sorens safehaven

The cupcakes won’t judge you, and neither will the lumpia.

The lack of conversation around you makes melancholy well up in your chest. You were never good at attracting conversation, much less maintaining it, so perhaps it’s a good thing that you remained by yourself during this entire ceremony. Even though you yearn to feel less alone, maybe this is for the best.

Maybe the cupcakes and lumpia will be your only companions tonight.

You sigh as you walk back to your table of strangers. They don’t notice you at first since their eyes are on the beverage stand currently being stocked up with bottles of what can only be assumed is wine, but as you take a bite of your cupcake, your eyes land on a specific someone.

You recognize him as the man who sat on the pew next to you at the wedding. He stepped out to help the flower girl distribute petals all over the aisle, caught the ring when the ring bearer dropped it as they walked, and cried when the vows were being said. You had watched those violet eyes dart around the church more than you’d watched your friend’s wedding, it seems.

But now, he’s organizing the beverage stand with other men you recognize from the ceremony, and your eyes cannot focus anywhere else. His smile is infectious and spills over to the others, his jokes make the table across them laugh, and when he holds a bottle of rosé to read its contents… his muscles peek out of his suit’s sleeve.

The complementary water does nothing to soothe your thirst.

“They’re taking a while, aren’t they?” one of the ladies at your table comments. “I just hope the stand’s open when the speeches happen.”

“Really? I prefer hearing the speeches sober. They’re very sweet.”

“They’re sweeter with wine.”

You don’t even register the conversation until you feel a nudge on your shoulder. “Yes?” you say, panic welling up in your chest. Have you done something wrong?

“You’re eyeing Caleb, aren’t you?” the lady beside you asks. Her smile is welcoming, but her eyes gleam under the chandelier. “Don’t worry. He’s single.”

You have to blink to register the fact that they’re talking to you.

Caleb. Caleb is his name.

“He and the groom go way back. He was actually the one who urged him to flirt with his crush, who is now his wife.”

You say nothing, but you take note of everything being said. You notice that Caleb has the natural instinct to help others in everything he does. How sweet.

By now, the stand is fully organized. The bottles are displayed atop of a black bar table, and a line quickly builds up soon after. You watch Caleb’s eyes widen and the way they quickly soften when the first customer approaches with their request.

“Direct all orders to my friend. I’m not good with drinks,” he sheepishly admits, that stupid smile appearing on his face.

“Wanna get drinks with us?” the ladies ask you abruptly. Their friendliness is unfamiliar when all you’ve known are snark remarks from old “friends,” but you shake your head at the offer with the excuse of needing to finish your plate first.

You find yourself alone again, watching your surroundings like you’re working security and not a friend of the bride. Conversations erupt and grow louder in volume as the line to the stand adds up, the couple’s families talk amongst each other to presumably prepare for their speeches, and the music changes from the usual pop song to a ballad.

“Kiss from a Rose? Really?” someone comments. It makes the ceremony erupt in laughter, and your faint smile appears too.

The song’s lyrics are all that occupies your mind as you continue eating your food. Your half-devoured cupcake stares at you as you mouth the lyrics to yourself, a concert erupting in your head with your food as your only witness.

Well, at least you thought so.

When the song ends and smoothly introduces a Filipino ballad, you feel a light touch on your shoulder. You freeze, dread encompassing your entire body, until a familiar voice counters it with its sweetness.

“You looked lovely, like a swaying flower.”

You turn around, your thoughts proven right when Caleb stands there with a small smile on his face. It’s the same one he had when he watched the newlyweds share their vows and when he helped the flower girl. It’s the same sparkle as when happiness consumes him completely.

“Oh,” you whisper shyly. “T-thank you.”

Caleb shamelessly takes the seat next to you, making your heart flutter. “I hope you didn’t mind my tears back at the wedding.”

Oh, so he did notice you, and he noticed you looking at him.

You take a sip of water to hide the tint of your cheeks, gasping when you find the cup to be empty. Caleb’s smile hides a much bigger laugh, but he doesn’t show it.

“Do you need more water?”

Your mouth moves before your mind does. “No. Your tears were enough.”

As soon as those words leave your lips, your hands fly to your mouth. Murmured apologies are all that encompass this newfound conversation, hoping that your new company doesn’t run away. You’ve dealt with that too many times in the past.

But, to your surprise, Caleb’s smile widens.

The sparks in his eyes brighten with every apology, and his hand moves to pull yours off of your mouth. “It’s okay, it’s okay. That was hilarious.”

Hilarious?

In the spaces you always occupied, that would’ve pushed people away. It would’ve been hilarious only to the people who already disliked you because it gave them an excuse to mock you. 

You wait for Caleb to leave, to tell you that he had something to do.

But he doesn’t.

He just stares at you.

Those violet eyes read your expression, and judging by his slight frown, he understands.

His hands clutch yours like a familiar comfort as your anxiety builds up from within, drowning you in its waters. “I like your jokes.”

You grip his hand tightly, feeling his veins and scars and warmth. “Thank you,” comes out as a soft, shy whisper. Not fully convinced, but not hesitant in the possibility that he may be telling the truth.

The music changes to a more upbeat song, and you clear your throat to get rid of the silence between you. “I’ll grab some more food.”

Escaping has always been the safe route.

You expect to be back at the food stands all on your own, like the first three times you did the same. The pork barbecue and desserts are the only ones catching your attention, nothing else. Not your anxiety, not the cutie that makes butterflies well up in your tummy.

But you didn’t expect that same cutie to linger behind you as you browse the food options, looking at you like you’re the spectacle.

“Do you want recommendations?” you murmur slyly.

He smiles. “No need. I cooked half of the items here.”

That makes you turn around. With your plate in one hand and your heart in the other, you stare at this man as though he were an angel. He might as well be, considering his creations have saved you multiple times tonight.

“You…” you say in utter disbelief. “What can’t you do?”

His smile is accompanied by his raised brow. “What do you mean?”

You hear his soft laugh when you turn towards the food instead of answering his ridiculous question. The answer should be obvious enough, no? 

As you walk back to your table with Caleb following close behind, microphones are being set up for those who are giving speeches. Your heart braces for Caleb to leave your side to help out, but he’s glued to your every move.

With every bite you take of your cupcake, he does the same with his pork barbecue. When you look into your purse, he does the same with his pockets.

“Aren’t you going to help them set up?” you finally ask.

“Do you want me to?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I just thought that since you’ve had a hand in every inch of this wedding, you’d want to help out.”

Caleb laughs that same hearty laugh, opening worlds you’d never known existed.

“I want to stay here with you, though,” he says simply, like it’s normal and not the words you’ve wanted to hear your entire life. “They can survive without me.”

But as Lady Luck would have it, one of the men trip over a cord, eliciting gasps and laughter all throughout the reception. You look at Caleb with every intention of giggling. “You sure?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have prevented that even if I was there.”

“Oh, so you would have tripped him?”

There goes your mouth again.

And there is his smile, bright and amused by all the words you regret to say aloud.

“Not quite, but I’m not entirely perfect like you seem to think I am.”

“I do not!”

He laughs again, turning towards where the newlyweds stand once the mics are on and working. Speeches become your entertainment, and Caleb becomes the audience to your every thought. He laughs with every remark and smiles with every ounce of yourself you show to him. 

Dancing was even more interesting. Crowds weren’t so bad once all of your attention went to one person and to the music that accompanies every step. You’ve never been in sync with another, but with Caleb, your heart feels at peace.

“Just like that,” Caleb would say right before you accidentally stepped on his foot, but he never got angry. Only amused, only smitten.

You leave the reception with a smile on your face, Caleb’s number in your purse, a ton of food, and the bouquet from the wedding toss.

a/n: Caleb is so freakin' sweet. To me, he comes off as the guy that helps out with everything because people keep calling him for help lol, and he's glad to do so <333

Thank you for reading! Any form of interaction is appreciated. Take care :)

The room shifted when he entered, quietly, without announcement, without anything that resembled the chaotic, overflowing energy most men brought inside.

He was tall, sharply dressed, expensive even in stillness. His coat looked tailored; his shirt collar open like an intentional design, not accidental messiness. He wore dark, understated luxury, edges softened by presence alone. He carried a watch worth more than your entire student debt, and you knew that without needing brand names. He sat down like he had never needed to ask permission for space.

