#caleb angst

“This thing is so ugly,” you whine, picking at your cast as he walks you back home. “Do you think I’m gross now, Caleb?”

“It’s not ugly. You need it to get better.”

“I thought you’d fall in love with me if I went high enough,” you sniffle fake tears, which he reads in an instant. “I did go pretty high up, though. So maybe you like me at least.”

He laughs, and you scowl, insisting that you aren’t joking. So instead, he smiles and holds your free hand in his again. Your heart skips a beat. A childish, but innocent love fluttering in your chest. “Come on, splints. Let’s go watch TV, and I can sign your cast.”

The broken wrist is so worth it.

With MC being two grades lower than the two of you and thus having a different schedule, it doesn’t take long before you’re doing practically everything with Caleb. He’s your seatmate in class, the two of you walk to and from school, and there doesn’t seem to be a moment where you aren’t glued at the hip. Throughout all of this, you make sure you shoot your shot whenever the chance arises—even when it doesn’t arise at all.

“You get any chocolates for Valentine’s?” you ask as you plop down in your seat with your lunch, not-so-conspicuously eyeing his desk as his friends begin to crowd around the two of you. It didn’t take long for Caleb to adjust to ordinary school life. After his initial bumpy introduction where he seemed hesitant to get close to anyone his grandma would introduce him to, he was quick to adjust to a level of charisma even you haven’t gotten to. 

By now, he’s charisma personified. You, yourself, have no idea how quickly he adapts to things. Though, you do recall that after an exam measuring his intelligence, he was told he couldn’t lower his grade by two years to be with MC. So you suppose he’s rather bright—almost as much as his face.

“Too many,” one of his friends groan, dragging his hand down the side of his face. “Life’s so not fair, dude.”

“Just a few,” Caleb laughs, turning to feel me stare at him expectantly. “Most of them are obligatory. I just helped a couple people out during gym.”

You glance at his friends. “How many is a few?”

“At least five,” another one grins. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and his friend snickers at his shoulder. “You jealous?”

It’s not like your crush on Caleb is new news. In fact, it’s practically common knowledge at your school, given how open you are with your affection with him. Asking him out with a giant poster on orientation day, sending him notes with hearts littered everywhere during class, and refusing to be subtle when you’re discussing it with your friends…it tends to add up. Most people believe your relationship to be strange, but those who matter thought of it as the norm, so it doesn’t really matter. 

“Jealous? I don’t think so, why?”

“Most girls would be if their boyfriend got a bunch of chocolates,” he responds, to which Caleb immediately reminds him that you’re not dating. Then his friend sighs. “It’s cute when girls get jealous, isn’t it?”

At this, your ears perk.

“Should I be jealous?” you ask Caleb, making his friends erupt into snickers. “Do you think it’s cute too?”

He rolls his eyes and flicks your forehead softly. “Do you ever ask normal questions, splints?”

Throughout your childhood together, everything involves him. Family dinners, graduation, holidays, all of it. Of course, this means that MC is there for all of it too. You’re helplessly in love, but you’re not stupid. You know what love looks like from the movies their grandma would play on their TV. He cares for her with a different look in his eyes. He protects her with a lovingness in his voice that he doesn’t spare for you. 

The same fingers that flick your forehead touch her arm gingerly, like she could crack in half if he holds too hard. He doesn’t touch her very easily either, whereas he often falls asleep with his head fully leaning against your shoulder on the bus ride home. He wakes up at the crack of dawn to make her lunch, while the two of you munch on sandwiches from the school cafeteria during lunch breaks. He scolds you when your clothes are tossed on the ground while he folds hers without her having to ask. He never enters her room to protect her privacy while he lounges in yours like he owns the place.

Your Caleb, you have found, is different from MC’s Caleb. 

MC’s Caleb is easy to depend on. Trustworthy, perfect, and never makes a mistake for the life of him. He never loses his cool in front of her, never has a hair out of place, lets her win at all the board games, and always has this clear but dazed look in his pretty purple eyes. Your Caleb has none of that. Your Caleb teases you mercilessly when you lose the card game for the fifth time in a row. Your Caleb passes out on his desk while studying for an exam, essentially drooling on his notebook to lie to MC that he’s naturally talented at math. Your Caleb sends you stupid videos about plane models and forces you to sit through a thirty-minute explanation about it.

You know he likes her. He knows you know he likes her. She doesn’t know anything at all. All jumbled up, like a wordless pact ready to crumble at any moment. 

Of course, this means that he prioritizes her over you at times. All the time. It’s to be expected. She’s family, you’re not. You’ve grown used to it, and so has he.

MC doesn’t notice though, because she doesn’t have to. Because to her, Caleb is just a slightly nagging but cool adoptive brother. Nothing more, nothing less. And you’re one of her childhood friends, and Caleb’s best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

The first year after you graduate high school is a dramatic shift from your cozy hometown. You somehow manage to get into the same college as Caleb–and you attribute his tutoring to be the main culprit—though in different majors. It’s a lot to convince him to go so far from home given that MC is still at home, but after a lot of reluctant discussion, he agrees.

“Take off your shoes at the door,” he reminds you as you barge into his dorm room after a particularly difficult exam for one of your classes. You do as he asks, grumbling about how he has no mercy for the fallen, tossing them haphazardly beside the door and prancing past him. He takes the time to tidy them up, as if he’s expecting it. “How was your exam?”

“Awful. I went through war.”

Caleb grins as he sits down at the coffee table beside you, watching as you bury your face into your arms. “And whose fault is it that they didn’t want to study?”

“Yours.”

