you didn’t know what to do with how badly your body reacted to it. he was so tall that your chin tipped upward instinctively, your fingers barely brushing his chest as he leaned down and buried his face against the curve of your neck. warm breath spread against your skin through the collar of your shirt, and the sensation made heat rush violently into your face.

his grip around your waist tightened almost imperceptibly, a telltale sign that he needed the contact more than he wanted to admit. “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he murmured near your ear. his voice sounded rougher from this close, much deeper.

it slid through you slowly, dangerously.

your fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt. “y-you didn’t,” 

zayne inhaled at that, the sound brushed warm against your throat. “with you, i don’t really know how to act anymore.” you feel his forehead rested lightly near your shoulder now while his arms remained secure around your waist, and for one dizzy second, you let yourself melt into it, into the warmth of his body, into the quiet intimacy of being held so carefully by someone who spent years pretending not to want you this much.

your eyes slowly fluttered shut. everything felt so soft and close... and dangerously tender...

until the front door opened.

“zayne, where’s—” 

your eyes snapped open instantly. 

and the sight of caleb, who stood by the doorway, hit you all at once.

caleb was there, there behind the man who's hugging you into an embrace. his uniform was half undone, white shirt wrinkled and untucked with dirt streaked faintly across the fabric, and bruises darkened visibly along his arm, his cheekbone, the corner of his lip.

he looked exhausted. beautifully, painfully exhausted. somebody who had finally reached his limit. but none of that compared to the expression on his face when he saw the two of you.

his hand remained wrapped tightly around the doorknob while his tired, lilac eyes locked onto zayne’s arms around your waist.

then... slowly—to you.

you watched caleb’s jaw tighten faintly beneath the bruising near his mouth as his heavy breathing slowed. his eyes dragged downward briefly to where zayne was still touching you before lifting back to your face again. and god, that look nearly hurt to survive through. caleb looked like he had walked into the exact thing he feared most.

his fingers tightened harder around the doorknob until the muscles in his forearm flexed visibly beneath bruised skin.

and when he finally spoke, his voice came low and rough around the edges. “…didn’t know you had company.”

immediately, you stepped away from zayne. the warmth of his arms disappeared from your waist too quickly, leaving behind a strange lingering heat against your skin as you stared at caleb standing by the doorway.

up close, he looked worse than you initially thought.

the bruises weren’t small. one darkened the edge of his cheekbone while another bloomed faintly beneath the collar of his wrinkled uniform. his knuckles looked scraped raw, reddened skin stretched tight over bruised fingers that was surely caused by hitting something far too many times. even his lip had split slightly near the corner, dried blood staining against pale chapped skin. despite how rough he looked, caleb still looked devastatingly beautiful in that messy, ruined sort of way.

zayne’s brows furrowed beside you too, his expression sharpening the longer he examined caleb’s condition.

“what happened to you?” you asked before you could stop yourself. worry flooded through your voice instantly as you walked toward him, brows pulled together while your eyes searched over every bruise scattered across his body. “caleb, did you get into a fight?”

he didn’t answer. he just stood there staring at you. his tired eyes dragged slowly across your face, memorizing something before losing it completely. the muscles in his jaw flexed beneath the fading blood near his lip. 

“caleb?” 

his throat bobbed once. before suddenly, his gaze dropped downward and the faintest broken sound escaped him.

almost a whine.

completely unlike the confident golden boy everyone else knew.

you blinked in surprise, waiting for him to finally explain himself. but instead, caleb lifted his eyes back toward you and asked quietly, “when are you gonna understand?”

you stilled. “…what?”

“when are you gonna understand,” he repeated, “that i like you so fucking much it actually hurts?”

the room went completely silent behind you.

caleb laughed softly then, but the sound carried no humor at all. only exhaustion. only frustration stretched too thin after holding itself together for too long. “i beat him up. that asshole who framed you.” his jaw tightened sharply as he spoke. “he made you cry, humiliated you in front of everyone when you didn’t do anything wrong.”

you could only stare at him, because you couldn't bring yourself to believe it. caleb was capable of something like this? caleb was capable of harming someone just for your sake? 

“and i couldn’t stand it,” he admitted, biting his lip. “i couldn’t stand hearing people talk about you like that.” you watch caleb look away briefly, running a bruised hand through his messy hair before sarcastically smiling again. “i was looking for you afterward, wanted to make sure you were okay.” his eyes flickered toward zayne, and the softness disappeared instantly. 

“and then i walk in here and see this.”

the jealousy in his voice sliced through the room, but it was the kind that came from heartbreak instead of anger. 

caleb’s gaze returns to you, it looked even worse. you could practically see the years of suppression slowly rotting underneath all his teasing smiles and playful touches, how exhausted he must’ve been carrying all of this alone.

his lips parted slightly before he spoke again, quieter this time. “i don’t know what else i’m supposed to do anymore.”

he stepped closer. just one step.

“i always look for you everywhere. and i get jealous over stupid things. and i literally beat somebody up because they made you cry.” his eyes searched yours desperately. “and you're still looking at me like you don’t get it?”

his gaze flickered briefly toward your mouth before lifting back to your eyes again.

“do i seriously have to kiss you before you understand how much i love you?”

no. no, you already understood. that was the worst part.

you stood between them, too warm beneath the dim yellow lights of zayne’s living room, too aware of every breath being taken around you. caleb’s confession still echoed inside your head in painful waves, mixing together with the memory of zayne’s arms around your waist just moments ago.

everything made sense. every argument that carried hidden bitterness underneath it. every strange moment where the air between the three of you became too intimate for childhood friendship alone.

they loved you. both of them.

and you no longer can run away from it.

your lips pressed together, gaze dropped toward the floor. you couldn’t look directly at caleb right now. not when his eyes were fixed on you like that—dark and exhausted in a way that felt unbearable to witness.

you couldn’t turn around either. because behind you stood zayne, silent.

you didn’t know what expression he wore now. you didn’t know if he looked angry or hurt or completely unreadable the way he usually did when emotions threatened to spill too close to the surface.

you were too afraid to find out, too afraid to face either of them fully. all you knew was this awful aching certainty sitting inside your chest: you couldn’t choose. you didn’t want to.

“i...” you started weakly, but the words dissolved before forming properly.

everything felt... tangled. so you stepped backward instinctively, because you always believed that distance might somehow save you from the intensity pressing in from both sides.

but caleb moved first.

the front door clicked shut behind him with a sound that made your pulse jump. then suddenly he was close again, towering over you with tired eyes and a face that looked heartbreakingly ruined from wanting too much.

his hands came up, one against your cheek, the other cradling your jaw. warm palms against burning skin.

from this proximity, you could see the tiny split near his lower lip more clearly now. dried blood swelling near his cheekbone. he looked really messy in a way caleb never usually allowed himself to be.

he whispers into your lips, “i’m sorry.” and before you could even process the apology—

he kissed you.

it was almost devastating how unsteady it felt.

caleb crashed into your mouth like a man depraved of everything he was supposed to have.

”mmph!“ your eyes widened instantly as his lips pressed against yours with all the desperation he’d been holding back for years, roughened breaths shaking faintly between every second of contact. trembling, your fingers clutched at the front of his dirt-stained uniform, wrinkling the fabric tighter beneath your hands as your body struggled to catch up with what was happening.

he kissed you with his eyes shut tightly, brows pulled together like he physically could not bear the thought of you pulling away from him now. every ounce of restraint he usually carried so casually had disappeared, leaving behind something painfully naked underneath.

pure, humiliating desire.

you feel his hand tremble against your face as he deepened the kiss for one brief reckless second, breathing you in desperately like he was trying to memorize the feeling before it disappeared from him forever. and god—you could feel every ugly, yearning emotion tangled inside him.

somewhere behind you, the room remained silent. way too silent.

the realization sent another rush of heat through your body so intense it almost hurt.

caleb must’ve thought about that too. because his grip tightened slightly against your jaw, and a broken sound escaped him into the kiss itself—half sigh, half ache—as though even this moment didn’t feel enough. 

“ungh...” he knew this was selfish, but he couldn’t stop anyway. or maybe he just simply refused to.

you couldn’t tell anymore.

all you knew was that your thoughts were dissolving frighteningly fast beneath the weight of his mouth against yours. his kiss carried none of the polished confidence people usually associated with him. it was too desperate for that. 

and now that it was out, he was drowning in it.“mmgh- shit..” caleb whined against your lips, making your knees weaken embarrassingly beneath him.

the warmth of his body crowded closer while his hand stayed firm against your jaw, thumb brushing shakily along your cheek. your fingers remained tangled tightly in the front of his ruined uniform, wrinkling the already dirt-stained fabric further.

without realizing it, you kept stepping backward underneath the pressure of him. but caleb followed instantly every single time, taller and broader in a way that slowly consumed your sense of balance altogether. the room blurred behind your closed eyelids while his mouth moved against yours with aching urgency, it almost felt like there was nothing else left except him.

...almost.

you thought, as your back hit something solid, warm.

your breath caught sharply into the kiss itself.

caleb paused for the briefest second, enough for confusion to flicker weakly through your haze, but before you could fully pull away or understand what was happening, another hand rose slowly against the side of your neck from behind you.

long fingers, cooler skin.

they brushed your hair carefully over one shoulder, gathering the loose strands away from your nape with a touch so calm it contrasted painfully against caleb’s desperate grip on your face.

your pulse stumbled violently, because you knew those hands. 

your eyes remained shut instinctively, overwhelmed too quickly by warmth and the terrifying awareness of both of them surrounding you now. 

you should’ve stepped away. you should’ve stopped this immediately. but instead, your body betrayed you by leaning further back into the warmth behind you.

a soft inhale brushed the back of your neck. then, another pair of lips touched your skin.

”haa-”

zayne moved differently. his mouth barely grazed the sensitive curve of your nape at first, almost like he was testing your reaction before letting the warmth of his lips linger there properly. the restraint in it somehow made it worse. 

a helpless sound escaped you—“hmngh-”—a small whimper swallowed directly into caleb’s mouth.

caleb’s reaction to it was immediate, his entire body tensed against yours before a shaky breath left him, almost pained, almost wrecked by the sound you made for them. behind you, zayne stayed terrifyingly calm—the way his teeth sunk into the supple flesh of the slope of your neck had you unconsciously pressing yourself against him. 

zayne noticed. and it made him halt in his tracks. for a moment, his hands stilled on you and pulled away slightly, eyeing you from behind. "y/n,"

the mention of your name also had you woken up from the daze you were starting to get lost into, while caleb's eyes flickered towards his bestfriend who's behind you, slowly pulling away. 

"y/n,"

the air between the three of you was strangely suffocating, charged with something that made the fine hairs on your arms stand on end. you felt a sudden, pulsing warmth beginning to bloom deep in your core, a heavy, liquid sensation that seemed to radiate outward from... there. 

what was happening to you? 

zayne's eyes narrowed, his gaze dropping from your face to the subtle, frantic rise and fall of your chest. he could see the way your pupils had dilated, swallowing the dark iris until your eyes looked like bottomless pools of desire. 