He didn’t flirt. He didn’t stare at anyone else. He simply placed a folded bill on the service table and requested one name: “Pink Bunny.”

It became a ritual.

Your set always slowed in private rooms, because those rooms weren’t built for chaos, they were for intimacy. Dim lights, low velvet seating, music soft enough that the sound of your heels mattered.

You would dance, slow, rhythmic, purposeful, not seductive exactly, but graceful. He watched in silence that was never rude, never dismissive, just focused. You weren’t used to being seen without being consumed.

When it was over, you always prepared to leave politely.

But he never let you go empty-handed.

The first envelope he handed you was thick, too thick, enough thickness to make you stop breathing for three seconds straight. You opened it after he left, expecting maybe a generous tip.

It was three weeks of wages. In one night.

Your hands shook so violently you almost dropped it.

You told the manager that he overpaid. Your manager laughed. “He knew what he gave you. Men like that always know.”

After that, he only came on your shifts.

His entrance became an event, quiet, controlled, entirely different from every other presence in the building. He didn’t ask you invasive questions. He didn’t linger after closing. He didn’t try to follow you outside.

He simply paid, watched you dance, and ensured you earned enough that you could disappear from the club for days afterward.

Coworkers whispered that you were his. You weren’t. Not in any official sense.

But he treated you like someone with fragility worth safeguarding.

If you walked out late, he followed a few paces behind until you reached your car, not speaking, not stepping close, just existing as security made of money and quiet certainty.

If drunk men pulled you too close, Sylus never handled them directly, he said something to management, and those men simply never returned.

Once, after your heel broke backstage and you panicked because you didn’t have a replacement, he arrived the next night with a designer box, pink, satin strap heels, your size, without asking.

“Consider it an investment,” he said.

Not controlling. Not demanding. Just resolute.

You asked him why, why someone like him noticed someone like you, why he came only when you worked, why he gave enough money for you to breathe.

He looked at you the way someone looks at something delicate and expensive they don’t plan to break.

“You don’t belong here,” he said plainly. “And I don’t like seeing you pretend that you do.”

You laughed, because you were wearing glitter and a tiny bow in your hair. “I do belong here,” you whispered. He didn’t argue. He simply slid another envelope across the table.

Enough to vanish for half a semester. Enough to buy time, beautiful, quiet time, without sweating over loan statements. And you stood there realising, men bought fantasy.

But Sylus didn’t. He bought your peace. Your rest. Your absence. And no one in your life had ever given you something so soft.

You weren’t supposed to be working that night.

Your schedule had been blank, three full days off, courtesy of the last envelope Sylus pressed into your palm with silent finality. But the club called two hours before opening.

Someone got sick, someone else canceled, and your manager asked in that careful tone people used when they hoped you would say yes. You needed the extra money. And you told yourself Sylus wouldn’t be there tonight.

So you curled ribbon around your ponytail, reapplied your sugar–pink gloss, and slipped into the pale rose bodysuit that hugged your hips like a secret. The stage lights greeted you, warm, glittering, familiar, and you stepped into the dressing hallway with a deep breath.

That was when one of the girls handed you a card. “Boss said to give you this when you came in.”

Just your stage name, written in elegant black ink: Pink Bunny — Room 3.

Your pulse skipped. Then tripped.

Room 3 wasn’t for random customers. Room 3 was for people who paid more than most made in a month.

Your lip gloss suddenly didn’t feel like enough armour. You opened the door before you could second-guess yourself.

The lighting was lower than usual. Velvet shadows. Soft music playing something slow, something languid. And Sylus was already there, coat gone, sleeves rolled, a glass untouched beside him.

Waiting.

His gaze lifted when he heard the door click, and that single look made your breath dip into your stomach. “I asked for you,” he said simply. No theatrics. No question. Spoken like statement.

You stepped in, a little quieter than usual, heels brushing against the rug. “I—I wasn’t supposed to work tonight,” you admitted, the words soft enough to disappear.

“I know.” His voice didn’t change. “Your manager told me. I asked her to call you.”

Your heart stuttered.

“You… had me called in?”

Sylus leaned back slightly, not relaxed, but studying you like you were something handcrafted. “I thought you needed something,” he said.

Your breath snagged. “Like what?”

“Like a break,” he murmured. “Like someone seeing you when you’re tired. You’re not good at asking.”

That pierced too sharply, too accurately.

You swallowed. “It’s just work.”

“You’re not built for exhaustion,” he replied, eyes slow over you. “You wear sunlight like skin. When it dims, it’s noticeable.”

No one had ever spoken to you like that, not like you were fragile. You didn’t ask why he meant it. You didn’t ask how he saw it, because he wasn’t wrong.

“Come here,” he said gently, one palm lifting, wrist relaxed, gesture soft rather than commanding.

And somehow, that made it feel more dangerous.

You stepped closer, not dancing yet, rather existing in his reach. He set something on the table beside him. An envelope.

A blush-pink ribbon wrapped around it. Pale satin. Neater than any you’d ever seen him hand over.

“I figured I’d save time,” he said, tone almost careless. “For when you tried to argue that you didn’t deserve it.” Your cheeks warmed. You didn’t open it, you didn’t need to. You already knew it was too much.

“You keep trying to pay me away,” you whispered.

Sylus exhaled, slow, deliberate.

“I pay so you have choices,” he answered. “Not obligations.”

You stood there in soft pink, glitter still drying on your collarbones, ears warm from truth you didn’t ask for.

“You don’t ever have to be here when I come,” he added, voice lower. “But if you are, then I always want it to be me.” And that felt heavier than an envelope.

The ribbon slipped between your fingers as you leaned forward, too fast, too impulsive, your lips pressing against his before you could think.

It wasn’t practiced or poised, just warmth and the faint taste of champagne lingering on his mouth. He didn’t pull away, didn’t stiffen, but his exhale shuddered against you, slow, deliberate, like he was measuring the moment before reacting.

When you broke apart, your pulse hammered so violently you swore he could hear it. “Sorry,” you breathed, fingers twisting in the hem of your bodysuit. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t.” His thumb brushed your jawline, stopping you mid-sentence. His touch was firm, grounding, like he was piecing you back together before you could unravel. “You don’t owe me apologies.”

The air thickened with something unspoken, not tension, but anticipation. You could smell his cologne now, cedar and something darker, expensive, clinging to his skin.

The dim light caught the edge of his watch, glinting gold against his wrist. His fingers traced your cheekbone, featherlight, testing, as if memorising the shape of you.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” you whispered, half-laughing, half-breathless.

Sylus tilted his head slightly, gaze flickering over your face. “There was never a deal.” His voice dropped, rougher than before. You swallowed hard.

His fingertips traced the strap of your garter, barely grazing skin, and your breath hitched. The envelope lay forgotten on the table beside you, its ribbon pooling like spilled ink.

"You know the rules," Sylus murmured, dark amusement curling his words. His thumb pressed into the hollow behind your knee, a silent claim. "No touching the customers."

You bit your lip, cheeks flushing beneath the stage lights still clinging to your lashes. The club's rules were ironclad, hands off unless the client initiated, no crossing that line unless the money justified the risk.

But Sylus had never been just a customer, had he? The realisation sent a shiver down your spine.

"Then fire me," you breathed, swaying closer until the heat of his body blurred the space between you. The scent of his cologne, spice and something smokey, wrapped around you like a second skin.

His exhale was almost a laugh, low and rough against your temple. His other hand slid up your bare thigh, slow, deliberate, pausing just shy of where the bodysuit ended.

"You don't get to quit," he said, and the edge in his voice wasn't a threat, it was a promise.

The music swelled, muffled through the door, bass thumping in time with your pulse. His fingers tightened imperceptibly, and you gasped.

"You wanted me to see you tired?" he asked, dragging his nose along your jaw. "Or did you want me to fix it?"

The question unraveled something in your chest. You didn't answer, couldn't, because his mouth was on yours again, hotter this time, hungrier, and the envelope fluttered to the floor, unopened, irrelevant.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip. "Still think you belong here?"

You whimpered.

Sylus caught the sound with another kiss, deeper now, his hands mapping the dip of your waist like he owned it. And maybe he did.

Maybe he had from the moment he walked in, silent and sure, and decided you were worth more than the glitter on your skin.

The couch swallowed you both as he pinned you down, velvet scratching the backs of your thighs. His fingers tangled in your hair ribbon, careful, always careful, but his breath was ragged against your neck.