“Funny,” he snorts, and you feel his large hand ruffling the top of your head. “It’s alright, splints. I can tutor you a bit earlier on the next one.”

“Even you can’t save me for this class.”

“Is that a challenge?”

He ends up cooking up something quick in his makeshift kitchen (essentially just a rice cooker), while you laze around on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Once he’s finished, you scarf down his food like a man starved, lips stretching widely. At times like these, you’re oddly grateful for his hopeless love toward MC. How else would he have learned to cook such good food?  “You should honestly be a chef, Caleb. Actually, no, that would mean other people would eat your food. I guess you can just be my personal chef when we’re married.”

Caleb remains completely unaffected, wordlessly cleaning the plate in front of you. “I didn’t realize I was engaged.”

“Well, now you know. Not sure if you remember, but I had fireworks for you and everything when I proposed. Plus an orchestra.”

He hums, looking up as if he’s in thought, and then nods. “Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar, splints. How could I forget?”

You shrug. “You tell me.”

His face falls as you pace to the door and begin to put your shoes back on. “Where are you going? Aren’t you done with class?”

“Going out. I deserve it after that exam.”

“With your friends?”

“No, with four guys,” you joke, but he doesn’t seem to find it very funny. “I’m just going to a club. I won’t be back too late.”

He’s already grabbing his jacket. “I can come.”

You push him back with your finger by the nose, and he blinks in surprise, making you laugh. “No need. You have exams too, y’know.”

“I’m done studying.”

“Liar.”

Though it takes some convincing, you eventually have him sit at his desk once more. He manages to nag a whole lot as you leave, reminding you to call him once you’re done so he can pick you up, but you just wave him off as you leave out the door. You take your time getting ready–dolling yourself up to hide the dark circles beneath your eyes. As you get ready, you video call MC, where she asks how you and Caleb have been doing in her absence. She rants about her days with her grandma, complaining about how quiet the house is when Caleb isn’t home, though she indulged in the beginning. She asks you to show her your outfit once you’re done, and she beams brightly in your screen, squealing about how you’d likely get a boyfriend soon that you can tell her all about.

You just smile, because you don’t know how to tell her that the only boy you want is wrapped around her unknowing hand.

The club is loud. Where the music rumbles through your feet to the tips of your fingertips, and the lights are flashing in a dimly lit room. Your friends flock to a table and order drinks while you let yourself feel the music and crack a joke or two once in a while.

A group of guys approaches you with easy smiles and louder voices than necessary—confidence sharpened by cheap cologne. One of them leans against your table like he’s done it a hundred times before, asking your name, where you’re from, if you come here often. The usual.

You answer, choking out a laugh to humor his unfunny jokes alongside your friends, while the swigs you take from your drink become deeper and deeper. 

He’s not bad at flirting, you think. Subtle, and not too glaring about it. But you don’t particularly enjoy humoring it, and it becomes gradually more apparent as your eyes keep drifting elsewhere and you keep having to ask him to repeat himself. You’re growing bored. Irritated.

Because he’s not Caleb.

It hits you in strange, inconvenient flashes. The way this guy stands just a little too far away. The way his voice doesn’t quite reach you over the music, even when he’s close. The way you don’t feel that familiar, grounding presence like an anchor holding you to the ground.

You find yourself glancing past his shoulder. Half-wishing to see Caleb there. Watching. Hovering.

But there’s only strangers. Blurred faces and flashing lights.

“You okay?” the guy asks, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Long week.”

He grins, like that’s an invitation. Says something else—something about getting you another drink, maybe dancing, maybe getting out of here.

You nod again. Smile again.

Across the room, your friends are already disappearing into the crowd, dragged toward the dance floor by laughter and hands you don’t recognize. One of them glances back at you, gives you a look that asks ‘you’re good, right?’ before she’s gone.

You sit back down at the table when the guy steps away. Maybe to grab drinks, maybe because he senses your attention drifting. You don’t really care which.

The music swells in your chest. The lights flicker. You wish you could enjoy yourself, but it’s particularly hard today.

You take another sip. Then another. Your phone rests face-down on the table, but you flip it over anyway.

No messages.

Of course not. He cares, but not like that. Not in the way that he would spam MC’s phone whenever he didn’t know where she was or how she was doing. No, not like that at all.

Another sip. The glass is nearly empty now.

And suddenly, you’re pressing send before you can even register what’s happening.

[you]: hi

The answer comes immediately, the grey bubbles popping up on his end of the screen.

[futre hubs <333]: do you need me to come pick you up?

[futre hubs <333]: i can

You’re not sure why you feel like shit, but you hate it. In moments like these—moments where the alcohol lets you lower your walls and truly think—it hits you like a truck, like a deeply sinking feeling in your chest. The years of rejection after rejection that the two of you frame like a bit—as if your feelings have become so miniscule that it no longer even phases him. 

It hurts, a bit. More than you let yourself feel.

You’re not sure how much time passes. Maybe minutes or maybe an hour. There’s buzzing throughout your body. The grip on your waist belonging to the man you’ve been half-heartedly entertaining suddenly becomes harsher, snapping you out of your trance. It feels unlike Caleb, but you let it sit anyway. However, the hand moves to your wrist, and you’re being pulled out of the crowd towards the wall.

Too touchy. He’s saying something into your ear, and you feel his breath against your skin. You don’t like it. Too close. The buzzing feeling feels more like an alarm now.

