sleepy

but he never does. he waits for you every single time. he doesn't want to assume how slow you need to take things, and to him, the best way to make sure he's doing right by you is to wait for your sign. if you're nervous, he prompts you to take what you want, but he never initiates.

when you go out on a date with him in public, you find yourself sneaking glances at his hands, trying to work up the courage to reach for them. after about twenty minutes of watching you yearn, sylus offers you his hand, which you happily accept. he's over the moon, walking on clouds for the rest of the day just from holding hands with you for a little while.

the first time you're intimate with him, things go a little sideways, but the way he handles it would personally solidify my trust in him as a partner and a person.

you kiss him for a long while, with your kisses slowly getting hungrier and hungrier as time goes on. you're using the impulsive mindset that hunger grants you to push away your self consciousness and anxiety, pushing yourself further than you ever have before. you'll no longer have to worry about disappointing him once you get past this first hurdle. as long as you satisfy him this one time, you'll be free of debt for everything he does for you. he's achingly hard and throbbing in his pants, and you can feel it beneath you when you grind down.

you moan into his lips and guide his hand down between your legs, your head spinning with desire, but his hand suddenly goes still, no longer pliant. you pull back to check his expression, and instead of finding need that matches yours, you find tender concern.

in that moment, he's holding back the crushing weight of his desire and his aether core, grasping at control to make sure you're alright. denying himself what his very nature is starving for. he doesn't show it externally, but the weight of it very nearly overwhelms him. the urge to take, take, take what you're freely and openly offering him. but he does, because your wellbeing supersedes any of his own desires.

he pulls you back from the cliff you were determined to throw yourself off for his benefit. he holds your gaze, and speaks in the softest, kindest tone you've ever heard escape his lips:

"are you sure you want to continue?"

when you try to push aside his concern and lean back into him, he blocks your lips with his free hand, studying your face with a slight furrow in his brow. he identifies something there you don't understand, and when he moves his hand to slowly swipe a thumb beneath your eye, you realize you're crying.

you can feel his hardness beneath you, throbbing in a way that must be painful. but he seemingly ignores it with ease, pulling you to lay against his chest and rubbing your back slowly as you sob. you eventually fall asleep there, exhausted from letting out so much emotion and confessing to him all of your deeply held fears. his urges go unsated, but gaining mutual trust and understanding, prioritizing you, brings him so much more happiness than sexual gratification ever could.

just the idea that a man that not only has the urges that regular men do, but something more, and he still chooses you over sating them. proving so fully that he's not there to take advantage of you, he hasn't just been waiting for a chance to get in your pants.

“Sy?”

“Hm? What is it, sweetie?”

You play with his fingers where they lay over your stomach. His body is sculpted to fit perfectly along your back, strong arms holding you securely, protectively, as you’re just waking up and he’s supposed to be going to bed.

You bite your lip, grateful that he can’t see your face or the warring thoughts blatantly expressed on it. “Would you want to meet my parents?”

He presses closer - if such a thing is even possible - tucking his face into your shoulder where he plants lazy kisses. “Why are you asking me about this now?”

“Well, Tara got a new boyfriend and she was telling me about how important meeting the parents can be,” you admit slowly. She’d gushed about it for an entire lunch break, in fact. Rambling on and on about how meeting his parents went, and how her parents just love him, and how big of a step it is in a relationship. ‘The most important step!’ she’d emphasized. It weighed on your mind since. “And I just thought… maybe you’d want to meet mine?”

There’s no way he doesn’t hear your heart racing in your chest. It’s impossible for him to miss the nervousness in your fiddling with his fingers, or the subconscious way you stretch out your legs to tangle with his. But if he does notice any of it, he says nothing.

He kisses over your pulse, intertwines your fingers, and hooks his leg over your hip, as though this is nothing more than a lazy Sunday morning.

“I’d be honored to meet them,” he whispers, soft and tender in a voice reserved just for you.

“Today?”

He chuckles warmly. “If that’s what you want, sure.”

You squeeze his hand, then pull it tighter around you, holding it to your chest like a plushie you’ve decided to cuddle. “You should get some sleep, first. We can visit them for lunch.”

“Oh? Are they already expecting me?”

“No… but they never mind visitors.”

He hums, a low sound that rumbles in his chest, and buries his face into your warm skin. “Whatever you say, kitten…”

His snores fill the air a moment later.