"I could put a baby in you," he murmured, lips skimming your pulse. "Watch your belly swell with something mine. Would that keep you out of this place?"

His teeth grazed your earlobe, possessive, punishing. You arched beneath him, gasping when his palm slid up to cup your breast through the thin lace. The fabric strained under his grip.

"I'd buy you pink dresses," he continued, voice dark with something beyond want. "Not this—costume. Real silk. The kind that slides off when I tell it to."

A shudder ran through you. His thumb circled your nipple once, slow, savoring, before his hand slipped lower, beneath the waistband of your bodysuit. You whimpered, legs falling open instinctively.

"Tell me no," he challenged, fingers stroking higher, achingly deliberate. "Tell me you don't want me to ruin you for every other man in this fucking building."

You couldn't. Your hips rocked against his hand instead, shameless, aching. Sylus chuckled, low, victorious, and bit the curve of your shoulder.

"Didn't think so."

The words rumbled against your throat before Sylus’ teeth closed over your collarbone, a claiming bite that made your back arch off the velvet.

His fingers tugged the ribbon from your hair, unraveling the bow with a slow, deliberate pull while his other hand worked beneath the lace of your bodysuit, calloused fingertips dragging against damp silk.

You gasped when his thumb found your clit, circling just once, teasing, testing, before pressing down hard enough to make your vision blur.

"You'd look pretty," he murmured against your jaw, voice gone gravel-dark. "Swollen with my kid. Waddling around our penthouse in those little pink nightgowns you love." His fingers hooked into the waistband of your bodysuit, tearing the fragile fabric with a sharp snick that echoed in the hushed room.

Cool air kissed your bare skin. "No more stages. No more strangers' eyes." His palm smoothed over your stomach, possessive, almost reverent, as if imagining the curve already there. "Just mine."

You whimpered when his mouth found your nipple, tongue swirling slow before biting down.

The pain-pleasure shot straight to your core, and Sylus groaned against your skin, hips grinding into yours so you could feel the thick outline of him through his slacks.

"Fuck," he hissed, dragging his teeth lower, down the trembling plane of your abdomen. "Should've done this the first night I saw you." His fingers slid between your thighs, spreading you open. "Should've ruined you for anyone else sooner."

The couch groaned beneath his weight as he knelt between your legs, grip bruising on your hips. You barely had time to process the shift before his tongue licked a hot stripe up your cunt, slow, savoring, like he was memorising the taste.

Your hands fisted in his hair, but he didn't hurry, didn't relent, just worked you over with lips and teeth until your thighs shook. When you came, sobbing his name,

Sylus didn't pull away, he drank you down like a man starved, growling against your skin when your hips jerked helplessly against his mouth.

Only then did he rise, looming over you with darkened eyes, fingers unbuckling his belt with deliberate slowness. "Going to fill you up," he promised, voice rough.

"Right here. Right now. And when you walk out tonight—" His zipper hissed open. "you'll know exactly whose come is dripping down your thighs."

Your whimper was muffled against his palm as he thrust three fingers into your wetness, stretching you with brutal efficiency. "Answer me properly," he demanded, thumb circling your clit with enough pressure to make your toes curl. "Want me to breed you? Want to carry my child?"

You nodded frantically, hips canting against his hand. "Yes—" The word broke on a gasp when he twisted his fingers inside you.

Sylus growled, low and feral. "Good girl."

He didn't bother undressing fully, just shoved his slacks down far enough to free his cock, thick and flushed, veins standing proud along the length.

The first press of him stole your breath; he pushed in relentlessly, splitting you open inch by unforgiving inch until your thighs trembled around his hips.

"You take me so well," he muttered, dragging his teeth over your collarbone. "Made for this." His thrusts started slow, deep, each one bumping your cervix in a way that should've hurt but only made you clench tighter around him.

The room smelled of sex and spilled champagne, Sylus' cologne gone sharp with sweat. His grip on your hips would leave bruises, you hoped they would, and when his pace turned punishing, you sobbed, nails raking down his back.

"Look at you," he snarled, catching your chin, forcing your eyes open. The mirrors lining the walls reflected your wrecked face, mascara smudged, lips swollen. "My perfect little bunny. Ruined."

His hips snapped harder, driving into you with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. You clawed at his shoulders, thighs shaking, pleasure coiling tight in your belly. Sylus groaned, fingers tightening in your hair, not pulling, just holding, like he was anchoring you both to this moment.

"You come first," he ordered, voice raw. "Then I'll paint that pretty stomach white."

The words tipped you over.

You shattered with a cry, clenching around him so hard his rhythm stuttered. Sylus cursed, dragging out your orgasm with slow, rolling thrusts before abruptly pulling out.

Hot stripes of cum splashed across your belly, marking you in thick, glistening streaks. He watched it drip down your ribs, chest heaving, before swiping a finger through the mess and bringing it to your lips.

"Taste," he murmured, pressing against your tongue. "That’s what you’ll swallow every night when you’re mine."

You shuddered, sucking his finger clean, savoring the bitter salt. Sylus exhaled sharply, dragging his thumb over your lower lip.

"Finish school," he said, tone shifting, calmer now, but no less dangerous. "Then I’ll put a baby in you. Not a minute sooner." He reached for his discarded jacket, pulling a sleek black card from the inner pocket.

"My address. Be there by 2 AM. Bring nothing but that ridiculous pink ribbon in your hair." Your fingers trembled as you took it. The cardstock was heavy, embossed, smelling faintly of his cologne.

"And the club?" you whispered.

Sylus buttoned his slacks with deliberate slowness. "You’re done here." He tilted your chin up, studying your face like he was memorising it. "Unless you’d rather keep grinding on strangers for pennies?"

You shook your head, pulse thrumming.

"Good." His thumb brushed your cheekbone, almost tender. "Because I’m done watching."

He left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

The envelope, still unopened, lay forgotten on the floor, its pink ribbon tangled in the wreckage of your bodysuit. You touched the cum drying on your stomach, sticky and warm, and knew, with terrifying certainty, that nothing would ever be the same.

Outside, the bass thumped on.

But you were already gone.

Rays spilled across the russet horizon like molten gold. Not too long ago, Caleb thought he’d never see a sky like this, never again hear her voice, or have her barrel towards him for a warm embrace. He’d come out of that near-disastrous flight relatively intact. Recovery came fast, but returning to his life as it was before was nearly impossible.

Strange dreams haunted him ever since he returned from the deep-space tunnel. It brought with it moments of dissonance, making him feel like this life was but one of many. Dreams vivid and clear as if he’d been the one who lived them. All of them had the same thing in common: she was by his side, and none of those lives included spending at least 100 years with her.

A life where they were nothing but weapons in a world laid to ruin. Where she had a fate destined to burn bright and herald oblivion.

Another where he’d left her behind, only for his precious person to crumble in his absence. There, too, they were split apart again, and again.

Each dream made an inescapable longing tear into his flesh and draw out a deprivation that would never be sated. So, when his scheduled return to Linkon for his Birthday arrived, he was the first to call her when he reached the platform.

Time. He just wanted all of her time. No calls from her friends from college asking her to meet, and no sneaking away to surprise him for his birthday. He didn’t want to even make room for Gran to take them out to a traditional ‘birthday family dinner.’ Caleb would much rather stay in their house, away from prying eyes, and be fully and completely home with her.

But when he heard her voice filled with such excitement, laying out “Caleb’s Adrenaline-Filled Adventure Party” itinerary, he couldn’t help but feel happy, even if he wasn’t too thrilled at sharing their time with their old schoolmates.

Caleb didn’t have the heart to tell her he was still sore and recovering. And he would never tell her about the accident, let alone his homesickness, or that the thought of spending his precious free time with anyone else but her made his skin crawl.

In some strange way, he was actually thankful for almost dying. It made him realize what was important. Who was most important.

So, to have that very precious person, almost break her neck at that very party she all-so-meticulously planned, was enough to make him almost bring the entire Linkon Adventure Park down.

“I’m sorry. I feel like I ruined your birthday,” She said, her voice muffled and soft as she nuzzled his neck, no doubt trying to dry her tears.

Caleb sighed, readjusting her limp form against his back. He’d coaxed her to let him carry her piggyback home. All it took was promising to make her favorite chicken wings later, and she folded without fuss.

“There’s nothing for you to apologise for, if anything, I should for letting you try rockclimbing with such weak soles on your shoes.”