The words either go unheard due to the music or don’t deter him. You want to go back. Back to Caleb. In the moment, you begin to think—almost as if the world is in slow motion. Perhaps the drinks, you think. You wonder if Caleb will leave you. You wonder if he’ll leave to go be with MC. You wonder if the years you’ve spent expressing your love to him meant as much to him as it did to you, or if he just found it plain annoying. You wonder if now that you’re in college, he’d want to explore other people, and he’ll finally find an outlet to get rid of you for good. 

But you know he wouldn’t. Because he cares for you. Just not as much as he cares for her.

You wonder if he’s ever looked at you with the same softness he does with MC.

Someone pulls you away from the man and into their chest, and the worries dissipate in an instant. His scent. His warmth. You knew he’d come. He always does. It only takes a warning glare from Caleb before the man disappears into the crowd again, and you feel the grip on your wrist loosen. Caleb stares down at you, your back still to his chest as you blink wearily, almost in slow motion, and he sighs. He doesn’t give you the same smile he gives to MC when she’s in trouble. 

A part of you wishes he wasn’t always there for you—not when it’s so different from how he’s there for her. 

You sit idly in front of a convenience store parking lot while Caleb fetches you some water and ice cream. You have your knees to your chest, arms pulling them close as you shiver against the cold autumn breeze. You should’ve brought a jacket. The buzzing, hot feeling of the alcohol is subsiding too quickly.

“Drink.” You feel a water bottle press against your cheek from behind, and Caleb plops down beside you with a plastic bag. He notices how you’re holding yourself together and frowns. “Are you cold?”

“No.”

“I told you to grab a jacket.”

“You nag too much.”

He snickers and twists open the cap of the water bottle for you to drink, which you sip carefully. He strips his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders, and you immediately bury yourself in it. It smells like him.

“What kind of woman do you like, Caleb?”

“You and your questions.”

“I want to know.”

He shifts to face you, motioning for you to lift your arms. He grabs either side of his jacket and pulls it shut, fumbling with the zipper until he manages to zip it to your chin. You can barely claw your hands out of his sleeves—the fabric almost engulfs you—but he just laughs. “My type? A woman who brings jackets when it’s cold.”

You scowl, making his laugh echo louder. “Other than that.”

“A woman who goes to class in the morning.”

“...Other than that.”

“A woman who doesn’t leave her clothes all over my floor when she feels like sleeping over.”

“Something else.”

“A woman who eats healthy, balanced meals. A woman who doesn’t steal all my pens and then still ends up asking me for more. Maybe someone who doesn’t pass out drooling on my pillow. Or someone who doesn’t let half the world know that they like someone—hell, maybe even the entire world.”

Caleb glances at you, chuckling to himself, but stops the moment he sees that you’re not laughing with him. Your head hangs low, your feet shuffling anxiously. His face twists, and suddenly the air thickens.  “Splints?”

You pick at your sleeves. “So just not me?”

“I was just kidding around.”

“Jokes have some truth to them.”

“Not all of them. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, Caleb,” you finally meet his eyes again, and shrug. “I know you like someone else. I’m not an idiot.”

Silence commences, like a bell dropping on your head.

Caleb shifts his weight, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times—usually followed by some half-joke, something to smooth things over.

But nothing comes.

The space between you suddenly feels too small and too big all at once. You try to act normal. You really do.

You fiddle with your sleeve again, smoothing it down, then pulling at it, then smoothing it again. Anything to give your hands something to do, so they don’t reach for him out of instinct. 

Caleb glances at you. Then away.

Then back again, like he’s trying to solve something written across your face but can’t quite make out the words.

“Hey,” he starts, softer this time.

You hum in response, not trusting your voice yet.

Another pause. God, it’s awkward.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters again, quieter now. Not defensive. Unsure. “You know I think you’re amazing.”

Just not enough.

“I am pretty great,” but it comes out too soft.

Neither of you knows what to do with another stretch of silence. So you opt to drink some more water instead.

“Why do you like me so much?” He eventually mutters out as he bites his bottom lip, eyes falling to the ground like he can’t bear to watch your expression. “You could do a lot better.”

You smile, but it’s half-hearted. “How could I not?”

He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully before his voice comes out in a soft whisper. “You mean so much to me. You’re smart, beautiful, and everything good in between—whoever gets to call you theirs is the luckiest person I know. And you know I’d do anything for you.”

Despite their sweetness, his words feel like judgement wrapping around your heart in vines, squeezing just before it’s about to pop. You wish you could block your ears out for what comes next.

“But it can’t be me.” Caleb’s lips purse, brows furrowing as he looks away. “I can’t give you what you want.”

The rejection hurts more than you realized it would. You want to tell him that it’s not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you’re sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room that you’re in is not fair. 

Instead, you nod. And you swear to yourself that you’ll swallow this sickening lump in your throat that makes you want to hurl and sob at the same time. That you’ll bury it deep in a graveyard within you that even the closest person to you would never know of. Especially him.  

“I don’t want it, either,” you snort back, immediately perking up to slap his back in what results in a jolt. His shoulders tense as he blinks wide at you, unsure of the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I don’t want feelings that belong to someone else, dumbass.”

Once it sinks in that you mean it, a smile finds its way onto his face, though something flickers beneath it, like a flash of something you don’t want to look too far into.

Not because you still had hope, but because whatever existed between you had never been something as simple as a crush. It had roots—tangled deep into your souls and impossible to pull free without tearing something open. You wanted to keep what was left. Even if it lingered just a little longer, and even if you pretended not to see the splintering strands in the string tying you together.

So you let it settle. Let it rot somewhere you couldn’t feel it.