“you're flushed.” zayne murmured, he didn't pull his hand away from your arm; instead, his thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles against your pulse point. caleb noticed it too, his gaze following zayne's. the raw, jagged pain in his expression smoothed out into something much more... predatory. 

“you're... burning up,” he didn't care about the fight or the blood on his lip anymore; all he could see was the way your lips were slightly parted, glistening and inviting.

the tension snapped like a taut wire. zayne’s fingers tightened around your shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor you as he leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "it's not just the fever of the moment, is it?" he whispered, and the implication hung in the air, as he let his gaze wander down the curve of your neck. 

you can't help it. the heat was becoming too much to bear. ”no,” you gasped, the word feeling small and fragile against the overwhelming intensity of their gazes. 

you forced yourself to step back, stumbling away from the magnetic pull of their bodies. you could feel your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. “this is... it's wrong. we can't. you're best friends, and this... this isn't right,” your voice trembled with a desperate attempt at denial. 

you tried to wrap your arms around yourself, to shield the growing warmth in your core, but the logic felt flimsy in comparison to what was actually going on. 

zayne and caleb both froze, the sudden distance between you feeling like a physical wound. they watched you with a look of profound, aching reverence. to them, you weren't just a girl; you were something sacred, a masterpiece of soft curves and delicate skin that they had spent years worshiping from afar. 

the thought of bruising your skin or marring your perfection with their need sent a shiver of hesitation through them. they wanted to devour you, to just lose themselves in the heat of your body, but also, they were terrified that their very touch might ruin the precious thing they loved so much.

“is it wrong?” caleb whispered, his voice a ragged, broken thing. he took a tentative step toward you, his hands hovering in the air as if he were afraid to reach out and break a spell. “because it feels like the only thing that's ever been right.” 

he reached out, not to grab you, but to let the very tips of his fingers graze the underside of your jaw, a touch so light it was almost a ghost of a sensation. it made your breath hitch in a way that betrayed your protest.

zayne, seeing caleb's approach, felt a surge of competitive desperation. he didn't want to be the one who stayed in the shadows. so he moved to your side, yet there was still a visible tremor in his hands. he reached for your waist, his palms barely skimming the fabric of your clothes, tracing the curve of your hip with a reverence that felt like a prayer. 

“if it's wrong, then let us be wrong together,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive velvet. he leaned in, his lips not quite touching your skin, but the warmth of his breath against your neck was enough to make your toes curl in your shoes. 

ugh, he's doing it again...

this is ridiculous. you tried to hold onto your denial, to tell them to stop and tell them that this was madness, but your body was a traitor. 

every time caleb's lips teased your earlobe, a fresh wave of liquid heat flooded your thighs. and every time zayne's fingers traced the dip of your waist, an involuntary moan escaped your lips. you were being pulled apart by two different kinds of worship, one frantic and one deliberate, and the more you tried to resist, the more your body craved the very thing you claimed was wrong.

they were both so careful, so agonizingly hesitant, as if they were handling the finest porcelain. they watched your reactions with wide, hungry eyes, terrified of overstepping but unable to pull away—like caught in a loop of wanting to ruin you and wanting to preserve you.

but as you felt the weight of their worship, something shifted inside you. the vulnerability that had been making you tremble somewhat changed into a sharp, jagged spark of defiance. 

maybe it's the insistent teasing, maybe it's something else entirely. you didn't know. 

“stop,” you raise your hands. 

you just found yourself stopping and instead forcing them to look you in the eye. “if... if you insist on going this far,” you tried, even though you knew deep down how much they affected you. “can you even handle what comes with it?” the question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. you saw the flicker of confusion in caleb’s eyes, the way his brow furrowed as he tried to parse your meaning. 

you didn't stop there. you leaned in slightly, your gaze sweeping over both of them, challenging their masculinity. “i'm not just talking about the consequences of what we do to each other,” you punctuated. “i'm talking about you. if i stop being the girl you're so afraid to break... if i actually take what i want from you... could you even handle it? could you handle me?”

the effect was instantaneous. 

the air seemed to vanish from the room as both boys froze, their hands hovering inches from your skin like statues. 

was it just that easy? 

they had been treating you like a fragile thing, but you had just reminded them that you were also a woman with a hunger that could rival their own. 

zayne felt a tremor of genuine uncertainty ripple through his chest, his dark eyes squinting as he realized... you weren't just a recipient of their lust. because you were also capable of undoing them.

a nervous, triumphant smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you forced it. you could see the doubt creeping into their expressions, the way their bravado was being replaced by a sudden, frantic rethinking of the entire situation. 

“well?” you prompted, your voice a teasing lilt that mocked their hesitation. “don't just stand there looking like you've seen a ghost. you were so sure of yourselves a moment ago. you were so hungry.” you reached out, your fingers grazing the fabric of caleb's shirt, then zayne's wrist, a mocking reminder of the contact they had been so terrified to initiate. 

“touch me, then. if you're as brave as you're acting, prove it.”

the silence that followed was deafening. 

caleb's frown remained deeply on his face, his eyes slowly moving down the swell of your breasts, gulping, but he couldn't even bring himself to extend his hands. 

the boys, who had been so bold in their intentions, were now suddenly behaving like hesitating little boys. caleb snapped his eyes away from your chest, his face flushing a deep, embarrassed crimson—while zayne’s gaze drifted away for a split second, his usual stoicism crumbling into a visible uncertainty. 

all you could do was watch them, because the tension was no longer just about lust; it was about the exhilarating unknown of what would happen if you truly let go. 

you had thrown down the gauntlet, and now, the ball was in their court.

it was already evident though. you already knew the answer.

they were sinful enough to want you, but not enough to touch where sin waited most. 

“never mind,” you whispered into the thickening silence. you made a reluctant, jerky movement, stepping back once more. before they could find their voices or their courage, you turned on your heel, your heart thundering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, and walked away. 

you practically ran, your lungs burning as you navigated the familiar streets between zayne's house and your own. the cool night air hit your flushed skin, but it did nothing to dampen the fire still smoldering in your core. 

you didn't stop until you had burst through your own front door, fumbling with the lock before slamming it shut behind you. leaning your back against the wood, you finally released the breath you realized you had been holding since the moment the tension had snapped. the house was silent, your parents are probably upstairs. 

your heart was still a wild thing, drumming a frantic, uneven beat in your ears. 

fuck.

you breathed, sliding down the door until you were curled on the floor. what would have happened if you hadn't walked away? if you had stayed, if you had let them touch you, there would have been no turning back. the boundary between friendship and something sinful would have been erased in a single, feverish moment.

a heavy sensation settled in your stomach, a feeling that was difficult to name. 

you felt... dirty. 

but as you sat there in the dim light of your hallway, you realized the sensation had nothing to do with the way they had looked at you or the way their hands had hovered near your skin. it wasn't because of them; it was because of yourself. 

because you hadn't just been willing to let them touch you; you had been craving it.

the thought of indulging in both of them made a hot blush creep up your neck. the idea of being caught between them felt scandalous. you knew, with a terrifying certainty, that you would have enjoyed it. you would have relished the way they looked at you, the way they fought for your attention, and the way they would have worshipped your body.

“jesus christ,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands, your fingers digging into your scalp. 

you hated it. 

you hated how easily your resolve had crumbled, how quickly your mind had drifted toward the delicious, dark possibilities of what could have been. you were supposed to be the one in control, the one who kept the boundaries intact, yet here you were, trembling in the dark because you had realized how much you wanted to be ruined by them.

unbeknownst to you, that very same night, you had deeply embedded yourself within caleb and zayne's heads. and their wounds had only gotten deeper. 

the silence of caleb’s bedroom was a lie. 

the air was thick with the sound of his own ragged, desperate breathing. he had practically stumbled through his front door, his mind a chaotic storm of your scent and the memory of your beautiful eyes. 

he felt like he was drowning, the pressure in his chest so immense that he felt he might actually suffocate if he didn't find some way to release the tension coiling in his gut. he didn't even bother turning on the lights, moving through the shadows of his room like a man possessed until his hand found the hidden stash in his bedside drawer.

his fingers curled around the soft fabric of your underwear, the one that he had stolen and kept in his pocket when you were doing laundry together. 

a silent, shameful theft that had become his most private ritual. 

he pulled them out, the fabric feeling like a holy relic in his trembling hands. he brought them to his face, burying his nose in the material and inhaling deeply. he breaths you in, and a pained sound escaped his throat, a sob that was half moan. it felt like he was trying to pull your very soul into his lungs just to stop the ache.

“i should've...” slowly, he got onto his sheets, the friction of the fabric against his skin feeling like nothing compared to the phantom sensation of your body. 

and he pressed the underwear against himself, pressing the stolen fabric against his hardening length. his movements were frantic and uncoordinated, driven by a desperation that bordered on madness. he was moaning, a series of broken, whimpering sounds that filled the dark room, each one a testament to the agony of his restraint. 

"fuck... y/n..." he choked out, the name a prayer and a curse all at once. he was haunted by the memory of how close he had been to you, how he had felt the heat radiating from your skin, and the crushing weight of his own cowardice. 

he should have reached out. his fingers tightened their grip around his dick, forcing the pre-cum out of the slit. 

he should have grabbed your waist and pulled you into him before you could even think of running. he should have been the man you challenged, not the boy who stood paralyzed by the fear of ruining you. tears began to sting his eyes, blurring his vision as he worked himself toward a release that felt more like a surrender than a pleasure. 

he felt pathetic, whining into the empty air of his bedroom, jerking himself off until his muscles ached. to keep from crying out too loudly, to keep from biting his lip until it bled like he had earlier, he reached for the silver dog tag hanging around his neck. he bit down on the metal, the cold, hard surface grounding him even as his mind drifted back to the curve of your hips and the defiant tilt of your chin.

every stroke was a reminder of what he had lost in that moment you turned away. the "should have's" looped in his mind like a mantra, and it only drove him to a fever pitch of frustration. 

he wanted to be the one to consume you, to prove he could handle the fire you had promised, but instead, he was left alone in the dark, clinging to a piece of your clothing and the ghost of your scent.

caleb’s hand was a blur of motion, his grip tight and demanding as he worked himself up. he pressed your underwear harder against the head of his cock, the soft lace and cotton teasing his most sensitive nerves.

he was lost in a fever dream of you, his mind conjuring the sensation of your soft thighs wrapping around his waist and the way your breath would feel hot against his neck. every slide of his palm, every desperate tug, was a frantic attempt to imagine you, to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't been a coward earlier.

“please... y/n... please,” he whimpered, the words dissolving into a guttural, choked sound as the first wave of climax began to crash over him. 

his body stiffened, his back arching off the sheets as he felt the sudden, violent surge of release. he came with a force that left him gasping, a heavy, pulsing eruption that felt like his very soul was being poured out of him. but instead of collapsing into the exhausted peace of a finished act, caleb found himself unable to stop. his hand, still slick and trembling, didn't fall away. he couldn't let it. 

oh what would have happened if he touched your breasts? how would it feel against his hands? 