He should have been faster to catch her when she slipped.

How could I look away from her for just one second?

Never again.

“That’s not your fault either,” she groaned, her slack arms wrapped tighter around his shoulders. “You caught me! I was just clumsy enough to lose my footing in the first place. I just hate that your party ended early.”

“I think it ended right on time, if you ask me,” Caleb mumbled.

Unbothered, she leaned forward to peer at his profile.“Really? How so?”

At her round eyes, he swallowed hard. Even just her breath against his cheek was enough to send his heart racing. Her pursed lips, supple and a deep pink, twisted into a wry smile. “Were you homesick, Caleb? Did you actually want to be a complete homebody this weekend?”

All the tension left his body as he stifled a laugh. “Can’t hide anything from you, huh? You’re right, I wanted to do absolutely nothing at home with you all day.”

“If you wanted that, then why didn’t you just tell me?” She whined, lightly kicking her feet.

“My cute lil’ cupcake planned an extra special day for me. Why wouldn’t I attend such a grand event hosted only once a year by the pipsqueak?”

“Alright, alright! I admit I went overboard inviting your high school classmates and your college friends– but Gideon mentioned you’ve been a little down lately, so I just…well…”

“You wanted me to let loose, huh” Caleb chuckled, his gaze transfixed on the ground. “Do you remember back when we were kids–– the time we snuck away from my birthday to go to one of our secret bases?”

“Yeah. We took the cake with us and finished it all by ourselves under the stars. Got absolutely sick the next day from it and covered in mosquito bites,” She groaned, leaning forward to press her chin against the crown of his head. He felt her take a deep breath, and a strange heaviness rose and fell in his chest at the sound. “Itchiest birthday ever, I felt so bad about it. I was the one who cried and made you sneak out with me.”

“It was the itchiest and best birthday ever for me. Sure, we were miserable after, but at the time, I just thought, ‘Wow, we really got away with leaving everything behind.’ Not just the cake, but even telling stories about the constellations until you fell asleep was sweet.”

She pressed her index fingers to the corners of his lips and lifted them upwards into a smile. “Caleb is such a softie, being extra nice when a certain brat ruined his birthday not once, but twice.”

“Just twice? Really, you can’t think of any other birthday where things didn’t go as planned? That’s what makes it fun, not ruined. Plus, any birthday with you is the best birthday ever. So this is a happy accident, besides you getting hurt. That I’m not too thrilled about.”

Caleb focused his gaze on the horizon. He saw the outline of Grans’ rooftop, illuminated in a soft orange glow. It was still so far. He could use his evol to get there faster, but then he’d be cutting short his alone time with pipsqueak.

“Really? Then I guess all ends well.” Her bubbling laughter filled the air, bringing with it the light, gentle breeze of summer. Her grip tightened, embracing him as if the mere act was just to assure him of something. “Happy Birthday Caleb. If every birthday requires me to be there to be the best, then just don’t be so far away that I can’t come. Ok?”

A familiar ache tightened in his chest. He wanted to say he’d never go anywhere she couldn’t go

He glanced down at his necklace. The words ‘When U Come Back’ both comforted and cursed him. After the crash, he’d planned never to wear it on a flight again.

“Ok. I’ll try not to.”

❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Caleb woke up to a muted ceiling.

No longer in Linkon.

This is Skyhaven.

He put his hands over his eyes, took in a deep breath, and slowly exhaled.

A dream of the past again, back when all he had to worry about was coming home to her. At the time, he didn’t know how precious that freedom was.

He sat up and greeted the dawn, his right hand running across the sheets in search of her traces. The temperature readings reflected subtle warmth. A wry smile crossed his lips. To think, she woke up before him for once.

Caleb knew something was up the moment he stepped into a fully lit hallway. Dawn had only just broken, coloring his dark and cold apartment with an orange tint. Drawn back curtains guided him to her hunched-over form, buried in a familiar album in front of his bookcase on the floor. She was dressed in one of his old t-shirts, with her hair tied up with the apple hairclip he’d bought her the day before.Her focus was so intense that Caleb was able to sit down next to her without her even noticing.

He stared at her for a while, expecting some reaction. When there was none, he laid his head on her shoulder and nuzzled the crook of her neck.

That made her finally look up.

Round eyes met his as the slightest hint of surprise melted into a bright smile. “Oh, you’re awake. Welcome back to the land of early risers, Caleb.”

“I was beginning to become a bit jealous of this album,” he teased, pulling her into his arms. One arm slipped behind her waist while the other pulled her to him, eliciting a squeak as he moved her to sit between his legs.

She happily leaned up against his chest. “Now you have my full attention, happy?”

“Hmm, not yet.” Caleb shot her a challenging smirk and made a move to pluck the book from her grasp. “One of our many albums, I see,” Caleb held the album just out of reach to take a closer look, ignoring her whines to return it.

The page was open to a photo of them from his academy days. She was on his back, her shoes off and in his hands, giving two peace signs at presumably Gran holding the camera. Caleb was smiling widely in the photo, his gaze fixed on her. When was this? It took him a moment to notice a faint red mark on her ankle. His eyes widened.

Just then, pipsqueak used her full weight to push him down on the floor. Playfully, she laid on his chest and triumphantly plucked the book from his hands. “When did you grab this from the attic, huh?” She gave him a light kiss, melting his surprise into a sheepish grin.

Caleb laughed. It was ironic to think he’d dreamed about that very summer. “Right after Gran let us out of the attic. Didn’t feel right keeping it in storage.”

She giggled, then poked his cheek. “Good job, past Caleb. You saved even more memories than I thought. I almost forgot we took a photo that day. Then again, I only recall one time we didn’t get a photo on your birthday,” her voice softened, as if the mere memory of the year before still haunted her.

It did him too.

Caleb caressed her cheek then traced his thumb across the outline of her lips. “How are you going to make it up to me?”

“Hmm, I was going to wait and surprise you, but–don’t you think it’s time we retire this album and start a new one? And maybe stay in all day for your birthday? Watch old movies, stuff our faces, and then put all our recent photos in the shiny new album I got you.”

Caleb wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed her down closer to his chest. Her subtle squeak only enticed him to kiss her. He captured her achingly soft lips with his own, the taste of fresh citrus lingering from the tea she’d had just a few minutes before. To think that was what touched her lips first this morning. A hint of jealousy made him dare to deepen the kiss, eliciting a soft, pleasurable moan. He wanted to tease her, dare her into wanting more.

“Sounds perfect to me,” he said, deep and drawn out, in that way he knew would trap her. “But I don’t want to share you with even an old movie just yet. I can be extra selfish on a day like today, right?”

“Naturally.”

Just like every year, he’d always want one thing for his birthday.

you nearly trip as you round the final corner that separates you. but when you finally reach the room where his meetings are held, the hulking figure looming outside gives you pause. 

“you need something?” 

he’s one of sylus’s men—bruce, if you remember right—but you haven’t spoken to him much. surely, though, he’s seen you around?

swallowing thickly, you wring your hands out in front of you. “i was looking for sylus. i was hoping i could talk to him.”

if he notices the tremor in your body, he doesn’t say anything. “boss is busy right now. you can come back when he’s done.” 

when he’s done? 

“um…are you sure?” you protest weakly. “he usually doesn’t care if—”

“i’m sure, alright?” for some reason, he sounds exasperated. “look, this deal is important to us, and he doesn’t need any distractions. just wait for him to finish.”  

the words bounce in your brain. they feel wrong. you feel wrong. but if your presence ever sabotaged his work, you’d blame yourself for weeks. 

biting your lip, you nod once and turn on your heel, dragging your feet back to your shared bedroom. 

you’ve been hugging your knees for what feels like hours when the door creaks open. almost immediately, the scent of home fills the room, wrapping around you like the hug you needed earlier. 

“sylus?” you croak, pushing yourself up on the mattress. “are…are you free now?”

he pauses for a moment, then flicks the nearest lamp on its lowest setting. in the warm, reddish light, you see his elevated eyebrow. “what do you mean?”

“i know you were in a meeting. i almost went to see you, but the guard said i shouldn't disturb you. so i’ve been waiting here.” 

“disturb,” he repeats, like the word is foreign on his tongue. “you…disturb…me?” 

his head is angled to the side, like a puppy’s during its first encounter with the bathtub. you decide against telling him this, only nodding instead. 

as soon as you do, the shadows of snarl creep onto his face. “why were you coming to see me?”