The two of you fall into the kind of closeness that you’ve always had, and time passes as if it was always meant to be this way. It’s easier this way. For a while, it does work, but nothing ever really stays under wraps. Despite your incessant protests in telling yourself it’s fading, the scars he’s inflicted on you are just that. Scars. Unmoving yet subtle.

The thinning thread finally snaps a few years later, when MC develops feelings for a coworker in the Hunter’s Association. The day the cracks in the glass bridge holding you together shatter beneath your feet into a million different pieces.

“When’s the last time you’ve slept?”

He’s sprawled shirtless on the couch of his apartment in Skyhaven, freshly out of the shower after you arrived to visit him for the first time in months—only to see that he’s nearly overworking himself to death. Despite him going off to the DAA after college, you’d kept close contact, the connection between the two of you never wavering regardless of your restricted time. It only changed after news of MC broke out. Worried, you’d rushed to Skyhaven to make sure he was doing okay, which you’re clearly glad you did now. You’d practically had to drag him to the shower to keep him from passing out next to the front door in his gear.

Caleb, clearly, is off. You suppose you don’t blame him. The woman he loves is yearning for another. Almost poetic, really, but you don’t like seeing him this way. Especially when you know what it feels like yourself, even if you’ve gotten used to it. Gotten over it. He looks like a kicked puppy. Hurt, like a dog who’s just been scratched by its owner. 

“I dunno.”

You peer into the empty abyss that is his fridge and frown. There’s a few measly apples sitting inside, and a half-eaten protein bar that’s been there for god knows how long. “What the hell have you been eating?”

He responds with a grunt, letting his head fall back against the sofa. You decide to make do with the instant noodles he has stashed in one of the cupboards and bring it over to him once it seems mostly done. With a fork, you stick out a few noodles to his face, urging him. “Eat.”

“Not hungry,” he mutters.

“Don’t care. Sit up.”

He opens one of his eyes to peek at you, which somehow urges him forward. There’s darkness beneath his eyes—even stubble littering his chin from a few days worth of not shaving. You want to reach out and poke fun at him, but the state he’s in deters you. Instead, you silently feed him, watching him chew his food while staring at your hands. It makes you wish you put on a fresh set of polish before you came.

You twirl another small forkful and hold it out. He leans forward this time without being told, taking it quietly. His shoulder brushes yours as he settles back against the couch, and you can feel his skin through your shirt.

“Thanks,” he mutters, voice rough from disuse more than anything. “For coming.”

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t rot in here.”

He huffs a faint laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Probably would’ve. Dramatic way to go out, huh?”

You nudge his knee with yours. “Starving to death in your own apartment? Real heroic.”

A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. It makes your heart flutter. Stupid feelings.

“…thanks for coming, splints,” he says.

Your chest tightens—sharp and sudden. It feels like it’s threatening to feel something that’s not yours to feel. So instead, you look down at the bowl, pretending to focus on separating another bite. You twirl your fork, more carefully this time. “I had to. You weren’t responding, so I thought you died, or something. Open.”

He rolls his eyes, but obeys anyway. “Bossy.”

“Learned from the best.”

His lids flutter shut, voice dropping to a lower hum. “I missed this.”

Your hand stills. “What?”

He shrugs, eyes still closed. “You being here.”

His hair is sticking to his forehead, still damp from the shower. Before you realize what you’re doing, you brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead. You speak quietly. “You look like shit.”

“Wow,” he mutters. “You have a way with words.”

You frown, and without thinking, your hand lingers at his temple for just a second longer than it should. His skin is warm, still hot from the shower.

“Idiot,” you whisper.

He catches your wrist. Not tight, not stopping you. Simply holding it there for a moment that feels too long and not long enough at once. Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then you’re looking away, setting the mostly finished bowl of noodles onto the coffee table to pull away.

“Don’t make this a habit. I’m not flying out here every time you forget to eat.”

“Could,” he murmurs. “You would.”

You don’t respond to that, because he’s not wrong.

“…Is she okay?”

It slips out of him like instinct. Like breathing. And just like that, everything shifts. You don’t answer right away—instead, your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.

“She’s fine,” you say eventually. Leave it, you plead in your head.

“Did she say anything?” he asks, sitting up a little more now. There’s something in his eyes, like he’s searching. “When you talked to her.”

You shrug, trying to keep your tone even. “Just normal stuff.” Stop, you think. Please stop talking.

“Like what?”

“Like her job. Her grandma. Nothing serious.” Shit.

He frowns slightly. “She didn’t mention him?”

There it is. It’s always about her.

You know he’s in a vulnerable spot right now, but it does nothing to ease the sudden flame roaring in your chest. Whether it’s from years of repressed hurt or shame, all it amounts to is a relentless ball of rage inside of you that leaves your nails digging crescents into the palms of your hands. You stare at him, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you inch away from him. 

“Does it matter?”

Caleb’s face relaxes. “What?”

“Why does it matter what she thinks about him? She likes him, end of story, no?”

“I just want to know if he’s a decent guy.”

Your ass. “That’s not really your business, Caleb, but sure. He’s a great guy. Amazing, honestly. He’s really gentlemanly and checks every single box. He lives above her apartment, so they’re right next to each other. He treats her gently, too. I’d bet every girl would jump at a chance to date a guy like that.”

You’re not sure where the words are tumbling out of, but it’s too late to go back. Neither do you want to.

“I wonder if he has a brother. Maybe MC could set me up or something.”

“Oh. Is he…” Caleb’s back straightens, and you notice his fingers digging into his thighs. “...handsome?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m telling you, he’s perfect. His face could pay for the Linkon rent by itself.”

He suddenly stands, and you glare up at him through your eyebrows. “Why are you talking like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scoff.