“hmnnhg....” he began to stroke himself again. his dick was hypersensitive, but he didn't care about the slight ache or the overwhelming sensation. he was chasing the high, chasing the memory of your scent.

he kept going, his movements becoming slower, and even more desperate as he tried to force his body to find that peak again, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to drown out the reality of his loneliness.

he bit down on his dog tag again, the metal clinking against his teeth as he let out a long, low whine. 

would you unbutton yourself for him? so he could have better access inside? “ahh... would you have....?”

no matter how many times he came, it would never be enough to fill the void you had left behind. he would keep stroking, he would keep yearning, until his muscles gave out or the sun rose to expose his shame.

but caleb wasn't the only one doing this. there was also somebody else. 

zayne was a silent, simmering furnace of controlled agony. he didn't retreat to the comfort of his bed. instead, he found himself in the cold sanctuary of his bathroom, the moonlight filtering through the small window to cast long shadows across the tile. 

he stood with his back pressed hard against the cool wall, his head tilted back so that his throat was exposed, a vulnerable line of pale skin in the dim light. his eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth slightly ajar as he fought to regulate the heavy, uneven rhythm of his breathing.

his hand was wrapped tightly around his thick cock, his movements precise and rhythmic, yet fueled by a simmering resentment. he wasn't just seeking release, he was punishing himself. every slide of his palm was a silent accusation, a tell of the regret that was eating him alive. 

he should have been the one to bridge the gap. he should have ignored the logic and the caution that usually defined him, and instead, he should have reached out and claimed you. he should have pressed you against the wall and shut you up with a kiss so deep and so demanding that the very thought of running would have vanished from your mind.

the thought of your lips the way they had been parted, glistening and inviting, sent a jolt of desire through him. but as the thought deepened, it was tainted by a bitter, poisonous jealousy. 

you hadn't even kissed him. you let caleb kiss you. you let him taste you. the memory of caleb’s lips grazing your skin, of the way caleb had been the one to actually make contact, made zayne’s jaw tighten until it ached. 

it made zayne’s strokes grow faster, more aggressive. the jealousy drove him to push himself harder than he ever had before, like he was stroking to erase the image of caleb's lips on you, to replace it with the sensation of his own.

his breathing became a series of manly gasps that echoed off the tiled walls. he imagined his hands gripping your hips with a firm, unyielding strength, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left for doubt or denial. he imagined the taste of you, the way you would moan his name if he finally broke his restraint and took what he so desperately craved.

the friction was becoming almost painful, a searing heat that centered in his groin and radiated outward, but he welcomed the sting. it was a distraction from the mental image of you running away, leaving him standing there like a fool, a spectator to his own desire. he needed to feel you. 

as he neared the edge, his movements became frantic, his hand a blur of desperate motion. he let out a low, guttural groan, his head thumping back against the wall as the first wave of climax hit him. 

and then he stood there, slumped against the wall, chest heaving, with the only thought of what could have been if he was brave enough to get rid of that tank top off of you. 

for the rest of the night, they didn't stop thinking about you. 

but the universe has a cruel way of turning a moment of into a fading echo, and for the three of you, that moment was the beginning of the end. 

as the sun rose the next morning, neither caleb nor zayne knew that the feverish connection they had shared in the dark would be the last time your souls truly touched. the electricity that had crackled between you in that room didn't ignite a fire that burned forever. instead, it acted like a flash of lightning blinding, terrifying, and then gone, leaving only a lingering darkness in its wake.

the distance didn't happen all at once, though. it was a slow, agonizing erosion. myou were the one who initiated the retreat, driven by a cocktail of shame, confusion, and a desperate need to reclaim the pieces of yourself you felt you had lost that night. you began to build walls, brick by heavy brick. 

you stopped answering the late night texts, and you became a ghost at the friday gatherings where they were present, and eventually, you simply stopped showing up altogether. 

for caleb and zayne, the silence was a deafening weight. they both waited, hovering in the periphery of your life, hoping for a sign, a glance, a single word that would bridge the chasm you had created. they both felt the same hollow ache in their chests, but neither of them had the courage to chase a girl who was so clearly running away. 

they could only watch you vanish from a distance, both of them wondering if they had been too slow, too scared, or too much of the “little boys” you had mocked.

the inevitable arrived with graduation. the day should have been a celebration of beginnings, but for the three of you, it was a silent funeral for what might have been. as you walked across the stage, your eyes scanned the crowd, perhaps searching for a familiar face, but you found only strangers. there were no congratulatory texts, no flowers delivered to your door, no lingering glances exchanged in the hallway. 

the three of you, who had once been so intimately entwined by desire and tension, had become nothing more than names in a yearbook, memories tucked away in the dusty corners of your minds.

you vanished into your own pathway, throwing yourself into studies, work, and new cities, trying to drown out the memory of the two boys who had once looked at you like you were a god. you told yourself you had forgotten. you told yourself that the heat, the sweat, and the desperate, lonely nights they spent thinking of you were just a fever dream of youth.

it was all just a part of youth. 

Caleb knows your period cycle by heart, but he also can tell by the amount and texture of the discharge in your panties. Unable to bring himself to confess what truly stirred in him whenever he looks at you, he made do with the closest thing he could have.

He can’t contain himself anymore and licks the not yet fully dried discharge from the fabric. His breathing gets heavier as he simultaneously strokes his cock. He takes another of your dirty underwear from the basket & pushes his cock through the holes.

“Caleb, where are you? I forgot to take m– “ Caleb got up within a millisecond, dropping the panties, then throwing them behind the washing machine, his cock still hanging out of his joggers, fully erected & indulged with his precum and your discharge leftovers. “Pipsqueak- I-I was–“

He couldn’t grasp the shameful situation you’ve caught him in as he watches you standing in the doorframe, watching the spectacle happen. “What exactly were you doing with my panties?” you ask carefully to not embarrass him, but also not trying to show your interest too much.

“Pips, I am so sorry, it’s not what it looks like! I promise! I was just- please! Let me just clean this mess up first, I wi–“ “No need,” you interrupted his hasty explanations. Caleb is visibly nervous & embarrassed, thinking you’ll think of him as a monster now and cut ties.

your breath hitched, but your face didn’t change. he twirled the baton in his fingers - slowly, like a man spinning thought between his hands - before he drifted behind you. “your infiltration logs were brilliant, i’ll give you that,” you felt the baton before you saw it, its cool metal brushing lightly against the curve of your neck. it was just there, ghosting over your pulse. 

“who are you?” his voice was close now, just right behind you, coaxing—as if he already knew, and was waiting for you to admit it.

you tilted your chin to say, “you first.” 

he then gave a low hum, a smirk with an imperceptible huff. the baton dragged lightly down the side of your throat, trailing warmth in its absence.

“watch your mouth.”

arrogant bitch.

you cursed inside your head. the baton slid lower a breath along your collarbone, light enough to be mistaken for air. “you stole a signal that doesn’t exist on official channels,” he whispered, a lulling edge to the end. “you replied to something that no one should’ve been able to hear.”

the baton stilled, resting just at the base of your throat. you could feel its weight, you could feel his weight and the full press of his attention, sharp and absolute. then he leaned down that you could feel the surface of his lips ghostly brushing against below your ear. it made you want to shiver. “who sent you?”

you let the silence stretch, let it fester. his question lingered in the air between you, still clinging to the metal baton resting against your skin. then, you snickered. a sharp, cruel thing. like a blade dragged across velvet.

”you talk too much,” you turned your head as much as the restraints would let you, and your eyes met his over your shoulder, unapologetic “you wear all that black like it’s meant to scare me, but i’ve seen even more prettier things rot.”

you smiled faintly, before moving just a sudden shift, a sharp buck of your knees and a jerk of your shoulder - but enough to make the chair scrape against the floor, to make him step back out of instinct. you twisted hard, trying to unbalance yourself, maybe break the armrest, maybe dislodge something sharp.

but before you could even move again, his hand was on your shoulder. ”you're not being clever.” he leaned down. the baton tapped once, gently, against your temple. “you don't need to bury your fear under your sleeve, i've broken better masks than yours.”

and then, slowly, he stepped around you, back into view. and from his hip he drew the gun. polished, regulation-issue sidearm, matte black and loaded. he didn’t point it at you, nor did he try to threaten. he simply turned it over in his hands, admiring it and kneeling down, until you were face to face. 

he lifted the gun, deliberately, and tilted the barrel so it rested beneath your chin. the touch was featherlight. “do you know what makes me dangerous? it’s not this.” then came a gentle tap against your jaw with the muzzle. “it’s that i never need to use it.” he tilted his head, eyes dragging across your face like he was dissecting it. 

“because i know someone like you folds easily.”

there's a pause, long enough to stretch. long enough for you to feel the weight of it all, his breath, the barrel, the words that still clung to the air like smoke. but you refused to flinch. instead, with the slow calculated tension of someone who’s been waiting, you twist your wrists. the cuffs groan in response, before... 

a snap!

metal splits with a screeching crack, and before the sound even finishes ringing out, you instantly moved. only your hands can though, as your ankles are also trapped. your fingers wrap around his wrist and wrench the gun from his hand, trained.

he lets you, strangely. he lets you drag the muzzle up, up, up - until it’s basically pressing into your own lips, eyes locked with his like a dare. “you could put this in and pull the trigger, but i still won't talk.”

colonel caleb smirks, standing up without breaking eye contact. after a slight pause, he twists your wrist in an abrupt flicker to take the gun back between his fingers, and then, “sure, i will.” he says, right before forcing the gun into your mouth. 

this catches you off guard, making you squirm on your seat and grip on the armrests. you could feel how the barrel of his gun is pushing your mouth lpen just to adjust to its size. though it wasn’t fairly big, the absurdity of the gesture only seemed to humiliate you. 

you watch him stare down at you. why wasn't he saying anything? you watch how his eyes were slowly turning lazy, a ghost of an uncharacteristic smirk forming between his lips. 

the cold metal of the barrel stretched your lips wide, a blunt and intrusive presence that tasted of oil and gunpowder. you let out a muffled, indignant sound, your throat working as you tried to accommodate the intrusion. your hands gripped the armrests so hard your knuckles turned white, eyes wide and flashing with a mixture of shock and mounting fury. you expected the sting of a slap or the bite of a blade, but whatever this shit is far more humiliating.

is this typically how the colonel treats problems? 

caleb didn’t pull back. he stayed close between your thighs, gaze heavy and unblinking as he watched you struggle. he looked less like an interrogator and more like a man watching a beautiful, trapped bird flutter its wings in vain. “what happened to all that fire?” he asked, “you were so ready to bite, weren’t you?”

he leaned forward, his weight shifting as he used his free hand to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. with a slow movement, he pushed the muzzle deeper. it wasn’t a violent shove, but a commanding pressure that forced your jaw to unhinge just a fraction more. the metal slid past your teeth, only pressing against the sensitive flesh of your tongue. 

“there she is,” he murmured, a ghost of a laugh catching in his throat as he saw the way your eyes narrowed into a fierce glare from beneath the heavy lid of your lashes. “the little rebel. you look so much more... compliant... when you can't find the words to insult me.”

you tried to snarl, to let out a defiant sound, but it only came out as a choked hum against the steel. 

“hmmgh!” you glared at him from below, eyes burning with a silent promise of retribution, but the effect was lost on him. instead of intimidation, your fury seemed to feed his amusement. he watched the way your lips strained around the gun, the way your breath came in shallow, ragged puffs.

