The Void You Fill
Only you and he were at the dining table, the silence broken only by the sound of cutlery touching ceramic. You deliberately avoided his gaze, focusing on cutting the meat on your plate. He had cooked the meat, and it tasted exactly like the one you used to eat as a child.
Something's on your mind.
He spoke, his tone an undeniable judgment, not a question. He put down his knife and fork, leaning slightly forward. The cuffs of his white shirt were neat, revealing a metal Star Alliance insignia on his wrist.
You felt exposed but insisted stubbornly.
No, just thinking about next week's mission report.
The lie was too flimsy. You knew better than anyone that you would never be distracted before a mission.
He didn't argue, just watched you quietly, his purple pupils like a bottomless vortex, capable of sucking away all your justifications. He reached out, took your water glass, and refilled it for you.
Don't put up a front.
He spoke the coldest words with the most gentle action. He was always like this, using rationality to build a retreat for you, yet using action to dismantle all your defenses.
You felt a tightness in your chest, the powerlessness of being seen through by him, mixed with a longing you dared not admit. You wished he would press further, forcing you to say those suppressed words.
You never used to lie to me.
He said slowly, his voice sounding like a sigh, and like an accusation.
You put down your knife and fork with a harsh scraping sound.
How do you want me to answer? you asked him, a heat in your tone that you hadn't noticed.
He leaned back against the chair, resuming his aloof male deity posture.
I know you've been avoiding me lately.
You clenched your fingers. Yes, you were avoiding him. Avoiding the focus in his eyes, avoiding the shiver his accidental touches caused, avoiding the feeling that your affection for him had long surpassed the boundary of sister.
That's just because—
Because we live too close, he completed the sentence for you, his voice chillingly steady.
You remained silent. You knew it wasn't just a matter of physical distance.
He suddenly stood up, walked to your side, and leaned over. His presence instantly enveloped you.
What I want to fill is not the distance in your life.
His voice was extremely low, carrying a naked, destructive aggression. His large hands braced on both sides of your chair back, trapping you in his shadow. You felt your skin starting to heat up, the humid reaction deep inside your body clamoring.
Caleb, stop it, you whispered.
A flicker of something you had never seen—almost pain—crossed his purple eyes. He didn't touch you, but used that oppressive proximity to make you feel like every inch of your body was being filled by his invisible desire.
He retreated again, picked up his glass from the table, and took a sip of water.
I just want to know if you're also starting to... be afraid.
He didn't give you time to answer. He sat back down and continued cutting the meat on his plate, as if the preceding conversation had never happened. But the precision and ruthlessness of his cutting motion let you know that the fear had long been seen through by him.
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