“i was just anxious, i guess. it wasn’t that much worse than usual.” the back of your neck warms, and you scratch it nervously. “since you usually help me, i thought maybe you could this time, too. but it’s okay,” you rush. “i feel better now.”

he shuts his eyes, letting out a three-second sigh. then, he comes to the bed, sits down beside you, and tucks you into his side. “he’s fired.”

startled, you raise your head as much as his bear paw of a hand allows. “what?”

“the guard you ran into. he’ll be gone by morning,” he says simply. 

your heart hammers in your chest again—this time, out of guilt. “but—i’m sure it was a misunderstanding. he was only trying to make sure your meeting went well, and i could have come in at a bad time, and—”

the wry curve of his lips tells you he’s not convinced. “alright, sweetie. let’s say i keep him on. this first time, you’re upset, and he thinks it’s not worth telling me. what happens next, then? you’re hurt, and i don’t find out until it’s too late?”

he takes your silence as a sign to continue. 

“if you were in danger and someone kept you from coming to me,” he begins, voice dipping in with conviction, “i’d do much, much worse than fire them. consider this a blessing, sweetie. you’re doing the man a favor.”

you chew your lip and fiddle with your hands, unable to fully believe him. “i guess.” 

gently, he takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head until your eyes meet. “i want you to see me anytime, no matter the reason. even if you don't have one. your problems are my problems, and my time is yours.”

you can’t hold his gaze for very long—you never can. but when you wrap your arms around his torso, he knows he’s gotten through to you. 

“good. now, why don’t you tell me what you were so anxious about?”

you stiffen against him, but only momentarily. “i don’t really want to.” 

he lets out a bewildered scoff. “hmm?”

“you’re here now, and i’m happy. i want to focus on that instead,” you say, shoving your face into his chest. 

he lets his body buckle slightly from the force, his rich chuckle setting your mind at ease. “alright, then. how was the rest of your day?”

a week later, a taller, bigger, much nicer guard knocks on the dark oak door. nodding your head in thanks, you enter after a moment’s preparation, and the mix of deep voices falls to a hush. 

the meeting is over. you know that as soon as sylus’s eyes find yours, softening from warmth and relief. “thank you, morgan,” he calls to the new guard. then, he cuts his eyes across the sleek round table. “i’ll have the room now. follow up in three days.” 

scraping their chairs against the hardwood floors, the other men nod their heads and clear out. once the door shuts behind them, sylus turns his chair toward you and pats his thigh. you rush into his open arms without a second thought. 

“hi, sweetie,” he murmurs into your hair. “what is it?”

heat rushes to your cheeks. you bite the inside of your left one. “i…”

humming inquisitively, he gives an encouraging squeeze to the side of your waist. “you…?”

“i…am bored.”

pulling back a bit, sylus examines you carefully, checking to see if you’re serious. when all you do is stare back at him, fighting the urge to cover your face, a snort builds to a wheeze, then to a bark of laughter. “and we can't have that, can we?” he teases, eyes twinkling like roses in starlight. 

sheepish, you shake your head and try to double down. “we can’t. my problems are your problems.” 

“they are. you’re a quick learner,” he rumbles, gently bringing your foreheads together. “how lucky is it that i’m bored, too? had that meeting gone any longer, i would’ve had to remove our honored guests from the base.” 

shifting on his lap, you squint down at him. “by kindly asking them to leave, right?” 

“something like that,” he replies, and you try to suppress the image of fifteen bodies being flown out the front door. “in any case, what should we do instead?”

“well, there’s this rainforest documentary i want to watch. or we could keep watching that vampire drama, or we could play that game i beat you at last time—”

“i have no memory of that.” 

“I do.” you steamroll over him. “or you could walk me through the armory again, or…”

as you spew out options, you’re almost oblivious to the way he maneuvers you in his hold. soon enough, though, you’re intensely aware of the kisses he scatters over your cheeks, stealing your focus until your lips tug into a frown. “you’re not listening, are you?”

“of course i am,” he whispers, hands roaming over your skin. “your ideas are great, kitten. it’s just…there’s no need to rush. why don't we start going down the list, say, an hour from now?”

you can barely nod before he pulls you into a searing kiss, any and all boredom going up in smoke. you don’t know how long you stay there with him, touching until your bodies blur together. an hour, two—you’re not sure, you don’t care. 

Xavier didn’t even flinch. He turned that serene expression toward your boss and stood up with the kind of graceful calm that made everything else in the room feel clumsy. “Actually, I’d like to speak with the manager on duty.”

“I am the manager,” he sneered. “And we’re closing.”

“Perfect timing then.” Xavier’s voice stayed gentle, almost friendly. “I noticed your signage outside says last call at 2 am. and kitchen closes at midnight. Yet it’s past four and your staff is still serving. Do you have special licensing for that? Or are you operating under an extension I should know about for my report?”

Your boss blinked. “What report?”

Xavier pulled out his phone like he was checking notes. “I used to work hospitality, a long time ago. Health code compliance, labor laws, overtime tracking. Fascinating stuff. For example, how do you calculate overtime for your servers when shifts regularly exceed twelve hours? Do you use the fluctuating workweek method? Or straight time-and-a-half? I’m just curious.”

You watched your boss’s face cycle through confusion, then irritation, then the first flicker of unease. He clearly wasn’t used to being questioned. He was used to yelling until people folded.

“I don’t have to explain my business to some kid-”

“Kid?” Xavier smiled, soft and disarming. “That’s flattering. Mind if I ask about your wage theft complaints? There were a few on the review sites. Former employees mentioned tips being pooled incorrectly. Also, forcing staff to stay past posted hours without compensation. Interesting pattern.”

He kept going, polite as ever, asking about break compliance, mandatory overtime notice, whether the restaurant had updated its emergency evacuation plan since the last inspection. Each question landed heavier. Your boss knew some answers. Most he didn’t. Every time he blustered, Xavier just nodded thoughtfully and followed up with another perfectly professional inquiry that made it clear exactly how little the man actually knew about running his own place.

You stood there frozen, tray clutched to your chest, watching the dynamic flip in real time. For once, someone was making him sweat instead of the other way around.

Eventually Xavier glanced back at you. “You’ve worked a double today, right? More than a double, actually. You should go home.”

“She’s not going anywhere until the last customer leaves,” he cut in.

Xavier’s eyes cooled, but his tone stayed even. “The last customer is me. And I’m leaving. With her. Unless you’d prefer I file that formal complaint tonight. I know people at the labor board. They’re old friends.”

The silence stretched. Your bosses jaw worked. Finally he jerked his chin toward the back. “Clock out. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You didn’t argue. You just grabbed your bag, legs trembling with relief and exhaustion. Xavier waited by the door, holding it open like it was the most natural thing in the world. Outside, the cold air hit your face and you nearly cried from how good it felt to be done.

He walked you to his car, one hand lightly at your back. “You don’t have to go back there,” he said quietly once you were inside, engine humming.

“I need the money, Xavier.”

“I know. But there are other places. Better ones.” He reached over and brushed a stray hair from your face. “Why don’t you try helping Jeremiah out at Philo?”

You leaned your head against the seat, eyes already drifting shut. For the first time in months, you believed you might actually sleep through the night.

ZAYNE

Dr. Zayne Li did not belong in a dive like bar you worked at 3:47 a.m. Yet there he was, sitting at the counter in his dark coat, looking like he’d stepped out of an otome game and into your personal hell. You poured his coffee with hands that wouldn’t stop trembling after your bosses latest screaming match in the kitchen. Something about a wrong order. Something about how you were costing him money.

Zayne watched you the whole time, green eyes sharp behind his glasses.

“You’re pale,” he said when you set the mug down. “Have you eaten?”

“Not since lunch.” Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.

Before you could elaborate, your boss stormed out from the back. “What the hell is this? You chatting up customers now? Get back to work, table nine wants another round.”

“They’ve had six,” you murmured. “And we’re supposed to be closed.”

“I decide when we close!” his voice rose. “Not some waitress who can’t handle a rush.”

Zayne set his coffee down quietly. “Excuse me. You’re the owner?”

Your boss sized him up. “Yeah. Problem?”

“Several.” Zayne’s tone was calm. The same voice he used when telling Pie to quit doing something. “First, your employee has mentioned she’s a university student. Forcing her to stay until nearly four am. on a weeknight violates both labor regulations for students and basic duty of care. Second, the posted hours on your door and website do not match your actual operations. That’s misleading advertising at best, potential licensing issues at worst.”