“don’t look at me like that,” caleb teased, the thumb of his free hand tracing the curve of your lower lip, just where the gun met your skin. “unless you want me to see just how much of this you can take before you start begging.” he gave the gun another slight, teasing nudge, testing the limits of your endurance. “yeah? you’d hate that, won’t you?”

absolutely.

you had reached your limit. the humiliation was a bitter taste, second only to the oil on the barrel, and your patience snapped like a frayed wire. in a sudden burst of movement, you lunged forward, hands flying up to grasp his wrist. you intended to shove him back, to reclaim the space he was so brazenly invading, but the colonel was obviously a man of iron and discipline. his grip on the sidearm only tightened, the metal clicking as his fingers braced against the frame. his brow furrowed, a stern frown settling over his handsome features.

”enough,” he warned, voice dropping into a low register that signaled the end of his patience. “stop this theater, or i’ll stop being gentle. don’t complain when i decide to pull the trigger right now."

the threat should have made you recoil. it should have sent a tremor of terror through your limbs. but as you stared up at him, the sharp edges of your glare began to melt. you didn’t see a killer; you saw a man. a man who was far too comfortable in his dominance, a man who relied on the fear of his shadow to keep people in line. 

if he wants to play the colonel, then you might as well play the siren.

your hands, which had been trying to push him, suddenly softened, as your fingers curled around the solid shaft of the gun. you leaned into the metal, eyes losing fury and replacing it with a hooded liddedness. then, with a deliberate grace, you began to suck on the barrel. 

you bobbed your head in a rhythmic, mesmerizing motion, lips sliding over the steel as you looked up at him through your lashes, your gaze a sultry challenge.

caleb, the man who had been so dominant, so utterly in control, froze. his eyes widened, the pupils dilating until the dark iris was nearly swallowed by black. his breath hitched, an audible intake of air that betrayed the sudden jolt to his system. he was speechless to say the least.

who’s in control now?

while you maintained the facade of the seductive captive, your mind was working a different kind of magic. beneath you, hidden by the shadows and the intensity of the moment, your ankles were in constant motion. you worked the metal of the locks, twisting your feet, feeling for the mechanism, trying to find the slight give in the heavy restraints. 

and you kept the rhythm steady, your eyes never leaving his, watching the way his composure began to fray at the edges. caleb was fighting a losing battle; you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard, trying to suppress the pained expression that was threatening to break through his mask of authority. the stoic colonel was drowning in the image of your lips on his weapon, and the hunger in his eyes was no longer just about information. 

but then...

“so...” he finally spoke, his voice a gravelly, strained shadow of its former self. “this is the real game you’re playing? you aren’t here for the signal... you’re here for this?” he challenged, his gaze burning into yours “are you so desperate for a taste of something real that you'd settle for my gun?”

abruptly, he pulled the gun free from your mouth. the sudden absence of the metal left your lips feeling cold and strangely empty. you watched, mesmerized, as a glistening thread of saliva stretched between your bottom lip and the muzzle, a silver line that shimmered in the dim light before finally snapping. he didn’t look at you as he set the sidearm aside on the table with a thud. 

“if you are so eager to satisfy that hunger,” caleb murmured and reached for the waist of his trousers, “then use the real thing, hm?” his fingers caught the tab of his lower zipper, and the sharp zzzzzzt of the metal teeth parting sounded like, to you, a threat. 

the sheer audacity of the gesture hit you like a physical blow. your composure, the carefully constructed mask of the seductive prisoner, shattered instantly. a soft, broken gasp escaped your lips, but no words followed. 

what the hell? you had expected him to fall for it, but not like this.

you wanted to look away, to reclaim your dignity, but you were like a moth drawn to a terrifying flame.

caleb let his buttons part, and with a triumphant smirk, he revealed himself. your breath immediately hitched, caught in the back of your throat as you stared. 

he was massive, an angry, twitching red, incredibly hard and straining with a life of its own, the veins standing out in sharp relief against his skin. there was already a bit of pre-cum leaking out the tip. says a lot about how long he’s been rock hard for you. the sight was overwhelming, making you feel small, vulnerable, and achingly aroused despite yourself. 

“go on,” caleb commanded, “suck it. that's an order.”

you swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making the movement feel clumsy. for a moment, the old defiance flared up again, a desperate attempt to reclaim the high ground. you tilted your head back, eyes narrowing into that sharp glare again as you looked up at him. “is this what a colonel does? is this how you conduct an interrogation?”

caleb takes a heavy step forward, closing the distance until he was looming over you. he reached down to catch your chin in a rough, uncompromising grip that forced your face upward. 

“show some respect.”

“i’m not... i’m not going to suck that.” you tried to pull your chin away, to turn your face in a final act of rebellion, but he was too fast.

“that’s okay,” a slow smile spread across his lips as he swiftly pulled your jaw back to his gaze again. “because i’m going to make you.”

you opened your mouth to launch a scathing rebuttal, to tell him exactly where he could shove his arrogance, but the words never made it past your lips. because with a powerful lunge, caleb suddenly guided himself forward, sliding his thick, pulsing cock straight into your mouth! the sheer size of him was overwhelming, stretching your lips to their absolute limit and forcing your jaw to unhinge as he buried himself deep. “hmmph!” an involuntary moan escaped you, muffled by the heavy weight of him.

caleb let out a ragged sigh of relief, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as he savored the tight, wet heat of your mouth. he didn’t move to pull out; instead he stayed there, his free hand reaching out to give your cheek a playful caress. “be a good girl,” he whispered, eyes narrowing. “and take it well.”

and then, just like that, the colonel started to thrust, thrust, and thrust—his hips moving in a cadence that drove him deep into your throat! his other hand braced against the back of your chair, knuckles white as he tried to anchor himself, using the furniture to leverage the force of his movements. while you were forced to bob your head in time with him, eyes watering as you struggled to accommodate the relentless pounding of his manhood.

meanwhile, caleb was a moaning mess above you, his voice a breathless thing. “that’s it... j-just like that.” he grunted, words stumbling over one another as he forced you to keep up with his punishing pace. “suck it dry... don’t you dare stop...” he was trying to command you even now, but the cracks in his countenance were widening with every thrust. 

so this is the great colonel. all that black leather and discipline, and all it takes is a little bit of heat to turn him into a mess. if he wanted to lose control, you were more than happy to facilitate it.

instead of just taking him, you decided to take him apart. you squeezed your lips tightly around the length and began to twirl your tongue around the rim in a slow, agonizingly deliberate circle. you immediately felt the way his entire body jolted at that.

“ngh...!” caleb let out a loud, guttural grunt, his hips slamming into your mouth now with a desperate, uncoordinated force. he leaned into you so heavily that you had to tilt your head back at a sharp angle just to keep from being crushed, your neck straining under the weight of his need. 

he was so damn loud—the man who prided himself on silence and discipline was now making sounds that were almost animalistic.

“god... you’re such a... a good girl.” he gasped, the compliment sounding more like a plea than a praise. ”so good... keep doing that... please...”

his hand, which had been caressing your cheek, suddenly migrated upward to tangle his fingers deep into your hair. he formed a tight fist, his knuckles grazing your scalp as he anchored your head in place, forcing you to stay exactly where he wanted you. his eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that wrinkles formed at the corners.

he felt so good from your blowjob that he had to bite his lower lip hard, teeth sinking into the flesh while a series of rough groans tore from his throat. 

seeing him so close to the edge, feeling the way his fingers trembled in your hair, you decided to drive the final nail into the coffin of his composure. as you continued to work your mouth over him, you reached up, hands sliding around the base of his thick shaft. you began to stroke him, palms slick with your own saliva.

and because of that, caleb fucking chokes on his own cries, loud enough to echo in the chamber. he was panting heavily now, chest heaving as he looked down at you with eyes that were glazed and unfocused. “you... you’re a little devil,” he trembled, leaning down further. “a natural... a goddamn natural at this...” 

then, the dam finally broke. 

with a shuddering jolt that racked his entire frame, caleb erupted. 

he surged forward, his hips slamming against your face as he spilled himself into your mouth in thick, hot, unending bursts. the sheer volume of it caught you completely off guard! instinctively, your body recoiled, head jerking back to escape the overwhelming sensation, but he was still coming, still squirting and shooting toward you. 

you felt the hot liquid splashing against your cheeks, coating your lips, and even spraying across your chest. there were too much!

caleb slumped forward, his hands slamming onto the back of your chair to steady himself. he was gasping for air, his head hanging low as he fought to reclaim his breath. 

you slowly looked up at him, eyes wide and blinking through the stray droplets on your lashes. you didn’t want him to know that your mouth was full because of the heavy, salty taste of him coating your tongue. but you wanted to say something to mock him, to reclaim your victory—you couldn’t you were too busy trying to manage the sheer amount of him currently occupying your mouth, cheeks bulging slightly, hesitant to let it go.

you watch caleb finally lifting his head, clearing his eyes to regain even a sliver of balance as he stared at you.

“swallow it.”

instantly, you shook your head. you weren’t going to make it that easy for him, especially not after he’d just made such a spectacle of himself.

caleb’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint returning to his gaze. he leaned down, his presence once again overwhelming. “pick a struggle. either you swallow it right now, or i’m going to make you turn around.”

you didn’t have time to process the sheer audacity of his command before the instinct to obey or perhaps the instinct to avoid the even more humiliating alternative took over. you tilted your head back and swallowed, the thick, warm liquid sliding down your throat in one heavy gulp. 

ugh.

you nearly coughed, eyes watering as you fought to keep the rest of him down.

“satisfied now?” you glared at him once more. 

and the colonel could only give you a dog-like smile, zipping his pants back into place while he turned his broad back on you. 

“more than satisfied.” 

he retrieves the gun from where he’d place it down earlier, facing you again.

“until next time?”

Though the comments only stay up for a few moments before they’re scrubbed clean, with the posters receiving warnings from the faculty about spreading harmful rumors, they still send you spiraling. Not just for Caleb who still doesn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation despite this shitstorm, but for yourself too. People are asking questions about you, their curiosity to know more about this older sister that has fractured the image of the DAA golden boy is dangerous. If any of this leaks beyond the academy and reaches your coworkers at the Hunter’s Association, your job could be in jeopardy. The thought alone makes your blood run cold.

Caleb tries to tell you that none of it means anything and that it will all blow over soon. It fucking drives you up the wall. How can he still downplay the severity of the situation? People know now! Your lives could be ruined forever! What will it take for him to finally get it?

But to your shock and utter disbelief, he’s mostly right.

After the initial flood, the comments taper off. The deletions and warnings do their job. What remains are only occasional stray remarks here and there, quickly dealt with. Caleb has no shortage of admirers, and they quickly take over the narrative, painting him as the victim of haters who can’t compete with him, can’t have him, or are simply jealous of him.

Soon, the tide shifts back in his favor and his fans fawn over him even more for oh-so-bravely weathering this hate campaign. 

Caleb relays all of it to you in the hopes of convincing you that it’s all over now, but you know better. You know these things never truly die. You know people are still talking about you, just amongst themselves and behind his back.  But he doesn’t care. If anything it’s as if the idea of it spurs him on. He doesn’t shy away from mentioning you. He talks about you even more openly now, daring anyone to question him. Nobody does. And his college life carries on as usual. 