-

Sylus takes meeting your parents more seriously than you thought he would. He took a shower before you, and when you came out, he was meticulously going through his wardrobe to find the perfect outfit. Nothing too flashy, but nothing too casual - something suited for setting up a good first impression. A towel is still around his shoulders, hair dripping onto it in his focus. It brings some much needed levity into your aching heart.

“Sit down,” you chide him. He does so with a knowing smirk, but it droops back into a frown as he thinks on his options.

“Which shirt do you think?” he asks. You fluff the towel over his hair, squeezing out the water soaked into the thicker sections of his locks. Once it’s dried enough, you comb your fingers through his hair to brush it out. He’ll style it himself, of course, but you love feeling it so wild and unrestrained like this.

You look up at the two shirts hanging up side by side in the closet. His collared-shirt red-sweater combo on one side, or his simple white shirt. Both are casual, put together. A softer appearance compared to his usual black attire. He could choose either - they’re perfect for coming off as disarming and charming without flaunting his wealth - but he’s asking you.

You hug him around his neck from behind. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

You shake your head. “Nothing.” Still, you linger a moment longer before you pull away with a kiss to his cheek. “The red one. It’s my favorite.”

“The red one it is.”

-

You offered to drive this time. Unusual, given his proclivity for driving you anywhere you could ever want to go, but you play it off as it being in Linkon, your territory. He teased you lightly, but passed over the keys without a fuss. If you wanted to be the one to drive him to meet your parents, that’s your right.

After having to majorly adjust the driver’s side seat to account for your height, the drive itself is simple. Familiar. You know the way like Sylus knows his armories. Though, you know you can’t play it off forever. In just a few short miles, the ruse will be up. You tap along the steering wheel. How much longer before he figures it out? Or, if he already knows, before he says something about it?

You pull the car into the gravel parking lot and cut the ignition. You shyly look to the passenger side. Sylus looks straight ahead through the windshield, brows pulled together in a frown.

“Sweetie…”

You get out of the car before he can say anything else. Before he can back out. Look at you like you’re crazy or like you’ve betrayed him for keeping this a secret for so long. His door shuts a moment after yours. The small rocks shift under his nice shoes as he rounds the car. You don’t look at his face as you take his hand in yours and lead him through the big wrought-iron gate.

Rows upon rows of headstones, statues, slabs cover the area. Carefully tended grass peeks up in the spaces between. A path is formed from foot-traffic alone, guiding you deeper into the cemetery like a gentle hand on your shoulder. You know the way by now.

The wind blows through, the birds chirp their songs, the noise of the cars is distant… It’s peaceful. Sylus says nothing. You pretend to focus on the stones by your side to avoid looking at him.

You curse Tara for planting this idea in your head in the first place.

Soon enough, you slow to a stop in front of a wide headstone. Two names are engraved on it. Four dates. And a message. You picked it out just for them.

The silence grows unbearable. Hot. You wish you could sink into the ground, where hundreds of hands could hold and assure you. Where Sylus can’t see the tension in your shoulders as you anticipate him leaving.

He squeezes your hand. For the first time since arriving, you look at him, watching as he kneels down in front of the granite stone. And… he’s smiling. The furrow in his brow is gone. He looks at ease.

“Are you their parents? I’m Sylus. I’m your child’s boyfriend,” he introduces himself. He says it all like he’s talking to them. Speaking directly to your parents just before an awkward family dinner. “I run a family-owned business that covers a range of services and offers various products. We deliver fruit and even sell state-of-the-art technology, for example. My business has been doing well, and I work with a lot of talented individuals. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to discuss it in more detail another time.”

You slowly sink down to your knees beside him. You can’t stop staring at his face.

“My hobbies are very simple. I collect vinyl records, play the organ, and occasionally sing. According to your child, my singing isn’t too bad.” He looks at you, shooting you a playful wink. Your vision starts to blur. He turns back to the stone.

“I live alone and I have a relatively flexible schedule. I stay at my base most of the time. Otherwise, I’m in a hotel for business meetings or go to my private ranch when I need to unwind. I own several beautiful horses, and one of them has grown particularly fond of them. The two of them often frolic together at the ranch.” In that same soft voice reserved just for you, he says, “I like seeing them be carefree and happy.”

The first tears break free with a choked sound. He lets go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. You hug his waist tightly.