Your boss laughed, but it sounded forced. “Who the hell are you, her lawyer?”

“Her partner. And a physician who understands fatigue related health risks. She’s exhibiting clear signs of chronic sleep deprivation and stress. Continuing this way will lead to medical consequences I will document if necessary.”

You wanted to sink into the floor. Part of you was mortified. The other part, the exhausted, beaten down part, felt something dangerously close to hope.

Zayne continued, voice never rising. “I’ve already taken photos of the time. I’ve noted the lack of proper breaks. If you insist on keeping her here tonight, I’ll be contacting the labor department first thing in the morning, followed by the health inspector. It’s your choice.”

Your boss stared at him. Zayne stared back, unflinching. The doctor who performed delicate cardiac surgeries versus a man who yelled at waitstaff for sport. It wasn’t even close.

“Fine,” he spat. “Get your stuff and get out. But don’t think you’re getting any shifts next week.”

Zayne stood, towering over your boss without trying. “She won’t need them. There are campus positions that respect student schedules. Or hospital admin roles. Places that don’t treat people like disposable labor.”

He guided you out with a hand at the small of your back, steady and warm. In the car he cranked the heat and handed you a protein bar from his glove compartment like he’d planned for this.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered.

“Yes, I did.” He reached over and squeezed your hand. “No one gets to exploit you. Not while I’m here. Let’s get you home and to sleep. Tomorrow we’ll look at better options together. And if he tries anything, you have my number. Actually, you have my lawyer’s number, too.”

You laughed weakly, the sound cracking. For the first time in ages, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter.

RAFAYEL

The door had barely closed behind the last customer when Rafayel walked in. The few remaining staff did double takes. Your boss nearly tripped over himself rushing forward.

“Mr. Qi! What an honor. We’re technically closed, but for you, anything. Sit wherever you like. Best table in the house.”

Rafayel smiled that charming, slightly threatening smile and scanned the room until he found you wiping down a high top with heavy, exhausted arms. “I’ll sit wherever she’s serving.”

Your bosses expression faltered for half a second before the salesman mask snapped back on. He actually shoved you lightly toward the table. “You heard him. Move it. And smile, for God’s sake. This is Rafayel Qi.”

You forced the smile and approached, notepad trembling in your fingers. Rafayel’s eyes softened when they met yours, but the smile he gave your boss was pure performance.

“Water for me, cutie,” he said to you, voice honeyed. Then, louder, to your boss: “And whatever she wants. She looks like she hasn’t sat down in hours. Rough night?”

Your boss laughed too loud. “She’s fine. These kids today can’t handle real work. Always complaining. But she’s one of my best, right? Real team player. Even when she screws up the orders, she stays late to fix it.”

Rafayel’s eyebrow arched. “Screws up? I’ve seen her artwork. Her attention to detail is impeccable. Strange that she’d be incompetent here.”

You wanted the floor to swallow you. Your boss kept digging his own grave, oblivious. “Ah, you know how it is with pretty girls. They get distracted. Especially when important people come in.” He winked at Rafayel like they were sharing a joke at your expense.

That was the moment something in you cracked.

Rafayel noticed. Of course he did. His smile never wavered, but his eyes went sharp.

He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “You know, I’ve been thinking about doing a series on modern exploitation. The quiet violence of minimum wage service work. Overworked bodies, stolen wages, bosses who mistake fear for loyalty. It’s very… visceral. I might need a consultant. Someone who’s lived it.”

Your boss preened. “I could give you the inside scoop-“

“No, I think she’d be perfect,” Rafayel cut in smoothly. “She has the soul for it. You, on the other hand… well. Your establishment has such a charming reputation online. All those one star reviews about verbal abuse. Very authentic for the piece.”

The color drained from his face as the implication landed. Rafayel kept talking, light and pleasant, about how he could make or break a small business with a single post. About how his fans loved a good scandal. About how he’d hate for this place to become a case study in toxic management.

By the end, your boss was practically bowing, promising you the week off with pay, offering comped meals, anything. Rafayel waved it all away.

“She quits. Effective immediately. And I suggest you treat the rest of your staff with a little more respect. Or I might get inspired to paint something very specific about this charming little hellhole.”

He stood, offered you his arm like a prince in a storybook, and walked you out. Outside, he pulled you into a hug that smelled like expensive cologne and safety.

“You’re done there,” he murmured against your hair. “I’ll help you find something better. Something that doesn’t crush your spirit. My studio always needs assistants who actually understand beauty.”

You clung to him, tears finally spilling. He let you cry, rubbing slow circles on your back until the shaking stopped.

SYLUS

Sylus took one look at you balancing three trays at once while your boss screamed about a spilled drink and decided the night was over.

He sat down at the worst table in the place, the one with the wobbly leg no one wanted and crooked a finger at you. When you approached, he simply pulled out the chair beside him.

“Sit.”

“I can’t. I’m working-”

“Sit, kitten.” His voice was low, commanding in that way that made your knees weak. “Now.”

You sat. The relief in your feet was almost painful. Sylus flagged down another server, ordered food and drinks, and told them to put it on his tab. When your boss came storming over, Sylus didn’t even look up at first.

“She’s on break,” he said calmly.

“She doesn’t get breaks right now-“

Sylus finally lifted his gaze. Red eyes, sharp as knives. “She does tonight. In fact, she’s done working while I’m here. Bring her water. And something to eat that isn’t from your sad little kitchen.”

Your boss opened his mouth. Sylus smiled the kind of smile that made smart people reconsider their life choices. “Unless you’d like me to have a conversation with the people who own this building. I know the landlord. Be a shame if rent suddenly tripled.”

You ate while Sylus watched, making sure you finished every bite. He kept the conversation light, teasing you about your stubborn independence, telling you stories that made you laugh despite everything. When you were done, he stood and walked straight over to your boss.

The conversation was short. You couldn’t hear most of it, but you saw your boss go pale. Sylus returned, jacket in hand, and draped it over your shoulders.

“Time to go home.”

In the car, the city lights blurred past. You leaned your head against the window.

“I can’t just quit, Sylus. I need-“

“You need a job that doesn’t treat you like garbage. Elysium has openings. Or any of my legitimate businesses. You want to make your own money? Fine. But not at the cost of your health. Find something better, or I’ll find it for you. And before you argue about money, they won’t be handouts. Just better opportunities. Deal?”

You looked at him and something warm spread through your chest. The crime lord who could’ve burned the place down but chose to do things your way instead.

“Deal,” you whispered.

He took your hand and didn’t let go the whole drive home.

CALEB

The girls at the bar noticed Caleb the second he walked in. Tall, easy grin, that boy-next-door charm wrapped around something sharper. They flirted shamelessly, batting lashes, leaning over the counter. Caleb smiled politely, but his eyes tracked only you. Every time you passed his table, he found a way to make your job lighter. Passing you clean silverware before you asked. Quietly clearing plates when your boss wasn’t looking. Slipping extra tips under his glass with a wink.

But when your boss started in on you again, loud, public, accusing you of “disrespect” for not refilling a water fast enough, Caleb’s easy demeanor vanished.

He stood up, sizing your boss up.

“Got a problem with how she’s doing her job?” Caleb asked, voice deceptively calm.

Your boss puffed up. “This doesn’t concern you, buddy.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Caleb stepped closer. he carried himself like someone who’d faced worse than a shitty bar owner. “It concerns me a lot when someone talks to my girl like that. Especially when she’s been on her feet for ten hours straight while you sit in the back doing nothing.”

You could feel the eyes of the other patrons zoning in on the scene. Conversations quieted down. Even the drunk customers were paying attention.

Caleb kept going, low and steady. “You’ve got cameras, right? Good. Wouldn’t want any misunderstandings when I file that complaint tomorrow. Verbal abuse, wage theft, unsafe hours. Health inspectors love tips from military folks.”

Your boss tried to come up with something to say. Caleb just smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Or we can handle this like adults. You treat her and the rest of your staff with respect for the remainder of her time here. She quits when she’s ready, not when you force her out. And if I hear one more raised voice at her tonight, we’re going to have a different kind of conversation outside.”

Your boss backed down. Grudgingly. But he backed down.