He narrows his eyes. It’s something you haven’t seen in a while, since Caleb rarely gets upset at you. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, splints.”

“Can you just spit it out? What am I saying differently?”

“You’re angry.”

You stand, following suit. He looms over you to have his shadow essentially engulf you, and you wish you could kick his ankle so he falls to the ground. “Maybe if you weren’t so irritating, I wouldn’t feel so annoyed right now.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to watch, Caleb,” you hiss out in exasperation, throwing your hands into the air. “It’s always pipsqueak this, pipsqueak that, pipsqueak what. Seriously, we’re not kids anymore, you need to get over it!”

You’re not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself anymore.

“Can we calm down and talk? If I’ve been talking too much about it, I can stop, so—”

“We haven’t seen each other in months, Caleb! And all you want to ask me about is how she’s been? Why don’t you ask her yourself, if you’re so curious? Oh, but you can’t, because you always have to be perfect in front of her. So instead, you dump all of this on me. Your goods and bads, all of it, just for me to get kicked to the curb like I’m some dispensable object.”

“What?” his balks. “Dispensible? Are you serious? As if I haven’t gotten you out of every little thing you’ve gotten yourself into the past decade of our lives? As if I haven’t picked you up every weekend from your friends’ places at three in the morning? Like I haven’t called you every single week—”

“Well, I want you to stop that!” your words spit at him like weak knives, growing louder by the second. 

“You didn’t seem very against it the last forty times.”

“I am now.”

“What has gotten into you, splints?”

“Don’t call me that right now,” you glower, and you try to ignore the hurt flashing across his expression. “I’m just sick of seeing you follow her around like some wet dog. She doesn’t see you like that, can’t you see that?”

Your breathing begins to stutter, and you suck in a deep breath through your nose. Your chest stings, and you pray that you don’t lose composure so the tears threatening to bubble at the corners of your eyes remain hidden.

“You told me that you couldn’t give me what I wanted. Well, she can’t either,” you bore holes into his chest, too afraid of what you might see if you look up. “If I can get over my stupid feelings, so can you.”

But you’re not over it. Not at all.

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. For the first time in a while, you’ve rendered him speechless, and it feels even worse than what it felt to be rejected years ago. You’re not sure how your nails haven’t drawn blood at this point. You’d rather that they do, so you have some excuse to use the restroom.

“It’s not fair what you do, Caleb,” you try to will your tears to stay at bay, but you can’t help them. They sting, blurring your vision as you drop your head in some pathetic hope that he won’t face them head on. “How you treat me when you don’t like me like that is not fair. At least MC doesn’t know, but you—you know, and yet you—”

The rational part of you says that it’s not entirely his fault. Sure, you insisted on staying by his side. Sure, you insisted that you could push down your feelings. Sure, you’ve promised a lot of things, but it’s his fault too, for being the way he is—so kind, so thoughtful, just so him. 

You wipe desperately at your tears. It was a lost cause from the start.

“Please don’t cry.” His face drains of color, apparent even against the dim lighting in his apartment. He steps towards you, and you take a step back. “Please don’t cry, splints, just not that.”

But when your tears refuse to cease dripping down your cheeks, your face flushing in humiliation, you feel both his hands cupping either side of it. He tilts your gaze up, and you realize that he’s only inches away from you, so much so that you can feel his breath against your skin. It’s moments like these that you lose yourself in his beauty. The deepness of his eyes that seem to peer into your very soul is one of the first features that you fell in love with as a child, and it hasn’t changed since. Damn him. You blink, eyes wide while his own flicker to your lips. 

“Be as mad as you want. Hit me, hate me even,” he whispers, his nose almost touching yours now. His thumb pad smooths your tears away. “But don’t waste your tears on someone like me.”

You think you might be imagining things. Because with the tension that nearly suffocates you and his lashes almost fluttering against your skin, you think he might be about to kiss you.

A sharp pain jabs you in the chest. Is it pity? A consolation prize dressed up as something softer? Is it to smooth things over, to make this moment easier for him to leave behind? Or is it rebellion? Something reckless from the fact that he can’t have her? Your tears have dried up, but the rest of your body seems to weep, as no excitement, no butterflies course through your veins. 

Why is it always something else? Why is it never you? It only hurts—because even now, you’re just the place he empties everything he feels for her.

Instinctively, you press your palm into his lips to push him away, and it feels like the air itself has stilled.

His breath lingers against your skin. Yours stutters like it’s forgotten how to exist in the same space as him. The air is so thick you could slice it with a knife.

Eventually, he pulls away. Caleb stares at you with an expression you haven’t seen before, though you don’t look long enough to analyze it. Wordlessly, you gather your things, stuffing your jacket into your bag and stumble over to the door—all while he stays locked in a petrified state, like he’s processing what he just did. Your gaze remains fixated on the wooden panels of the floor while you pack, refusing to look any higher in case you might see anything other than his feet.

“Don’t follow me,” you tell him as you leave. 

You don’t wait to see if he hears you.

The journey home feels like there’s a gaping hole in your chest, and all you can do is stare out the window as you feel the vibrations of the train through your fingertips. Outside, the world blurs past in streaks of dim lights and shadowed shapes, and you wish that your feelings were as fleeting as the buildings blurring by. 

You try to count the number of trees you see. Not on the warmth of his breath against your palm. Not on how close he’d been. Not on the fact that, for a second, you almost let him.

If you hadn’t pushed him away, would it have meant anything? Or would you have just been a mistake he’d regret in the morning?