But you can’t do the same. 

Those comments were only a taste of what your life could become if your secret is found out. You would spend the rest of your days plagued by judgment and suspicion, even if no one ever learns the full truth—that seed of doubt is like a weed, once its roots have dug in, it’s impossible to get rid of.

If this ever breaches the confines of campus gossip and gets into the real world, would you be able to hold on to the few friends you've managed to make for the first time in your life? If Tara or Simone hear about this, what will they think of you? Will they understand why you’ve had to do it or will they absolve themselves of you? Will you be able to find a partner? How would anyone tolerate such rumors about their lover? Especially when all they need is to take one look at how Caleb behaves around you for all their suspicions to be confirmed? 

Yet despite it all, you know you can’t solely blame Caleb for this. You know this mess is as much your fault as it is his. You should have told him no that night. You should have ended the call as soon as you realized where he was and what he was doing. But you were hurt, your pride was wounded, and some ugly, starved part of you had wanted to be wanted so badly, you were blinded by it.

But it’s not just that. You shouldn’t have started any of this in the first place. The problem is, you can’t even pinpoint when it truly began. Agreeing to jerk him off that first time had pushed the floodgates wide open, but the water had been rising long before then. He had told you as much. Had it started in your teenage years? In childhood? Had the current always been there inside him, waiting to sweep you under? Or had you been the one slowly feeding it, drop by drop, until it could no longer be contained?

Your thoughts rise and churn, turning more tumultuous by the day, and yet Caleb isn’t the slightest bit phased. Once the worst of the storm had passed and he was still standing tall, he stopped trying to calm you. His tone shifted from flippant reassurance to reckless excitement, maybe even triumph.

“See, jie?” He says happily, pulling you into his arms with a bright smile. “Even if they know about us, nothing bad will happen. We can be together. No one will stop us. I’ll make sure of it.”

Your stomach drops. Nothing bad will happen? Is being ostracised as incesteous freaks nothing bad? Is the chance of losing any existing or potential meaningful relationship outside of each other nothing bad? Is spending the rest of your life whispered about, judged, and isolated nothing bad?

“I don’t want that, Caleb.” You answer in frustration. This is not what he’s supposed to learn from this. He’s meant to realise how wrong this is and snap out of it, not grow bolder in his delusions. “I don’t want to live a taboo life. I don’t want people smiling to my face and cursing me behind my back.”

“So this is what it’s really about, huh?” His tone turns accusatory. “It’s not about me or what’s best for me. You’re just ashamed of what being with me will bring.”

And so what? Are you not allowed to not want to be a pariah? Is that such a terrible thing to him? Must you throw everyone and everything else away to make him happy? You would lay your life down for him in heartbeat, but to be forced to live in ridicule and isolation… that may be too much for you to bear, even for your precious didi. 

“It’s about both of us.” You snap back defensively, “You’re fine with this now, smug even, but how long are you going to tolerate being ridiculed? Being abhorred? Having everyone look at you like you’re some disgusting freak?”

“Forever.” He says without hesitation, his gaze burning into yours. “As long as I get to have you.”

Guilt wells up in you at his simple answer. You hate yourself once for making your little brother this way, and twice for then not being strong enough, or selfless enough, to sacrifice everything for him the way he wishes you would. 

But this is for him. He may think he wants this now, but years down the line he will come to resent you. He will see everything he’s lost—all the love, relationships, and community he could have had, and he will hate you for it. And then neither of you will have anyone else to turn to. Your anger and bitterness will build and build until you—

You rub your forehead, a pounding headache throbbing behind your eyes. “I don’t have time for this. I need to get ready for my work social.”

“Then let me come with you.” He springs up quickly. 

“No.” You hiss at him with all the ferocity of a cornered kitten. “This is my work, Caleb. I can’t let you fuck it up.”

He regards you with offense, his jaw tightening. “You think I did it on purpose? I wouldn’t have even been there if you hadn’t forced me to do it under the threat of leaving me!”

“Oh, cry me a river, Caleb.” You retort, your frustration and guilt making you more unkind than you’d ever wish to be to your baby brother. “You could have controlled yourself until the next day. But that’s impossible for you, isn’t it? Golden boy Caleb can’t go a single day without getting off to his big sister.”

He barks out a bitter laugh. “I controlled myself my entire life living around you while you were flaunting your tits and ass in my face.”

You flush hot, the emotions burning through you so fierce they all meld together, kicking your instincts into overdrive. Here he goes giving voice to your worst fears again—It's all your fault. You did this. You've broken him and now you can't fix him. Dammit, why won't he let you fix him?

“Well, if you were fucking normal, you wouldn’t have been looking!” You lash out at him in your frenzy. 

“Normal?” He breathes out with a strained smile. “What am I then, jiejie? A freak? A disgusting pervert? Is that how you see me?”

The fire in you wanes and almost gutters out. “No, baby, you know that’s not what I meant—”

“But the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, jie.”

You flinch back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“If I’m a freak, what does that make you, jiejie?” His smile turns cruel. 

“Don't.” You warn shakily. You can't handle this right now, but Caleb doesn’t stop pushing. 

“You’re the one who raised me.” He says it like he’s delivering your sentence. 

“Stop it, Caleb.” You bite out, voice rising with panic.

“What kind of sister lets her brother sneak into her bed at night?” 

“You were having nightmares.” You justify yourself. What’s wrong with providing your baby brother comfort? Maybe it was more intimate than what most other siblings would have done but how could you have been expected to turn away his scared little face? 

“What kind of sister helps her brother shower into his teens?” He counters, and your breath hitches. Your defense sounds more tenuous this time. “You refused to clean up after basketball unless I helped you!”

He cocks his head to the side, and his teeth glint like fangs within his gleeful smile. “What kind of sister lets her baby brother suck on her tits?”

You feel yourself choke. The memories come flooding back unbidden. You had almost forgotten all about that, blocked those memories out of your psyche for the sake of your sanity, and hoped the years had stolen his away too. But the world isn't so kind, and neither is Caleb. 

You… you had both been so young. You weren’t sure what you were doing. You didn’t know the first thing about caring for yourself, let alone a baby brother. All you knew was that Caleb was prone to anxious fits. He would cry and cry sometimes over the littlest things. You knew from a young age that the only way to shut him up was to give him something to occupy his mouth. You’d witnessed it in the way he would suck at his own thumb, soothing himself despite your grandma's discouragement. He had been much too old for that even back then, but he never outgrew it, perhaps because as a baby he never got to experience the comforts that only a mother can provide, and he had to make do with what he's got—Josephine who was too old to give him what he needs and you who were too young to know what that was. 

For a long while he had contended himself with his self-soothing, but as he grew older and his world filled up with more than just you and your grandma, there were more things to stress him out—fear of failing a class, or losing a game, or someone else stealing your attention from him… 

And suddenly he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. His thumb was a poor substitute for the nurture he needed. In his frustration, he started biting down on the digit, and pulling at his nail, trying in vain to calm himself down. When you had seen that first drop of blood, you’d panicked, replacing his finger with yours, and braced for the pain. But it never came. He didn’t bite you. Instead he sucked on your finger gently, and slowly settled down. 

You should have stopped there but the way he had looked at you then, like you were the solace he had been seeking, had you doing it again and again. For a long time, it worked like a charm, though you had to do it behind your grandma’s back after she scolded you harshly the first and only time she caught you doing it.

Until you started middle school and had to leave him behind to go to a different school. He fell into one of his fits again, worse than any you’d ever seen, and neither your fingers, nor endless promises of walking him to school, picking him up, and spending every after-school hour and weekend with him could calm him down.

Caleb had cried so hard, his face had turned red and his tears had gone dry, yet he still wouldn’t stop. You held him in your arms and rocked him for what felt like hours with no relief. His tears and saliva had soaked completely through your shirt when his listless mouth found one of your nipples through the fabric and latched on. Suddenly, he had quieted down, distracted with his desperate, hungry suckling as if he’d be able to pull something out of you if he tried hard enough. You would have said something—you should have said something—but he had cried so much, he had worn both of you out and you were just happy that you’ve finally managed to make it better. So you just held him close, stroking his hair and whispering that everything would be okay until he finally went to sleep.

For some time after that, it became your well-kept secret, your last ditch solution to calm him down, the only thing that could soothe his anxious fits when all else failed—though he had tried many times to get under your shirt at the smallest inconvenience or upset. 

Deep down, you always knew it was wrong. That's why you made sure your grandma never found out about it. The shame had burned hot in your chest even then. But it worked so well! He always became so calm, sweet, and obedient in your arms whenever you allowed it to him. He listened to you. He went to school. He did his homework. He attended his practice. It was like your secret weapon, and you used it more often than you’d like to admit. 

You only stopped when one day he had sighed into your chest and said something unthinkable. 

“You knew what you were doing.” Caleb scoffs, “You made me this way… mommy.”

Your hand flies up before your mind can catch up. Your palm meets his cheek with a loud smack, his head snapping to the side from the force. For half a second, he stands there frozen, head tilted to the side, a red mark blooming on his cheek. Then his head whips back around and he surges forward, kissing you hungrily, almost violently, as if he’s avenging himself. 

You push at his chest, trying to shove him away, but he’s stronger than you and it takes everything in you to get him off. His knees hit the bed as you push him back, and he topples onto it. You try to step back, but before you can escape, his arms fly out and grab onto you, pulling you on top of him on the bed.

“I am exactly how you raised me, jiejie.” He tells you miserably, “Why are you running away from me?”

You slap a hand over his mouth to silence him, but he opens his mouth and kisses your palm filthily. “Stop it.” You demand, almost pleadingly, but he ignores you, grabbing your hips and pushing you down against his hard cock. 

“This is what you’ve always done, Caleb.” You hiss down at him bitterly, “You never let me say no. You keep pushing and pushing until I give you what you want.”

He moans against your palm, as if proud of his doing, and his hips roll up again, rubbing his hard cock against you shamelessly.

“Are you listening to me?” You ask desperately, begging to be heard, but he just stares up at you with heavy, needy eyes—wanting, wanting so much from you, always wanting. 

“Fucking listen to me!” You snap, anger and despair taking hold of you, awakening your darkest thoughts and giving them grotesque shape. They puppeteer your body, making you surge forward and wrap your hands around his throat. 

For one terrible second you feel relief as he finally stops, his eyes flying wide open in shock. You’ve done it. He’s finally looking at you. He’s finally listening to you. 

“Jiejie?” He chokes out, and the vibrations of his voice, of the air struggling to pass through his windpipe, shock some sense into you. You blink and the haze of fury melts away to reveal your baby brother’s face, and what you see there—shock, worry, confusion, fear—smothers every tendril of rage licking up your body, freeing you from its murderous blaze.

You fling yourself away from him and stumble to your feet with a horrified gasp, your hand burning where it had just gripped his neck.

“I need to go.” You wheeze, your entire body shaking. But Caleb stops you, his fingers locking around your wrist as he too rises, chasing after you like a moth to flame. “Take me with you.”

“I already told you no.” You tell him raggedly. Please, please, get away from me. Just this once. 