For the rest of the night, something shifted. Caleb stayed until close, actual close, not your bosses version. He helped you clean your section when the boss wasn’t looking. Walked you to your car. Leaned against the door while you unlocked it.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” he said softly. “There are better jobs. You’re smart, capable, kind. Don’t let him convince you that you deserve this shit.”

You looked up at him, exhausted but seen. Really seen.

“I know,” you admitted. “I’m just… scared to leave.”

Caleb pulled you into a hug, chin resting on your head. “Then be scared with me standing next to you. We’ll find something new together.”

Since he started living with you, he's learned a couple of things, one of them being the fact that you are a terrible liar and even worse at coming up with excuses when he asks where you’ve been or what you’ve been up to — especially if he does it in that pleading tone of his that makes you weak every single time.

He also knows your scent well. It's the very same scent of that body wash sitting in the bathroom with that fancy label on it; right next to his own bottle that you've bought weeks ago which — unbeknownst to you — is still full since he has decided to use yours exclusively. Caleb likes to smell like you after all, no matter how hard you want to teach him otherwise.

But recently you have started coming home late, wearing a smell he doesn't recognize and being awfully vague about it. And no matter how often he asks you about it, no matter how carefully he tries to pry into it, you avert your eyes from his begging ones and tell him it's nothing; that he shouldn't continue asking because work has just been awfully busy and the ride home takes some time. But he knows that you are lying; knows that you are keeping something a secret from him that he is not supposed to find out.

And Caleb hates it.

Because that smell you are wearing, it smells like someone else. It makes his skin crawl and desperately want to get rid of it, his fingers itching to move closer so he can overwrite it with his own, so at least it's not that sickly sweet scent that doesn't belong on you that is wafting over your smooth skin and lingering on your clothes.

He knows that he is being stubborn about this — constantly asking you where you are going and wanting to tag along every time you get ready for work — but he simply can't help himself; he's supposed to be the only one you care about after all, and he's going to make sure of it.

Small, careful steps.

Caleb can hear the gentleness to them as they try to sneak past his room, but it seems you definitely forgot how great his hearing is; sharp, pointy ears perking up when he senses something happening that is unusual for this time of the day when the sun has barely risen and the light is just grazing the curtains.

In all the months he has started living with you, Caleb has learned your schedule by heart, and he knows you would rather sleep in on a free weekend than be up and running this early already, usually joining him on the couch for some cuddling the moment you wake up as you enjoy your first coffee of the day.

His body moves as if on its own, approaching the door so he can slowly pry it open and take a peek outside where he sees you secretly getting ready and putting on your shoes in the corridor, nervous eyes constantly shifting around.

There's something weird about you and as he raises his nose up in the air so he can take a careful sniff, his eyebrows immediately furrow in confusion when he clearly identifies and recognizes this smell. It's that expensive bottle of perfume that sits high up on the shelf in your room, carefully placed there so he won't accidentally get to it.

The last time he remembers you wearing it, you had been invited to a major work event at the hunters’ association where you had been awarded a great achievement for your hard work. And now you are wearing it at seven in the morning when trying to make it out of the apartment without him noticing.

Now that's suspicious.

"..Where are you going?"

His voice is raspy and slightly harsh; the moment the words make it past his lips, you let out a tiny yelp and whip your head around to look at him.

That is the look of someone who just got caught red handed, Caleb figures. Your eyes are unable to meet his; fidgeting hands trying to hide something behind your back when you take in the sight of him and the way he's crossing his arms in front of his puffed up chest.

"Y-You're up already, Caleb! I'm just..-" your eyes dart around the room, trying to look for an excuse before returning your gaze to match his, "I'm meeting up with Tara today! Forgot to tell you about it last night, but we are getting breakfast together"

You are lying. Knowing how clingy he is, you would never leave home without letting him know first. Especially because — since taking him in — you had learned pretty early on how much Caleb hated the thought of being away from you, being genuinely upset when you make it home late when a mission ended up taking longer than necessary or you wouldn't make it home in time even though 'you promised'.

"It's not even eight" he mutters, stepping closer so he can wrap his arm around yours and tug you back into your shared apartment, something inside of his stomach churning in frustration, "You could've woken me up to let me know"

His tail has already wrapped around your waist, making it hard for you to get out from his firm grip. You can feel his strong gaze as it's burying holes in your face, waiting for a proper answer to make it past your lips. But it's hard to do that when you can clearly tell he won't take a simple no for a reply, especially now when he's obviously agitated.

"I won't be away for too long, Caleb" you whisper, reaching your hand up to cup his face, "Just wait a little bit longer and I'll be back before you know it, alright? How about that apple pie from downtown you like so much? I'll go grab you a slice, ok?"

He's pouting, his bottom lip pushed out as he nuzzles his face into your palm in a way he always does when he's trying to act cute and convince you not to go. It would've worked usually, but you have something to do today that is pretty important, so there's no way you are going to fall for his tricks once more.

"I'm so sorry, but I really have to get going now. I'll be back in an hour, promise" You gently brush your fingers through his brown, soft locks, pressing a quick kiss on his nose before you break away and gesture for him to go back to sleep.

But Caleb is faster — he always is — and he reaches for your hand to bring it up to his face, pressing his sharp teeth into your palm as he leaves a prominent bite mark on it, gently brushing his tongue against it as an apology when you let out a pained yelp. His eyes are half-lidded and his grip feels warm, and he only lets go when you repeatedly reassure him you would be back soon and that he will get you to himself for the rest of the day.

"It's been way longer than an hour."

Caleb's ears are flattened on top of his head, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance and you know this is going to be a difficult conversation when you notice how his nose scrunched up the moment you entered the living room and stepped inside, his eyes averting any attempt of yours to look at him.

"Traffic has been kind of busy. I'm sorry, 'leb-"

"And you have that disgusting smell on you again"

You raise your eyebrow in confusion, trying to get a whiff of yourself, but it's difficult to pick up anything, no matter how hard you try. It must be his sensitive nose that understands the little details off about you, and Caleb sighs when you tell him you don't notice anything and don't even know where it's coming from.

"You don't understand, it's everywhere" Caleb murmurs, walking over and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, leaving little traces of his teeth across your skin without hurting you too much in the process, "Where did you go? Who did you meet?"

"Me? Nobody..! I was just-"

"You said you were going out for breakfast with Tara," Caleb huffs, his voice cold, "So you lied to me"

His grip on you tightens, his tail wrapping around your waist and you can clearly tell that he is angry now as his nails start digging into your clothes and his body starts tensing up.

"W-Wait, Caleb! Hear me out for a second! I just-"

"You have been hiding something from me, I know it" he growls, lunging forward to leave several bites on your neck, "So? Who is it? Who are you trying to meet when I'm at home waiting for you?"

"Alright, alright, stop!"

Your hands reach forward to press against his chest, pushing his body away from you in one go, so you can break free from his grip and take a couple of steps back. You are panting, your chest heaving as you watch the way his eyes had turned dark, his whole body tensing up in betrayal; it reminded you of the time when you first started living together and you had to slowly learn how to gain Caleb's trust over time.

You sigh, shaking your head, "Caleb, sit down and close your eyes. I'll be back in a minute."

Your steps are quick and his nose nervously follows your scent.

Caleb listens to the little sounds you make: hears a door open and close, something rustling and crackling, shelves opening and closing. Then he hears your steps as they quickly draw closer and finally stop right in front of him, an object placed on the table in front of him that he can't make out at all, but can immediately recognize.

It has that smell you have been carrying these past days.

"Okay, now open your eyes"

Bright sparks take over his vision, little crackling noises leaving him confused as he turns his head to look at you, waiting for an answer while he stares at what he can only identify as some type of cake with a branch sitting on top of it.

"Happy birthday, Caleb!" you chirp nervously, presenting the little surprise you had tried to prepare for him in advance, "I know it's not officially your birthday, but today marks the very first year we have been living together! I tried making you a cake by myself, but you have been way too observant recently, so I had to break the news earlier than I wanted to-"

"…Birthday?" he whispers, taking a closer look at the cake in front of him that is still flickering, pretty decorations added to hand-drawn letters that spell out his name and a small message on it.

"Yep, your birthday! I figured you wouldn't be the biggest fan of surprises, but I never expected you to be this suspicious of me"

The haze inside his mind is slowly dissipating as he watches the wide smile on your face and the way your eyes are shining at him. The squeeze he has been feeling these past days, tightly clutching onto his heart, is slowly loosening and making it possible to finally breathe out properly and realize that all this time, you have thought about him, and him only.