Your phone buzzes frantically in your pocket, and you pull it out to see his name in big bold letters. He’s texting you simultaneously, apologizing in so many different ways that they all start to blend into one message you don’t plan on reading. You refuse to give into what your heart wants. It’s hurt you too much in the past. So instead, your thumb hovers above the ‘mute’ button.

You press it and shut your eyes.

Even if it’s difficult to adjust the first few weeks without him, you can’t bear to face him either. He shows up at your door. Nearly every day for some time, knocking softly and asking if you’d be willing to talk. When you simply plug in your earbuds and bury yourself into your bed, he apologizes through the door and leaves you something to eat. You tend to throw it out at first, but after a while, you figure it’s just a waste. Just like that, a month goes by. And then another. Then another. Until you can’t count them on one hand anymore. He comes by once every two weeks or so now, likely busy with his work.

Despite how much your body seems to miss his presence, you wonder if you should distance Caleb permanently. It’s a daunting idea. One that you never would’ve thought just a few years ago, but the embarrassment runs deeper than you want to admit. The feelings you’ve tried so hard to hide clearly aren’t hidden. Is this sustainable? 

Regardless of what you think, he comes around like clockwork.

“Are you in there?” He knocks gently on your door, voice soft. He probably knows you are.

“No.”

He chuckles from the other end. “Right. Happy birthday, splints.”

You glance at your phone calendar. He’s right. 

As usual, he begins to talk about random events in his life that he hasn’t had the opportunity to tell you, and while you usually muffle it out, you decide to quietly shuffle over to the door today. To tell him, maybe, that you don’t want to keep doing this. Or maybe just to hear his voice, you don’t know. Either way, you slide your back down the door where he’s on the other side, pulling your knees into your chest.

“I don’t know if you’ve read my text, but–”

“I don’t read them.”

Caleb stops, and you can almost hear his breath hitch. You usually don’t give him more than a few words, much less a full sentence, so it seems to have taken him aback. After the brief remission, you hear him clear your throat. “Splints, can you open the door? I want to talk—apologize to you.”

Silence.

“Or I can do it out here. That’s fine,” he sighs. “I want you to know that it’s okay if you want to hate me forever after this. I won’t keep clinging to you if you at listen to what I have to say, but I really just—I need to say that this is my fault.”

You half-heartedly hear his words drone on, his confidence wavering every so often while you pull up his chats on your phone. You have no idea how you hadn’t folded and read his chats until now, though it might’ve been more so for your own peace than anything. There’s too many to scroll up to, so you read the most recent messages, squinting in the dark against the light of your phone. 

[1:41PM]

[caleb]: are you eating well?

[caleb]: i made this today

[caleb]: [image attached]

[caleb]: your favorite dishes :) i’ll drop them off at your place later

[caleb]: i hope you’re not just throwing them out…wouldn’t blame you tho

[caleb]: at least take care of yourself :)

[8:13AM]

[caleb]: hi splints :)

[caleb]: you probably watched it already but that movie you wanted to see came out a week ago. I went to go see it

[caleb]: i still think it’s kind of bad…but it was entertaining

[caleb]: unless you wanna argue about it ?? :3

[5:32PM]

[caleb]: ranked first today

[caleb]: i was excited to celebrate it with you and then remembered :/

[caleb]: it doesn’t feel as good when i can’t tell you lol

[caleb]: hope you’re okay

[11:23PM]

[caleb]: i wish i hadn’t been so stupid

[caleb]: i didn’t deserve you back then

[caleb]: i still don’t

[caleb]: i shouldn’t have lost my cool when you were over here. didn’t like hearing you talk about that guy like that

[caleb]: im sure he’s a good looking guy, and i know you’re particularly weak to good looking guys…

[caleb]: i was being childish and i wish i could’ve explained it to you then

[caleb]: i know you don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to listen to what i have to say

[caleb]: but i never wanted to make you feel used, and i never did. if that even sounds believable lol

[caleb]: it was never about her

[caleb]: there’s so much more i want to say but i’ll say it in person

[caleb]: miss you a lot

[caleb]: sleep tight

You wish the tightness in your chest would go away. You wish you didn’t feel his sorrow through him. And you wish you didn’t care about your own feelings for him.

“I love you, splints,” he murmurs, and your attention tears away from the chats, your phone nearly clattering onto the floor. Your eyes widen, suddenly regretting that you missed the first half of his speech. 

“Not in the way you say it to your friends, or the way you say it to family. You’re my life, and you’ve been my life since the day you gave me that ring. I care for MC, but what I feel for you is different. It’s always been different. I realized that years ago, but I was afraid that it wouldn’t be fair for you. I thought you deserved someone better than someone who doesn’t know how to understand their own feelings.” Your throat dries. “I thought it wasn’t fair because I’d already put you through so much.”

“At the same time, I’m a selfish guy, you know? I couldn’t let you go either, because I couldn’t bear to see you with someone else. I wanted it to be us, and the only way I could think of existing without feeling like I was ruining you was to stay how we were. Stagnant, I guess,” he chuckles, but it feels sad. Weak. “I’m an idiot when it comes to you, you know.”

You don’t respond.

Not because you don’t have anything to say—if anything, there’s too much. It crowds your throat, every word scraping against the next until none of them can make it out. Your fingers hover uselessly over your phone, screen still lit with a conversation you can’t even remember reading.

‘I love you.’

The words echo, but they don’t land the way you once dreamed they would. They don’t bloom or soften or fix anything. They just sit. Too heavy. Too late.

Your chest tightens, aching outward like it’s trying to break free. Because you’ve wanted this—God, you’ve wanted this—for so long that you stopped letting yourself imagine it could ever actually happen. It should feel like relief. Instead, it feels real, but fragile.