“I won’t make a scene, I promise.” He begs pitifully, still seeking comfort in you despite the unforgivable pain you've inflicted. “Please… I can’t be alone right now. Not after this…” His hand drifts up to touch the sides of his neck where your fingers had been moments ago. “I’m scared, jie.”

You heave in a choked cry and reach out to cradle his face in your hands, your knees buckling when he flinches ever so slightly. 

“I would never hurt you.” You vow, guilt strangling you the same way you'd strangled your baby brother. “You know that. You just… frustrate me so much.”

He shakes his head. “You want to kill me.” 

“No!” The word bursts out of you in scream as if it could banish the troubling thoughts away. “No, never!”

“You keep pushing me away.” He insists, tears gathering in his eyes like storm clouds breaking the skyline. “That’s killing me.”

“Baby, stop it…” You plead, drowning under his tears. 

“If you leave me, I’ll die.” He tells you, his voice surprisingly steady in its condemnation. “You know that, jie. You know I can’t live without you.”

“You’re being so unfair.” You lament. All you want is a good, well-adjusted, happy life for him—a normal life where he has a lover and a sister that aren't the same damned woman.

“I don’t care about fair. I only care about you.” He says as if you ever needed to hear that. You knew it all too well, that Caleb will continue to fight that perfect future you dream for him every step of the way. 

_______________________

To your surprise, Caleb is on his best behaviour at the gathering. His tears have dried, leaving his pretty eyes shiny and full of stars, and his broken voice has taken on that boyish, inviting lilt that disarms everyone who meets him. 

He’s dressed up in one of his nicer shirts and a pair of tailored dress pants. They’re nothing fancy but you’re not used to seeing him in something other than his sweats and tanks or cargo pants with a million pockets and three jackets on, and you don’t like the way this unfamiliar outfit shows off his physique. The shirt emphasizes his broad shoulders and muscled arms and the fitted pants draw attention to his thick thighs and round bottom. Even his hair is slicked back neatly, revealing his forehead and thick eyebrows, and you wonder what the purpose of the new look is. 

To you, he still looks like your baby brother putting on a grownup’s skin, but to others he must look like an alluring young man they could sink their teeth into, because they gravitate towards him like flies. Most of them content themselves with stealing glances they think go unnoticed, however some braver ones—or perhaps more idiotic—gawk openly, while a brazen few come up to speak to him directly. 

Your coworkers take to him faster than they ever did to you, and you swallow back the complicated emotions that bubble in you in response, and that you refuse to name.

For most of the night, he stays close by your side, chatting up your coworkers who come up under the pretense of wanting to talk to you, only to end up directing most of their attention toward him. And when they learn he’s your brother, they coo and fawn, praising you for raising such a charming, well-mannered young man. 

Caleb keeps one arm wrapped securely around you the whole time, his smile growing wider with each compliment, and his chest puffed out as if he’d achieved some secret goal he’d set out to prove. 

“I like playing brother and sister more than boyfriend and girlfriend. But I think I’d like it more if I could kiss you right now.” He whispers in your ear the moment the two of you are left alone. “They wouldn’t mind right? Your friends all love me.”

“That’s not funny, you little shit. You promised you’d behave.” You scowl at him. So that’s why he’s dressed like this and acting this way. He thinks your friends liking him as your brother will make them accept him any more as your lover. It’s almost endearing how delusional he can be sometimes, his way of thinking so child-like it makes you wish you could protect him from his own misguided beliefs. 

“Besides,” You say with a sickening sense of deja-vu. ”They’re not my friends.” 

“Really, what about Tara? I thought she was your best friend.” He pushes back, recalling all the times you’d told him about her. “She loves me too. You saw how she invited me to come along on the camping trip next month.” 

“I’m going to text her tomorrow and tell her you can’t make it after all.” You glare at him.  Really, what was he thinking accepting her invitation? That he’ll impress them all so much, they’d overlook the fact that he’s your brother? That he’d be so amazing, they’d congratulate you for being with him? 

“But I want to come.” He whines. 

“And I said no.” 

“But jiejie—”

“I’m going to get a drink.” You snap at him, already turning away. He immediately starts to follow, but you put a hand out to stop him, pointing to the floor where he is standing. “Stay here.” 

“Jie—” He pouts but you don’t wait to listen to his whining. 

It’s probably not the smartest idea to leave him unsupervised and surrounded by a bunch of your coworkers, but you desperately need that drink if you’re going to survive the rest of the night and the whirlwind of emotions that bringing him into the your workplace have conjured up… and it’s not just because you’re afraid of what he might do and how he could cost you everything if he so wishes, but also because he’s once again invaded the one place that belonged only to you. 

Your little brother has never really been good at letting you have anything that didn’t also involve him. 

“So that’s your little brother, huh?” Simone’s voice makes you jump out of your skin as you’re pouring yourself a drink, and you almost drop the cup to the ground.

“Yeah.” You mutter, a little unfriendly, not really in the mood to discuss him when you’ve finally managed to get a couple of minutes away from him.

As if she can hear your thoughts, she laughs. “He’s… clingy, isn’t he?” 

You snort in response. “What gave it away?”

“Well, for one, he’s currently staring at you like a dog waiting for its owner outside of a shop.” 

You throw a glance back towards him, and his sad face perks up for a second as your eyes meet before you force yourself to look away. 

“He seems like a good kid.” She continues, and you feel a pang of guilt in your chest as you almost contradict her. Instead, you force out a small smile. “Yeah… he is.”

“Is everything okay?” She frowns, finally noticing your gloomy mood, and you kick yourself internally for failing to control your emotions.

“Yeah. He’s just a bit of a handful.” You wave her concern away. What can you even tell her? That he was a good kid up until he started demanding you give your body to him? That you don’t know how to control him anymore? That… your own little brother scares you a little bit?  

Instead, you plaster on a bright, fake smile. “But you’re not wrong. He’s like an overexcited puppy—very needy and high maintenance. He wouldn’t even let me come today if he didn’t tag along.” You spin it in a humorous way and she laughs again. “If he’s that needy, why don’t you get him a girlfriend so he’ll bother her instead?”

“Believe me, I’ve been trying.” You mutter, and pretend it’s the drink you’re sipping on that is the cause of your sour expression. 

“Is he into jiejies?” Her question catches you off-guard, and you choke on your drink, the alcohol burning your nose as you cough. “What?”

“Does he like older women?” She repeats with a knowing smile that almost brings you to your knees. But then she continues, “Because if so, I think Christine is trying to gobble him up.”

You snap your head to where she is looking to see your brother cornered by Christine, one of the Captains at the association, her hand gripping his bicep and her tits practically shoved against his chest. 

“Better go save him before the poor boy has a heart attack.” 

You barely hear Simone’s amused voice over the ringing in your ear. You discard your glass, uncaring that it topples over and ruins the tablecloth, and march quickly towards them. 

“Didi, there you are!” You exclaim, tiptoeing up on your already high-heeled feet to wrap an arm around his shoulders, pulling him down in an exaggerated sisterly manner. “What are you up to, you little rascal?” 

“Jie…” He whines as you mess up his hair. “Stop.”

But he’s smiling down at you, happy to have your attention again. You stare up into his bright eyes, his height still taller than you even with the uncomfortable hunch you’ve forced him into, and suddenly you’re pushing his hair down, fixing it back into the boyish banged look he has always sported, your anxiety only settling when he’s all patched up and back to being your baby brother. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes you jump, but Caleb’s own hands around your waist stop you from pulling away from him completely. That’s fine. You’ll let him have this for now. You have more important things to focus on, like pinning the older woman down with a fake smile.  

“Oh, hey Christine. I see you’ve met my baby brother.” You tell her pointedly, hoping she'd get the hint to back off.

"Oh, he’s your brother? I didn’t know.” She lies horribly, and you fight to keep the ugly scowl off your face. Bullshit. Caleb has been proudly proclaiming to anyone and everyone who will hear him that he’s your little brother. No way she didn’t know. 

“Gosh, you’re a pair of good looking siblings, aren’t you?" She chirps, and you don’t miss the annoyance in her eyes at you interrupting them, before her gaze flits back towards Caleb, sliding up and down your brother’s figure brazenly. And god how you wish you could throw your body over him to hide him away from her lecherous eyes. "Bet you're as popular with the ladies as she is with the guys."

You feel Caleb tense against you. 

"Is that so?" He turns towards you, still smiling but you can see the start of a fire in his eyes. "Are men bothering you, jiejie?" 

And suddenly you feel like you’re the one being warned.

"She's just flattering me." You wave your hand in the air, trying to dispel the tension you feel building up. But Caleb isn't satisfied with that answer, and Christine keeps running her mouth, "Nonsense. She's such a heartbreaker, your big sister. She’s got so many admirers but they’re all too scared to approach her because they know she’d coldly brush them off.”

What the hell is she talking about? Men don't approach you because you're not the type of girl they like. You’re not fun and bubbly like Tara, and you’re not cool and charismatic like Simone. You're not sweet or nurturing either—it’s hard to be when all your supply of those goes towards caring for your full grown brother. You just go to work and focus on your job and get on with your day. The only men who ever talk to you are Xavier and Nero, and that’s probably because they have to.

“Now I know why. She is just too busy spoiling her little brother.” The woman laughs obnoxiously, and you feel queasy by how close her little joke is to the truth. “Maybe I can keep her brother busy so she can finally have time to date."

"She's not interested." Caleb says curtly, no longer smiling. "She needs to focus on her work. And I also need to focus on my studies. I'm still in college, you know."

Despite her cluelessness, whether real or feigned, Christine gets a little thrown off by the sudden change in Caleb’s demeanor—sudden for her anyway. But it seems she doesn’t know when to quit. 

"But you're an adult, right?" She asks shamelessly, "Besides, she already seems to have her eyes on someone."

"Who?" Caleb barks, all pretense gone now, and you feel a dragging sensation in the pit of your stomach that you know isn’t just your nerves. 

Christine’s smile turns anxious, and you know she must feel it too. But she has no fucking survical instincts because she keeps going. "Xavier, her mission partner. They're always together, talking secretly about god knows what. The sparks are definitely flying."

"We're just discussing mission details. It’s classified intel." You interject, but the stupid woman rolls her eyes and winks at you. "Suuuure. Missions. Is that why you were grinding against him at the club the other day? Did his—ah!”

Her eyes widen as you feel the force of Caleb’s Evol crushing down on all of you. 

“We have to go!” You squeak, grabbing his arm and frantically attempting to pull him away, every step heavy as if you’re wearing boots of lead. “Caleb, stop it!” 

But he’s not looking at you. Instead, his eyes are darting all around, searching the crowd for a face he doesn’t know. “Which one is he?” 

“Don’t.” You plead with him, gripping his arm tightly. “Caleb, this is my workplace. You’re making a scene.”

"Oh, I haven’t even started yet, jiejie." He spits out and finally looks at you, his gaze dark and spiteful. "You wanted me to date so you can be free to fuck him, huh?"

You gasp, panic flooding your veins as a few curious heads turn in your direction. You quickly press your palm to his chest, catching him off guard and forcing him to resonate with you, allowing you to finally move him. You yank him toward the nearest exit, muttering hasty excuses to your concerned friends about your brother not feeling well and you needing to take him home right away.