“While it might not be obvious at first glance, I’m very good at taking care of people. Because of our time together, I developed new interests. I enjoy taking them to auctions and fashion shows.” He draws you in a little tighter, but his attention remains on the names before him. “I like seeing them shine. And their happiness is my happiness.

“As for the future…” He speaks with conviction, as though trying to fully prove to your parents his worth as your boyfriend. “I’ll always support them with whatever they want to do. I’ll also stand by their side without question.”

You press your face in his chest. He shifts on his knees to face you, wrapping his other arm around you in a full hug. He presses a gentle kiss to your head.

“How did I do?” he whispers.

You sob. It’s ugly and gross. Your chin wobbles and your face contorts as tears stream in an endless tirade, soaking into his sweater. His large hand rubs up and down your back patiently. Your voice cracks as you croak out, “They would’ve loved you…”

He ducks his head down, pressing his cheek to yours. Sweet kisses brush away your tears. “I’m sure I would have loved them, too,” he assures. And you know he isn’t lying. “Just breathe, sweetie. I’ve got you. I’ve got you…”

---

Tag List:

caleb is 20 when he's about to leave for the DAA. there's an air of silence around the house. you've trapped yourself in your room more often, stressing over your senior finals. at least, that's what you've been telling him.

"i'm sorry caleb, i really need to study for this test."

"oh! i totally forgot about that project i had due tonight. shit, i'm sorry caleb. we'll have another movie night soon, okay?"

he doesn't know if you're actually this busy or if you're actually ignoring him. all he does know is that he misses you. he wonders about how he could miss someone who was in the room across from him. you were so close, but so far.

when you found out he was leaving—though you had a grin on your face while congratulating him—caleb knew you were devastated. he wondered if you were secretly mad at him for leaving.

two weeks before his departure, he practically forces you to be around him. he laid down next to you like before. he stroked your hair while you napped on the couch. he teased you and picked you up so you could hit him and grab him like you used to. he always chose to put his arm around you during a movie. he dragged you by the hand all around the neighborhood. he needed to all of that again, a thousand times more.

but at 24, it seems like there may have been a wedge between the two of you. calls are more and more infrequent.

"sorry, space signal sucks," he'd type.

"sorry, i was busy with training!" you'd reply, 2 days later.

he thinks that he would do anything to go back to before. he hasn't felt you in months. he sees you only twice a year.

it's hard. it was excruciating during the first few weeks. not only was he dealing with bootcamp, but he always found himself looking to his side, thinking you'd be there with him. at night, you were there, right next to him in bed.

he imagined that you would whisper words of reassurance in his ear. you'd hold onto him like you used to, when you had nightmares, and wrap your legs between his. there were days where we stroked his necklace, wishing that it was your hand instead. what he would give to have you next to him.

all he wants is to be able to feel you again. he chastises his 10-year-old self for taking you for granted back then. he wants to feel the apples of your cheeks when he caresses your face. once,—when he was 13 (you, 11)—he did that, and he thought you had a fever the way you warmed up. if he could, caleb would build a time machine to go back to that.

caleb is 25 when he is out of your life.

he thinks about you every day. it reminds him of when he was in bootcamp five years ago. it takes him back to when he was fifteen; you were on top of him, and his brain was fried to a crisp. caleb wonders if he's always been this way, because he can recall that at ten, you were still the only thing consuming his mind.

even during his arm repairs, you're there throughout all the pain.

when you discover his metal arm, all of caleb's instincts point to the door. he's spent so long trying to hide it from you: it's the constant long-sleeves (even though they made him incredibly uncomfortable), or making sure to only touch you with his left-hand (even though he wanted to pull you in with both hands).

but he stays. because it's you.

you freeze momentarily, listening to his writhes and moans of pain. caleb only notices you're there when he feels your hands brush his shoulder. he jolts back in surprise, and he sees you looming over him.

he stammers something, not even sure of what he said because you're here. you see him. you see it.

caleb's wanted this for so long. he wanted to see you again, in a state where you were both vulnerable, like old times. however, that moment probably wouldn't have come if he doesn't confess about this, so he relays the details.

you listen attentively, eyes wide with shock as caleb goes on. your hands wrap around his metal one, and he feels nothing. it's agonizing. he sees you examine him so gently. your fingers trace over bolts and plates of metal, lightly stroking up and down his arm. and caleb feels nothing.