You chuckle leaning forward to stroke his hair, "You are lucky I don't mind how clingy you are, but keep down the bites next year, alright?"

Since he started living with you, he's learned a couple of things, one of them being the fact that you are a terrible liar and even worse at coming up with excuses when he asks where you’ve been or what you’ve been up to — especially if he does it in that pleading tone of his that makes you weak every single time.

He also knows your scent well. It's the very same scent of that body wash sitting in the bathroom with that fancy label on it; right next to his own bottle that you've bought weeks ago which — unbeknownst to you — is still full since he has decided to use yours exclusively. Caleb likes to smell like you after all, no matter how hard you want to teach him otherwise.

But recently you have started coming home late, wearing a smell he doesn't recognize and being awfully vague about it. And no matter how often he asks you about it, no matter how carefully he tries to pry into it, you avert your eyes from his begging ones and tell him it's nothing; that he shouldn't continue asking because work has just been awfully busy and the ride home takes some time. But he knows that you are lying; knows that you are keeping something a secret from him that he is not supposed to find out.

And Caleb hates it.

Because that smell you are wearing, it smells like someone else. It makes his skin crawl and desperately want to get rid of it, his fingers itching to move closer so he can overwrite it with his own, so at least it's not that sickly sweet scent that doesn't belong on you that is wafting over your smooth skin and lingering on your clothes.

He knows that he is being stubborn about this — constantly asking you where you are going and wanting to tag along every time you get ready for work — but he simply can't help himself; he's supposed to be the only one you care about after all, and he's going to make sure of it.

Small, careful steps.

Caleb can hear the gentleness to them as they try to sneak past his room, but it seems you definitely forgot how great his hearing is; sharp, pointy ears perking up when he senses something happening that is unusual for this time of the day when the sun has barely risen and the light is just grazing the curtains.

In all the months he has started living with you, Caleb has learned your schedule by heart, and he knows you would rather sleep in on a free weekend than be up and running this early already, usually joining him on the couch for some cuddling the moment you wake up as you enjoy your first coffee of the day.

His body moves as if on its own, approaching the door so he can slowly pry it open and take a peek outside where he sees you secretly getting ready and putting on your shoes in the corridor, nervous eyes constantly shifting around.

There's something weird about you and as he raises his nose up in the air so he can take a careful sniff, his eyebrows immediately furrow in confusion when he clearly identifies and recognizes this smell. It's that expensive bottle of perfume that sits high up on the shelf in your room, carefully placed there so he won't accidentally get to it.

The last time he remembers you wearing it, you had been invited to a major work event at the hunters’ association where you had been awarded a great achievement for your hard work. And now you are wearing it at seven in the morning when trying to make it out of the apartment without him noticing.

Now that's suspicious.

"..Where are you going?"

His voice is raspy and slightly harsh; the moment the words make it past his lips, you let out a tiny yelp and whip your head around to look at him.

That is the look of someone who just got caught red handed, Caleb figures. Your eyes are unable to meet his; fidgeting hands trying to hide something behind your back when you take in the sight of him and the way he's crossing his arms in front of his puffed up chest.

"Y-You're up already, Caleb! I'm just..-" your eyes dart around the room, trying to look for an excuse before returning your gaze to match his, "I'm meeting up with Tara today! Forgot to tell you about it last night, but we are getting breakfast together"

You are lying. Knowing how clingy he is, you would never leave home without letting him know first. Especially because — since taking him in — you had learned pretty early on how much Caleb hated the thought of being away from you, being genuinely upset when you make it home late when a mission ended up taking longer than necessary or you wouldn't make it home in time even though 'you promised'.

"It's not even eight" he mutters, stepping closer so he can wrap his arm around yours and tug you back into your shared apartment, something inside of his stomach churning in frustration, "You could've woken me up to let me know"

His tail has already wrapped around your waist, making it hard for you to get out from his firm grip. You can feel his strong gaze as it's burying holes in your face, waiting for a proper answer to make it past your lips. But it's hard to do that when you can clearly tell he won't take a simple no for a reply, especially now when he's obviously agitated.

"I won't be away for too long, Caleb" you whisper, reaching your hand up to cup his face, "Just wait a little bit longer and I'll be back before you know it, alright? How about that apple pie from downtown you like so much? I'll go grab you a slice, ok?"

He's pouting, his bottom lip pushed out as he nuzzles his face into your palm in a way he always does when he's trying to act cute and convince you not to go. It would've worked usually, but you have something to do today that is pretty important, so there's no way you are going to fall for his tricks once more.

"I'm so sorry, but I really have to get going now. I'll be back in an hour, promise" You gently brush your fingers through his brown, soft locks, pressing a quick kiss on his nose before you break away and gesture for him to go back to sleep.

But Caleb is faster — he always is — and he reaches for your hand to bring it up to his face, pressing his sharp teeth into your palm as he leaves a prominent bite mark on it, gently brushing his tongue against it as an apology when you let out a pained yelp. His eyes are half-lidded and his grip feels warm, and he only lets go when you repeatedly reassure him you would be back soon and that he will get you to himself for the rest of the day.

"It's been way longer than an hour."

Caleb's ears are flattened on top of his head, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance and you know this is going to be a difficult conversation when you notice how his nose scrunched up the moment you entered the living room and stepped inside, his eyes averting any attempt of yours to look at him.

"Traffic has been kind of busy. I'm sorry, 'leb-"

"And you have that disgusting smell on you again"

You raise your eyebrow in confusion, trying to get a whiff of yourself, but it's difficult to pick up anything, no matter how hard you try. It must be his sensitive nose that understands the little details off about you, and Caleb sighs when you tell him you don't notice anything and don't even know where it's coming from.

"You don't understand, it's everywhere" Caleb murmurs, walking over and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, leaving little traces of his teeth across your skin without hurting you too much in the process, "Where did you go? Who did you meet?"

"Me? Nobody..! I was just-"

"You said you were going out for breakfast with Tara," Caleb huffs, his voice cold, "So you lied to me"

His grip on you tightens, his tail wrapping around your waist and you can clearly tell that he is angry now as his nails start digging into your clothes and his body starts tensing up.

"W-Wait, Caleb! Hear me out for a second! I just-"

"You have been hiding something from me, I know it" he growls, lunging forward to leave several bites on your neck, "So? Who is it? Who are you trying to meet when I'm at home waiting for you?"

"Alright, alright, stop!"

Your hands reach forward to press against his chest, pushing his body away from you in one go, so you can break free from his grip and take a couple of steps back. You are panting, your chest heaving as you watch the way his eyes had turned dark, his whole body tensing up in betrayal; it reminded you of the time when you first started living together and you had to slowly learn how to gain Caleb's trust over time.

You sigh, shaking your head, "Caleb, sit down and close your eyes. I'll be back in a minute."

Your steps are quick and his nose nervously follows your scent.

Caleb listens to the little sounds you make: hears a door open and close, something rustling and crackling, shelves opening and closing. Then he hears your steps as they quickly draw closer and finally stop right in front of him, an object placed on the table in front of him that he can't make out at all, but can immediately recognize.

It has that smell you have been carrying these past days.

"Okay, now open your eyes"

Bright sparks take over his vision, little crackling noises leaving him confused as he turns his head to look at you, waiting for an answer while he stares at what he can only identify as some type of cake with a branch sitting on top of it.

"Happy birthday, Caleb!" you chirp nervously, presenting the little surprise you had tried to prepare for him in advance, "I know it's not officially your birthday, but today marks the very first year we have been living together! I tried making you a cake by myself, but you have been way too observant recently, so I had to break the news earlier than I wanted to-"

"…Birthday?" he whispers, taking a closer look at the cake in front of him that is still flickering, pretty decorations added to hand-drawn letters that spell out his name and a small message on it.

"Yep, your birthday! I figured you wouldn't be the biggest fan of surprises, but I never expected you to be this suspicious of me"

The haze inside his mind is slowly dissipating as he watches the wide smile on your face and the way your eyes are shining at him. The squeeze he has been feeling these past days, tightly clutching onto his heart, is slowly loosening and making it possible to finally breathe out properly and realize that all this time, you have thought about him, and him only.

You chuckle leaning forward to stroke his hair, "You are lucky I don't mind how clingy you are, but keep down the bites next year, alright?"