The second you’re out of the main hall and away from prying eyes, Caleb pushes you against the wall, his breathing comes out fast and heavy as his large frame cages you, like a rabid animal waiting to pounce. 

“Did you fuck him?” He demands, the rage in his voice making you tremble, and you shake your head vehemently. “No.”

But your denial doesn’t calm him down. 

“Let him eat your pussy?” He asks and you flush. “No!”

“Sucked his dick?”

“Caleb, no!” You whisper furiously, mortified at his wild imagination that is getting him all worked up. “I did none of that!”

“Just grinded against him in front of all your coworkers?” He spits out and you cower, suddenly not feeling so righteous anymore. 

“We were just dancing.” You insist weakly, the fear of being caught by one of your coworkers with your little brother in this compromising position, and the mortification at having been caught by Caleb for your drunken fuckup twisting together so tightly around your throat until it’s hard to breathe. “She‘s exaggerating.”

“So you were dancing with him.” He latches onto the wrong part, his eyes narrowing down at you. “Why?”

“It was a work outing, just like this one. Everyone was dancing.” You try to justify yourself but Caleb will not let this grave sin against him slide. “You could have danced with Tara or Simone. Why did it have to be him?”

“I don’t know!” You lie, all the humiliation from that night flooding back in. “I was drunk, okay?”

“You were drunk?!” Caleb barks, incredulous. “You know how useless you get when you drink. Why the hell would you do that around strange men? What if you were so out of it, you didn’t even know what he was doing to you? What if he took you home and fucked you while you were passed out?”

“Is that why you used to try so hard to get me drunk?” You bristle, refusing to let Caleb chastise you. He has done so much worse than drink and rub against a coworker. He has forced you to defile him again and again, and now he’s mad at you for the one thing you shouldn’t feel guilty for. 

“And what if I did?” He sneers, not even denying it. 

You falter, shocked at how brazen he’s being. ​​”That’s disgusting, Caleb.” 

“That’s what I am, isn’t it. Disgusting.” His lips curl around the words bitterly, “But this isn’t about me. This is about you getting wasted and rubbing your ass against some other man in front of everyone.”

“I told you I didn’t do that!” You lie through your teeth. This is about him. Everything in your life has always been about him, even your stupid decision to dance with Xavier. 

A strange expression suddenly takes over your brother’s usually sunny face, and you have nowhere to run as he leans down, trapped as you are between him and the wall, unable to escape from the darkness in his eyes and the unsettling smile on his lips. “You think he’ll still want you if he finds out what you’ve been doing to me?”

You gape at him. What is he saying? Doing to him? Everything that has happened between you was to try to contain his desires. You didn’t want any of this. He made you. But who would people believe? The precious, little brother who loves and trusts his jiejie so much or the reclusive, unfriendly older sister who never had a man in her life and barely has any friends? You had to have been the one to latch onto him, to blind him so he can only see you, to sink your claws into his heart so it bleeds for you, to break his bones so he could only crawl into your arms. 

“Are you threatening me, Caleb?” Your ask, your voice wavering. “How could you?” 

“You’ve left me no other choice.” He says it like it hurts him more than it hurts you. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You hiss at him, feeling your heart stutter at his betrayal, and you know it would rather stop all together than believe he’d ever do such a thing to you. “After everything I did for you. I let this go on for so long because I didn’t want to hurt you, and now you’re threatening me?”

“Liar.” He snarls, “You’re hurting me! You don’t give a shit about me!”

“What are you talking about? I do!” You whisper harshly, “I care about you so fucking much!”

“You left me!” He cries, “You abandoned me again and again, and every single time I was the one who had to run after you. I was the one who followed you to your college apartment, and I was the one who followed you here, even though it takes me hours to get to you and back, yet I still do it every single week just so I can see you!”

“I didn’t ask you to!” 

“I know! Because you don’t care about me!” He says, eyes wild now as if he actually believes his own words. And you don’t know if you should be hurt for him because you’ve somehow made him doubt your love towards him or hurt for yourself because he refuses to see all the things you’ve done for him. “You never even tried to contact me after our fight. Would you have never talked to me again if I didn’t reach out first or if I refused to get into the DAA?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You scoff, “You’re my brother.” 

“And you sent me away!”

“So you could pursue your dream!” 

“My dream means nothing without you.”

“Don’t say that.” You protest. It can’t all hinge on you and this forbidden love. There has to be hope still. You need to believe it, otherwise you don't know what you'd do with yourself… or him. 

“Do you love me?” He asks and your reply is instantaneous. “Of course, I do.”

“Then how could you bear to force me to be with someone else?” 

“Because ours is a different kind of love.”

“Then I don't want any other.” He says with conviction, “You can be everything for me. You are everything for me.”

You shake your head. “Caleb, please. I am your sister. I can only ever be your sister. You need to get that through your head.” 

He scoffs and looks away for a moment, the pain clear on his face even with his head turned away.

“Baby—”

His eyes snap back to yours, and you take in a shuddering breath at the vulnerability you suddenly see in them. “Do you find him attractive?”

You hesitate for half a second too long. “I—”

His face twists in anger. “Did you let him touch you?”

“I told you, I didn’t.” You lie again. 

“How can I trust that?”

“Caleb, me and Xavier aren’t even together.” You try to convince him but he snorts derisively. 

“And we’re apparently not together but you’re letting me touch you.” He mocks, and as if to make his point, a hand comes up to palm your breast as he presses his body flush against yours. “If you’re letting your own brother touch you like this, why wouldn’t you let a man you find attractive do it too?”

“That’s low, Caleb.” You growl and try to push him away but he doesn’t budge. He’s using your over-indulgence of him against you, treating you as if you’re just giving it away to anyone, and not like it’s taken everything in you to give him what you thought he needed because you love him that much. 

“Do you love him? Is that it? You found someone better and now you're throwing me away?” He interrogates you, and the fury and pain you see in his eyes almost pull you under. “What do you like about him? Is it the way he looks? The way he treats you? His voice? His profession? I can change. I can be anything you want me to be, jie.”

But you can never not be my brother. 

“I don't love him.” You insist, pained at seeing the way your little brother is so willing to mangle himself in order to try to fit into a mould he thinks you might want. “We barely even talk, Caleb.”

“That’s not what that woman said.” He mutters accusingly and you frown. “It’s what I’m telling you.” 

But like anything you’ve tried to tell him lately, it goes into one ear and out the other. 

“I won’t let you make a fool out of me, jie.” He shakes his head, a mirthless smile twisting his lips. “I only hooked up with that woman because you forced me to. That doesn’t mean I’ll let you fuck around with other men.” He spits out, his gaze hardening. “If I find out you’ve been with him, I’ll—”

You feel it before he even finishes his sentence… the harsh, oppressive weight of his Evol pressing all around you, making your spine creak, your muscle ache, and the air in your lungs feel like water.

“I haven’t! I won't!” You proclaim frantically, not trying to defend your right to a hypothetical date you know would only end in disaster.

“Prove it.”

You look up at him helplessly, and croak out, “How?”

__________________________

“Caleb, please, I promise, nothing happened.” You plead, laid back on your bed with nothing but your underwear on. The same underwear he’s now tugging down your legs. 

“I don't believe you.” He grunts, peeling them off completely. The moment they’re off, you instinctively press your legs together, a rush of embarrassment flooding through you. But Caleb’s hands grip onto your thighs and shove them apart. “Let me see, jie.” 

You bite your lip and look away, squeezing your eyes shut as your heart hammers wildly in your chest. For a long moment, he’s completely silent. All you can hear is his heavy, uneven breathing as he stares down at your exposed pussy. You can feel tears stinging your eyes, moments away from flowing freely, exposing your shame to his greedy eyes as bare as he’s exposed your body. 

He hates it. He doesn't like how you look. He’s disgusted by you. 

But then his voice comes out soft and awed. “You're so pretty, jiejie. Better than I ever imagined.” 

You gasp, daring to sneak a glance at him, fully expecting to see a mischievous smile on his face as he mocks you. But he’s not looking up at you at all. Instead, he’s staring down between your legs like a starving man. 

“Look how wet you are.” He bends down, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, sending tingles racing up your spine. “Is that because of me? Or him?” 

You bite down on your lip harder, and stay quiet. 

“Tell me, jie. He demands, and you feel his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. “Or I’ll be really mad.” 

You shiver, recalling his threat from earlier. Swallowing harshly, you taste your own blood, metallic and nauseating, just the same as your shame. “It's you, didi.” 

A pleased sigh escapes him. “I knew it. I know you want me just as much as I want you.”

You feel yourself drowning in self-loathing as his fingers trace over your slick folds, unable to deny your unforgivable desire when the evidence of it is right at his fingertips that spread you open so he can commit every debauched inch of you to memory. 

“So pretty for me, jie.”

“Just get to it.” You squirm, your cheeks burning with a flush that spreads down your neck and into your chest at how closely he’s staring at this very intimate part of you—a part of you that no one else has seen before, and yet once again you’d given it away to your little brother. 

“So demanding.” He huffs as if you’re the one who wants it. But you don’t dare contradict him. You just lay there quietly and wait to be vindicated so you can finally put this behind you. You’ll never try anything with another man again, not until Caleb has moved on and whatever this is between you is dead and buried six feet under. 

Caleb gathers your slick on his fingers, coating them generously before pushing one inside of you slowly, only managing to get to the first knuckle before it meets a tight resistance that makes him groan low in his throat.

“Fuck, you’re a virgin.” He breathes, and you can hear both the relief and arousal clearly in his voice. 

“There you go. I'm untouched.” You mutter in resignation, feeling so mortified and helpless at having had to prove it in this humiliating way. But it's your fault really. You should have never danced with Xavier. And you should have raised your brother better. 

“You should be touched. You’re perfect. Prettier than any pornstar. I knew you would be.” He sighs dreamily. 

You open your mouth to scold him but you're cut off when he lowers his head between your thighs, his mouth descending on you eagerly, his lips enveloping your slick folds and his tongue dragging along the full length of your pussy. 

You feel more than hear him groan in appreciation, his lips and tongue working to lap up every drop of your arousal as if just that could sustain him for the rest of his life. 

“Caleb!” You squeak, flustered by the sight of your little brother between your legs, kissing your pussy the same way he kisses your lips. 

He looks up at you, not shying away from staring you dead in the eyes as he pulls his face back every so slightly so you can see how his tongue sticks out to flick at your clit, the wet sounds of his saliva and your juices squelching in your ears. 

“Baby, baby, wait—” You plead out, feeling yourself hurling towards a nauseating orgasm. You cannot handle the way he looks up at you, so blissful and hungry like he’s finally where he wants to be, and you fucking hate how sinfully arousing he looks doing it. 

Will any man ever want you as much as he does? Did you do this to him because deep down you knew it would be the only way to get the love and attention you so desperately needed? Is this a trap of your own making?

“Didi, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” You cry out as you cum, soaking him in more of your sin. But Caleb is not interested in your pathetic pleas for forgiveness. He feeds on your guilt and arousal like a ravenous beast come to collect your soul. 