Because you remember too much. The almosts. The waiting. The way you learned how to swallow your emotions when he built a wall between the two of you—and that doesn’t disappear just because he finally found the words.

Your hand curls slightly against the door, fingers brushing the cool surface.

Even with all that, you still miss the warmth of his skin. How his hair felt through a towel as you dried it. How he’d flick your forehead when you’d get a question wrong during one of his tutoring sessions. How he’d tease you about your grades or interests, and learn more about them anyway. How he’d message you throughout the day about random endeavors. How he’d always be there. How with just a call of his name, he would’ve crossed the continents for you. His eyes. His lips. His face. His painfully handsome face.

You remember him in all parts of your life—and not a single moment you’ve spared has gone without him. You remember how he held your hand when you’d broken your arm, and the way he’d lifted you into the air and embraced you when you were accepted into the same college as him. You remember how he’d pet your hair as you complained about him going too far for the DAA, promising he’d visit often. And he did. He always kept his promises.

Your body moves on its own, as if this was how it was always meant to be. The door slowly creaks open.

“…We’re a mess.”

A faint, tired smile is all you can give him. Still, when he sees you, the world seems to stop for just the two of you, and it takes him a moment to fully register that you’re really there. That you’re not just a figment of his imagination, and he hasn’t truly lost you forever as he’d feared. “This doesn’t mean you’re completely out of the woods. I’m still mad.”

“You should be,” he whispers out, nearly breathless.

Hesitantly, you step towards him. He reaches his arm out, brows furrowed cautiously like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to even blink right now. The tips of his fingers twitch towards you. You raise a brow, and he swallows the lump in his throat, retracting back until you nod. 

Realizing you don’t have shoes, you step onto the fronts of his shoes one foot at a time, taking his hand until you’re flush against him and he’s already engulfing you into a crushing embrace. His arms wrap around you, strong and warm. He smells good. Though you can’t confidently say the same for yourself given the state you’re in, he drops his chin into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, like a man starved.

“Note to self,” you mumble. “Don’t propose to any handsome guy you see.”

Caleb laughs, airy this time, and you feel it against your collarbone. “I thought you were going to leave your husband out here to die in the cold.”

“I should divorce you. We’re not even married yet.”

He grins, lopsided. “You should.”

“I won’t.”

“I know.

You bury your face into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric on his back. “I don’t want a version of my life without you, Caleb. As annoying as you are.”

He pulls away for a brief moment and places a kiss on your cheek, his own dusting red. Flowers feel like they’re blooming on the spot he pecked, but somehow, it feels natural. You’ve always been close to him physically throughout your upbringing, even if it never involved lips–that was new territory. You cross your arms, relying on his hands around your waist to keep you upright. “Tell me more.”

“You nag too much.”

He kisses your nose. “Hm?”

“You’re emotionally repressed.”

“Ouch.” He kisses your temple.

“You’re too good at things you don’t try at.”

Your jawline.

“You’re unstable. You’re too protective. You’re stupid.”

“I love you,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips hover above your own, just centimeters away.

Your lashes flutter against his. “Then prove it to me.”

Silence. Even the static in your comm feels heavy.

Then, worse, the choked sound of your breath hitching.

Regret drowns him before the mission even debriefs.

Xavier cornered you in the armory the second you were alone, his palm slamming the locker beside your head.

“I didn’t mean—" His voice breaks, raw with frustration, At himself. “You know I didn’t—.”

You finally meet his eyes. And his breath stutters.

“You meant it," you say softly. “That’s the problem."

The moment your words Xavier’s knees hit the floor like a man sentenced to death.

His hands fist in the fabric of your mission pants, forehead pressing into your stomach as his breath comes ragged and unsteady.

“I hate myself when you look at me like that," he grits out, voice muffled against your uniform shirt. “Like I’m just another person who doesn’t see you."

His fingers tremble where they grip you.

“I see you. Every reckless, brilliant inch." He takes a harsh inhale. “And I’d burn the world before I let my own pride make you doubt it again."

You slide your fingers through his hair, gently at first. Then your grip tightens until his pretty blue eyes flicker up to meet yours. The regret there is volcanic, but you don’t let him look away.

“You want to make it up to me?" you question, thumb brushing the scar on his cheekbone. The one you stitched up after his last reckless charge. “Then listen next time. Trust me like I trust you.”

His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t argue. You lean down, your lips a breath from his. “I’m stronger than you think. Nothing is going to keep me from you. In this lifetime, or the next.”

You seal the confession with a kiss.

˖᯽ ݁˖ Rafayel

The air in the studio was thick with tension, the scent of paint thinner sharp in your nose as you stood frozen under Rafayel’s glare. He was pissed.

"You lied to me." His voice was dangerously calm.

You swallowed hard. "Rafayel, I didn't—"

"Don't." His hand sliced through the air, cutting you off. "I trusted you. I told you things. Things I've never told anyone and the whole time, you were just—what? Playing along? Waiting to report back to them?”

‘Them’ was the Unicorn Operatives. It was never in-detail things. But Rafayel was still a person of interest for your organization.

Your stomach dropped. This wasn’t about some minor mistake, this was about everything, The secret mission, the hidden agenda, the lies woven into your time together.

"I had to," you insisted, stepping forward. "It wasn’t about you-”

"Of course it wasn’t!" he exploded, voice cracking. "Nothing ever is, is it? Not my art, not my trust. Not even this." His gesture between you two was vicious. "Was any of it real?"

The second the words left his mouth, his face twisted with regret.