how often has he dreamed of this? for you to be touching him again, so intimately and softly? he's stayed up countless nights wishing for you to be here, just so he can put his arms around you in a crushing embrace, only to be incapable of feeling you on one side of his body.

you pull away from his arm, asking if the fleet was accountable. when he doesn't say anything, he feels your weight lift off the bed and go towards the door.

whatever happens next is involuntary. he uses his flesh arm to pull you back, caging you between his forearm and his chest. there's no thought to it, no rationalization. it's just you and him. and he's been deprived of this for so long.

he breathes into the crevice of your neck, and he has half a mind to place his entire face there. he wants to breathe you in after being away from you for so long. no conversations, no contact, no touching. the last time he was this close to you was years ago. he needs this, caleb thinks.

the feel of you against his bare chest is something he cannot seem to describe. it's like he's his teenage (or even kid) self again, where he seems to short-circuit whenever he comes in contact with you. you're still small compared to him, but you fit perfectly like you did a decade ago.

he lets you go after he feels you trembling. you don't hesitate to place your hands on his waist and tackle him onto the bed. you catch him off-guard as you pin him beneath you, looking straight into his eyes.

"hold me," you plead, "with your right hand."

caleb lets out a shaky breath. there are voltages of electricity flowing through him—literally and figuratively. his skin sparks alive when he feels you. will it be the same with the metal arm?

slowly, caleb raises his mechanical arm. he wraps it around you, and feels the movement of your back shift downwards. you released a breath you didn't know you were holding. caleb held his.

you wait patiently before caleb starts running his metal hand up and down your back. you watch him exhale as he continues. you press your forehead on his, and you breathe in tandem with him.

caleb is 25 when he discovers that he loves physical touch.

wow like i didn't expect this to get so long... but like here we are???

i think we need to start embracing touch-starved caleb in all of our fics. this man hasn't seen the love of his life in YEARS (infrequently, anyway) so i think once she touches him (like INTIMATELY) for the first time in years he goes a little cray.

Unfortunately, that makes you even more nervous, and when you’re nervous, you get chatty, like you’re trying to fill an awkward silence before it can form. It’s only the waitress coming over to take your order—which he provides in a soft, smooth voice—that finally gets you to quiet down. There’s a pause after she leaves and you take the moment to apologise for yapping away, explaining that you haven’t been on a date in a while and he’s a lot more handsome than your friend made out, so you’re a little tense.

As you’re nearing the end of this explanation, you get a text pop up on your phone from… your date?

You look up at the man in front of you, who is decidedly not on his phone, and then back down at the message which reads sorry, smth came up, can’t make it.

At this point, the guy across from you is also looking at your phone, and it seems he’s started to put the pieces together himself. You’re not sure you’ve ever been more mortified than when you realise you have effectively forced some poor random man on a date with you. For a while you just stare at him helplessly, as though maybe the truth will un-reveal itself and you can go back to blissful ignorance, until he interrupts by offering to move to a different table.

Looking around, you realise the restaurant has quickly filled up since you arrived, to the point you’re not sure there is another free table, and even if there were, you really don’t think he should be the one to move. You explain as much when you finally come to your senses enough to apologise, offering to pay the bill and leave yourself. After a little back and forth, you eventually decide together that since the order’s been placed you might as well eat while you’re here and you can split the bill later.

Xavier, as you find out his name is, actually turns out to be quite easy to talk to, once you’ve calmed down enough from your mistake to have an actual conversation. It turns out you both like the same comic series as well, and you leave the restaurant with a plan to meet up for lunch again.

Needless to say, you don’t bother trying to rearrange anything with your actual intended date.

Rafayel

You meet Rafayel when you rescue him while working late one night at the University. It’s a Friday and everyone else has long since left to start their weekends but you have a review meeting coming up, and after dealing with some deeply uncooperative cell cultures, you’re grinding to gather as much useable data as you can possibly get. You step out of the lab briefly to grab yourself something with caffeine in it while the centrifuge whirs away, only to stop when you see someone gesticulating wildly while talking loudly into their phone outside the building.

They’re in the courtyard that connects your Biology building and the Art department—why someone had put the two next to each other, you would never know—the very same one with doors that could only be opened via keycard after 6pm and no alternative exit route. You’re just wondering if the young man might be stuck out there when he spots you through the glass door and starts waving at you before pointing at the door’s release button on the inside. Ah, so he is stuck then you think, as you walk over and press it, how long has he been out there?