And he keeps feasting even as your shameful cries of pleasure turn to sobs of pain. “Please, didi, stop, it hurts.”

It all hurts so much. 

He finally pulls back with a whine, taking his mouth off your pussy so he can climb up to kiss your lips, feeding you your own sin, the taste of it sour and bitter on your tongue but Caleb moans around it as if it’s the sweetest nectar.

“Baby, it hurts.” You repeat, whimpering when you feel his finger continuing to prod at your hymen, pressing against it again and again as if to make sure it’s still there.

“Yeah? It’s because you’re so tight, jie.” He blames you once again. “So tight I don’t know how you’ll fit my cock.” 

You squirm uneasily, trying to get away from his persistent finger. “Stop it, Caleb. I don’t like it when you talk like that.” 

But he’s not listening. He pushes your hips down with his palm, keeping you still. “It’s okay. I’ll make it fit. I was made for you,” 

And then he’s reaching for his pants, fumbling with the zipper in his haste as he stares hungrily at the spot where part of his finger disappears into your heat. 

“Caleb, no!” You cry out in panic and try to snap your legs shut, but his Evol slams down on you, making you yelp in pain as your legs are suddenly forced back open, your thighs spread for his scrutiny and his cock that now rests against your pussy. 

You’ve seen it many times before. It has always been impressive in length and girth, but seeing it resting on your pussy now, the length of it reaching all the way to your belly button makes you break out in a cold sweat. 

“Baby, what are you doing? Please, don’t do this.” You tear up as he rubs his cock along your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness, preparing for something terrible.  

“Caleb, stop it!” You yelp when he presses the large head right at your entrance, your pussy screaming in protest as he tries to force his way inside. 

“Shh, it's okay, jiejie.” He leans forward to kiss away the tears that escape you. “Just the tip, okay? Even your little pussy can take that.”

You shake your head harshly. “Didi, please, don’t do this. This is wrong.” You try to reason with him but your words only bring back that anger that started it all. “What's wrong is you sending me away and pushing me onto other girls so you can whore around with him.” 

“You—” You shout, but your words come out garbled as he shoves himself inside you, forcing your pussy to stretch around the flared head.  

“Stop, stop!” You hit his chest repeatedly as he continues to push, bullying more of himself inside. You feel him reach your hymen and then press further, the pain of it making your head spin. 

You stare up at your little brother, his angry face swimming in your vision, and you wonder if you’ve truly lost him. 

But true to his words, he stops. “F-Fuck, jiiieee. You—ngh—feel so good.” He moans, his head falling down to the crook of your neck as he pauses to catch his breath, his entire body shaking. 

“Why?” You croak out, the fire between your legs nothing compared to the ache in your heart. 

“I can't let anyone else—hah—have you, jiejie.” He pants, covering your neck in wet kisses. 

You shiver, and reach your arms out to wrap around him, seeking solace but knowing you can only hope to find it in the same boy, no… man, who hurt you. Your baby brother who used to cry if he even mistakenly upset you, has somehow turned into a man who takes what he wants regardless of how you feel. And he wants you intimately, profanely. “I told you I didn’t do anything with him. I proved it.”

“You only proved that he hasn’t had you yet.” He grunts, and pulls back to stare at your bodies where you're so precariously connected, his expression turning desperate as his eyes flick back to yours, and you feel queasy seeing the same look your little brother always gives you when he asks for something he knows he shouldn't, but also knows you wouldn’t deny him either. “Fuck, do I have to wait? I don’t want to wait. I want you so bad. What if I wait and you fuck him. I'd go crazy.” 

As if he’s not already there. 

“I won't, Caleb.” You promise with all the conviction in your rotten soul. You won’t. You won’t. You never want to see him like this ever again. 

“I wish I could believe you.” He murmurs sadly, his gaze locked with yours as he pulls his hips back only to thrust forward again, the tip of his cock barely slipping out before he's burying it back inside you. You don’t hold back your whimper of pain from him, and he doesn’t hold back his vengeance from you. “Holy shit…That woman said you’re with him all the time, hiding away from others. She saw you rubbing against him in front of everyone, yet you won't even let me kiss you in public.” 

“It’s not true, baby. She’s lying.” You deny, still hoping it would save you from an even worser fate. 

“Why would she lie?”

“Why would I lie?” You implore the part of him that trusts and respects his jiejie, hoping it's still alive. But the smile he gives you is not that of your doting little brother. “Because you know I'll chop his hands off and feed him his own dick if he touched you.” 

Bile rises in your throat. You can't tell if he really means it or if it's just the heat of the moment, and that fucking terrifies you. Would your brother really try to hurt Xavier if he finds out the truth? How far does his obsession really go? Is there any remaining hope at all?

“It didn't happen, okay?” You cower, unwilling to face the possibility of your precious baby brother doing something so violent, even as he unleashes some of that same violence upon you. “I promise, di.” 

“I want to believe you, jie. I really do.” He sighs, his hand gripping your chin tightly as he stares deep into your eyes, trying to seek out the truth. “I will lose it if I find out you’re lying to me.” 

You cradle his face in your hands and pull him down for a passionate kiss, coaxing him to soften for you. “I’m not, baby. I promise.” 

Let me in. Don't do this. Please, come back to me.

And he does, his face crumbling into the needy look you're so familiar with, his eyes shining wet and pitiful with yearning. “I love you, jie.”

You sigh in relief. “I know, baby. I love you too.”

“You don’t. Not as much as I do. Or you wouldn’t keep saying no to me.” He whines, and sits back on his heels, his hands gripping your hips as he resumes his thrusts, watching the head of his cock disappear in and out of your hole again and again. “I want you s-so much, jie. I wanted you before I even—hah—knew what my cock was for.” 

Because there is something seriously wrong with you, didi. 

And there is something seriously wrong with me. 

And I can’t tell which one of us had this sickness first. 

But the disgust that his confession brings up in you does nothing to dampen the pleasure you feel as your pussy slowly starts getting used to the intrusion, moulding around his cock in order to accommodate him. Every part of you will always yield to your little brother, even this. 

“You were made for me.” He moans and your pussy flutters around him in answer, producing more slick that makes the slide of his cock easier. It sucks him in hungrily, and suddenly you can feel just how empty you are inside. 

Do it. He can fill up that hole inside you. He feels it too. Just give in. Take what you both need. 

A voice calls out from deep within your mind, the sound distant and muffled as if buried under layers of rubble. Something in its enthralling tone seems so terrifyingly familiar to you, like a desire you'd long buried but has now returned from the dead to drag you to hell. 

But you resist its call. It’s not your little brother’s duty to fix what you lack. If you have influenced him to think he needs to then you must correct him before you ruin him completely. 

"Does it feel good for you too, jie? Tell me, please..." He whimpers, the anticipation and worry on his face almost have you spilling to reassure him. “It feels so good for me. This is where I belong. Fuck, do you feel it too, jie?”

His thumb brushes over your clit, the friction making your hips rock against his hand involuntarily, mindlessly chasing more of that pleasure.

“Please, say it, jie.” 

You shake your head, trying to rebuke both your brother's delusional pleas to join him in his lunacy and the incriminating demands coming from your own mind. 

This is not right. He should have never known what the inside of you felt like, let alone think he belonged there. It would have been less abominable for him to dig his hand into your chest and stifle the life out your heart that you'd already given to him so many years ago. 

Caleb sees your denial for rejection. “If you can’t feel it then maybe I’m not deep enough.” He grunts, his thumb flicking over your clit more roughly now as he pushes his cock further inside you, the head of it painfully stretching your hymen. “I need to go all the way inside you. I need to feel your blood that runs through my veins dripping down on my cock.”

You don't know if it's fear or arousal you feel at the thought of the blood that you both share staining your little brother's cock after he takes you in a way no other man has, and no brother ever should… but whatever it is, it pushes you over the edge. Your back arches off the bed as you scream, an overwhelming pleasure ripping through your body. 

“Fuck, jiejie—” He groans, his hips twitching as he tries to fuck your pussy, but it clamps down on him, mercifully preventing him from acting on his threats. “Shit—shit—you're milking my c-cock, jie. You're gonna make me cum… fuck, please, jie, please—I need—I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”

Amidst your violent orgasm and his frenzied reaction, a rational thought somehow makes it through the swill of shame and pleasure, and you yelp out. “Caleb, pull out. You need to pull out, baby. I'm not on birth control.” 

You hear nothing in return but his delirious babbles of ‘I love you. I love you. Jiejie, I love you so much.’

“Caleb, did you hear me?” Your voice rises with panic, “Pull out!”

Though his eyes are locked on you, he doesn’t acknowledge your frantic pleas. 

You feel his cock twitch.

Oh god. 

Your little brother is going to cum inside you. You're going to get knocked up with your baby brother's child. Your lives will be ruined forever.

But at the last second, he pulls out, and you feel his hot cum land on your pussy, covering you in his seed that thankfully wasn’t given the chance to take. 

“Fuck…” He groans, staring down at the mess he made of you as if mesmerized. “You… you bled a little.”

Your eyes snap down to see the ever so small streak of your blood marring his otherwise pearly white cum. 

He must have slightly torn your hymen when he tried to go all the way. Shivering, you think of how close he got… and that emptiness inside you yawns wider. 

“Shit, jie.” He sucks in a harsh breath, his fingers smearing his release over your swollen lips. “You came so hard on my cock. Did you like hearing what I want to do to you?”

"No, Caleb." You croak, voice strained as you shake your head weakly. “I didn't—I don't like it.”

“Liar.” He purrs, grabbing his still-hard cock and dragging the thick head along your soaked folds, coating himself in the mess of your blood and his cum. “I felt how tight you got around me when I said—”

“You were playing with my clit.” You snap quickly, “That’s why I came.”

Caleb shakes his head as he slides his cock lower and lines the blunt tip up with your entrance once more. “That’s not what happened. You want it, jie. You want your little brother’s cock—”

“Stop it, Caleb!” You push your legs shut and kick at his hips, trying to shove him back. “I don’t want to hear it. It’s fucking disgusting!”

He catches your legs easily, forcing them back down onto the mattress as he climbs over you again, caging you beneath his larger body.

“You can deny it all you want, jie, but I know the truth. I felt it.” He growls, and you cower into the sheets, but you have nowhere to run away from this frightful version of your little brother he blames you for. 

“Caleb, you’re hurting me.” You tell him meekly, and worry if that even means anything to him anymore.

“What about me?” Caleb counters, pressing his hips forward so the thick head of his cock stretches your sore entrance again. The burning overstimulation makes you whimper, your abused pussy clenching involuntarily around him. “You hurt me every time you deny our love.”

“Caleb, please… don’t do this.” You plead, the jagged pieces of your broken heart cutting up your throat. “Not this way.”

He glares down at you, his entire body taut as his wants and desires battle with his need for your acceptance and approval. 

“You don’t want your first time to be like this.” You press on, trying desperately to reason with him. 

“Our first time.” He hisses, jaw clenching so hard you can see the muscle jump. But, finally, he pulls his cock out, making you both shudder, and you tell yourself it's from relief. “You’re mine, jie. You can’t run from it much longer. You’re my sister… my best friend… and my mother.”