The doors start to open automatically, and as soon as enough space opens up, the man hurls himself through the gap almost as though he thinks they might change their mind and try to shut him out again. He looks back through the doors like the mere existence of the courtyard is an attack upon his person and asks you if your university makes a regular point of trying to trap its guests. You can only shrug in reply, but he looks put out enough that you feel a bit sorry for him, so you offer him some of the fancy tea and snacks you keep around for when your experiments go to shit and you need some cheering up.

And that’s how you end up entertaining Rafayel, art legend who had been cajoled into doing a guest lecture at your university, in your lab group’s office space over tea at almost 9pm. He regales you with the story of how he’d been kept late by the Dean of the art department talking his ear off, trying to persuade him into taking a fixed-term position, and had then wandered out the wrong exit and ended up in the predicament you’d found him in. You have the sense this venting is much needed, so you let him carry on, offering sympathy when appropriate.

Surprisingly, he then turns the conversation to you and you find yourself prattling away about your research project. You do make something of an effort not to fully nerd out on him, but it’s difficult when he’s a good listener and seems able to pick up on the bits you’re the most passionate about. He manages to wheedle your phone number out of you before he leaves, with the excuse of needing someone to rescue him should he fall victim to the courtyard again—though you struggle to imagine why he’d come back after his first experience with the University.

It catches you rather by surprise then, when you see his name pop up as a new hire in the newsletter that circulates the week after.

Zayne

You meet Zayne while on your way to comfort your friend after a break up. Said break up has been a long time coming—at least, in your opinion as someone who never liked the bastard to begin with—but that doesn’t mean she’s any less upset about it, which is why you step into the elevator of her apartment building with a plastic bag containing a full tub of rocky road ice cream, a box of her favourite truffles and a cheap bottle of wine. You press the button for her floor and then the one to hold the door as you spot a man also walking towards the elevator.

He thanks you politely, reaching the doors in just a few long strides and pressing the button for a different floor before standing on the opposite side to you. The doors close and the elevator starts to rise as you get your phone out to let your friend know you’re here. It’s then that you hear an awful grinding noise and the elevator comes to an abrupt stop, decidedly not at either of your intended floors. For a moment, you hope it’s just stopped to let some other resident of the building in, but several seconds pass with the doors refusing to open and you exchange concerned looks with the only other occupant. It seems, you both agree, that the elevator is stuck.

You do the sensible thing of pressing the call button and alerting the building’s management team to the problem, who promise you they’ll deal with the issue as soon as they can, and you’re then left with the reality of being trapped in an enclosed space with a complete stranger. As you attempt to surreptitiously study the guy, you note that while he’s pretty good-looking and well-dressed, the faint dark lines under his eyes scream of someone who’s had too long of a day to deal with the bullshit of getting stuck in an elevator.

Spreading your old, tired coat on the ground, you sit yourself down and offer the spot next to you to the guy. He initially looks like he’s going to refuse but with a bit of needling, he seats himself next to you with a heavy sigh.  Figuring you might as well try to get comfortable, you offer him a handshake and introduce yourself. You learn his name is Zayne, he works as a doctor at the nearby hospital and the only reason he’s in the building is because he planned to pick up something from a colleague before heading home. As your conversation continues, it’s not too difficult to pick up on the fact that he’s not the most extroverted individual in the world, but there’s nothing like being stuck somewhere with no other source of entertainment aside from your nearly dead phone to spur you into keeping the conversation going.

More time passes with no sign of immediate rescue, so you dig the portable cutlery set out from your workbag and offer to split your rapidly melting ice cream with your new elevator buddy. Once you are finally liberated from your shared confinement—a process that takes over two hours in the end—you’re down one tub of ice cream and a half a box of truffles. Zayne offers to compensate you for both, but you’ve grown fond enough of his dry sense of humour that you propose a counter offer: next time he can treat you to some ice cream, ideally in a nicer location than the floor of a broken down elevator.

He accepts.

Sylus

You meet Sylus during a run in with your miserable, cheating ex. It’s been a rough month all in all, trying to stitch together the tattered edges of your life where they’d previously been entangled with another person. As a treat, you decide to take yourself out shopping, a higher end store than you’d usually frequent, but you feel like you’ve earned it by surviving the last four weeks.

Your nice day out is cut short however, when you spot your ex with the sidepiece he’d been seeing behind your back clinging to his arm and sporting a sizeable diamond ring on her left hand. Unfortunately, they spot you before you have time to process properly that the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with is engaged no more than a month after your break up. They approach you and the conversation is as full of petty bullshit as you would expect from the two worst people you know—your ex making sure to mention the expensive honeymoon they’ve got booked after the lavish wedding they’re going to have next spring.

Then the conversation turns to you, and your ex’s new fiancée asks snidely if you’re seeing anyone. It’s obvious from the smug look on her face that she knows the answer is no and something in you just snaps. You’re not thinking straight—you’d never do something like this if you were— when you grab the poor stranger unfortunate enough to be standing close to you and announce him as the new guy you’ve been seeing. All you can tell from your peripheral is that he’s well-dressed and considerably taller than your ex, who always had a bit of a thing about his height.

You see your ex’s expression falter as he looks the guy over and it emboldens you enough that you finally let loose the verbal tirade you wanted to give him the day you found someone else’s nudes on his phone. To say you eviscerate the pair of them would be putting it mildly; by the end of your little speech, half the store has turned to watch and at least one grandmother is clutching at her pearl necklace.

To finish off with the appropriate dramatics, you march away from the pair with your head held high and manage to make it halfway across the shop floor before you realise you’ve dragged the random stranger you grabbed hold of with you. An apology to end all apologies at drawing the poor man into your drama starts to form on your tongue, only to have it wither away the moment you get a proper look at him. The arm you’re hanging onto belongs to one of the most intimidating—and good-looking, but that’s a little beside the point—guys you’ve ever seen.

It’s immediately apparent from his build that the only reason you got this far is because he let you haul him away. And then there’s the way he’s looking at you, like a big cat eyeing up something that wandered into its enclosure, trying to decide whether it’s worth hunting. Suddenly, you are struck by the feeling that you have just done something very, very stupid.

Caleb

You meet Caleb while having the worst day of your life. A failing grade on your latest piece of coursework, your barely acceptable average hanging on by a thread, your best friend for over a decade seems to have decided you’re a poor relation to the new friends she’s made at her own college a city away and you have a rat problem your landlord is refusing to address. In some attempt to try to salvage things, you decide to treat yourself with a beverage from your favourite coffee shop. Do you really have the budget for it? No, but the thought of staying in your shitty rental for the rest of the day is too much to bear.

You go up to counter and order as usual, wincing a little when the number comes up on the till but tapping your card regardless, however it’s when you collect your drink and turn to find your usual seat in the corner that things go horribly wrong. Someone shoulder checks you, hard, and you manage to tip your drink all over yourself as you stagger backwards.

Time seems to freeze for a moment, you can feel the eyes on you, watching as the liquid drips down from your formerly white shirt. Looking down at the contents of your now nearly empty cup, something in you breaks. You start bawling—tears, snot, the works. The arsehole who ran into doesn’t even bother to stop as you burst into hysterics and everyone else seems content to just stare at you like you’re some kind of spectacle.

Then, you feel an arm around your shoulder, guiding you towards a quiet corner at the back of the store as someone takes the cup from your hands and presses a wad of napkins into them instead. You try to thank them through the tears, although you’re not sure anything intelligible comes out and the kind stranger just quietly hushes you in response. They get you to sit down and you look up to see an extremely handsome guy—you think you might have seen him around campus before, although you’re not sure—standing in front of you, blocking the view of you from the rest of the shop with his back.

He lets you cry it out for bit, disappearing only briefly after you’ve started to calm down and coming back with a duplicate of your drink order. That act of kindness is almost enough to make you start back up again, but then he asks what happened and you end up spilling your guts to him. It seems like bad manners to dump all your problems on a stranger, though once you’re done, you do feel more like a person and less like a total walking disaster. He introduces himself as Caleb and he is indeed at the same college as you, just a couple of years ahead. You thank him profusely for his help and try to give him some money for the drink but he waves it off, asking instead if he can borrow your phone quickly. Not seeing any reason to refuse—maybe his has run out of charge, you think—you hand it over and he steps away to make brief call before handing it back to you.

That encounter seems to serve as something of a turning point, as shortly after you say your goodbyes, you receive a message from your landlord promising the rat problem will be dealt with immediately. You also notice that Caleb :) has been added to your contacts list.