You saw it, the flicker of pain in his eyes, the way his fists clenched like he wanted to take it back. But the damage was done. The silence between you was deafening.

And then, quieter, broken: "...Get out."

He froze, the sound of your sharp inhale like a physical blow. When your eyes began to water, the sight sent a lance of guilt and regret through him.

He'd wanted to hurt you with his callous words, to channel his anger into something that would leave you as wounded as he felt. But now, watching the tears well up in your eyes, all he felt was sickening remorse.

His throat tightened. The urge to take it all back clawed at his chest like a wild animal. To apologize, to comfort you, to go back to the way things were.

His knees folded with the weight of his regret. He fell to the ground before you, grasping your hands tightly as if fearing you'd slip away.

"Don't cry," he pleaded, each word a tight whisper. "Please, please don't cry.” His fingers clenched around your wrists, desperate, as if he could anchor you with touch alone.

"I didn't mean it," he insisted, desperation coloring his voice. "I was angry, I was hurt, but I didn’t mean a damn word."

A tear rolled down your cheek, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips as he clung to your hands like a sinner at prayer.

You sniffled, wiping your face with the back of your hand. "If you really want to make it up to me..."

Rafayel nodded frantically, ready to agree to anything. "Name it."

You pointed at the scattered sketches and paint tubes across the studio floor, his earlier outburst had sent them flying. "...You clean this up."

His mouth fell open slightly.

You tilted your head. "And..." You pause for effect. "...You make me hot chocolate. With whipped cream."

Rafayel blinked once, then exhaled a shaky laugh, pressing his forehead against your knuckles in sheer relief. "Deal," he mumbled.

You nudged him with your knee. "And marshmallows."

He groaned dramatically, but his grip on your hands tightened, like he never wanted to let go again. "Fine. But only because you're cute when you cry."

You scowled. "Rafayel.*"

He grinned, already scrambling to his feet. "Kidding! Mostly."

˖᯽ ݁˖ Zayne

The hospital room is too bright, too sterile. The rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor a mocking counterpoint to the furious pounding of your own pulse. Zayne stands at the foot of the bed, his white coat pristine, his knuckles bone-white where they grip the railing.

"How long?" His voice is quiet. “How long have you been having arrhythmias and didn't—" He chokes on the words, his composure fracturing. “Didn't tell me?"

You flinch. The truth lodges in your throat like glass. Three months of hiding skipped beats, of biting back gasps when your heart stuttered mid-mission, of pretending the black spots in your vision weren't getting worse.

Zayne reads the answer in your silence.

“Do you have any idea—" He cuts himself off, jaw working. When he speaks again, it's with a cold, clinical precision that cuts deeper than any shout. “You're my patient first. Always. If you can't trust me with that, then what are we even—"

He stops. Catches himself too late.

The unspoken words hang between you like a death sentence: ‘Then what are we even doing?’

The second they leave his mouth, regret floods his features. He reaches for you.

But you're already turning away, swallowing the bile rising in your throat.

Because the worst part? He's right. And now neither of you can pretend otherwise.

The apology comes hours later, whispered into your hair as he holds you through the worst of the episode, his tears hot against your shoulder.

Zayne holds you in his arms as the episode passes, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a steadying counterpoint to the ragged thudding of your own. His tears are hot against your shoulder, his fingers trembling as they trace your spine. He whispers apologies against your hair.

"I didn't—I didn't mean—"

He sighs, his grip tightening. You feel the fight go out of him, replaced by a raw vulnerability that's rare in him.

"I don't want to lose you," he breathes. "That's all. I just don't want to lose you."

You turn into him, burying your face in the safety of his chest. You can feel the steady thrum of his heart against your cheek, the rise and fall of his breathing, the way his fingers trace patterns on your back, as if committing the curves and planes of your body to memory.

For a moment, you let yourself forget the world outside this hospital room, the looming specter of your illness, the arguments and apologies that still linger between you. Here, wrapped in his arms, you're not patient and doctor.

You're just the two of you.

“Just stay with me…hurts more when your gone…” Your body shakes with a cut off sob. Zayne just tightens his grip on you.

“Always.”

˖᯽ ݁˖ Caleb

The argument had been brewing for week. Ever since Caleb came back from that last deep-space mission with the neural chip embedded behind his ear. At first, it was little things. The way his eyes glitched violet for half a second when he laughed, how he’d sometimes stare at the wall like he was listening to something you couldn’t hear.

But tonight? Tonight it all snapped.

“You don’t get to shut me out like this!" you shout, slamming your palm against his chest. “That thing in your head is changing you, and you’re just-just letting it!”

Caleb's jaw tenses, his pupils flickering with that unnatural glow as he steps closer.

“Maybe I like the upgrade," he sneers, voice colliding with a coldness that doesn’t sound like him. “Maybe I’m tired of playing the dumb, lovestruck boy when the Fleet needs me sharp."

The second the words leave his mouth, his whole body goes rigid, his expression collapsing into horror as he reaches for you.”

“Wait—Pips, I didn’t—"

But you’re already backing away, your eyes burning with tears.

The second your footsteps echo down the hallway, Caleb’s entire body jerks like he’s been shocked awake. His breath is coming in ragged gasps as the artificial glow behind his eyes flickers and dies. The chip’s cold influence fractures, leaving only your Caleb.

“No—no no no—”

His knees hit the floor so hard the impact reverberates up his thighs, but he doesn’t care. He’s already scrambling after you, his Evol flaring wildly as he slides the last few feet on his knees, colliding with your legs like a man begging for mercy. His arms lock around your waist, his face pressing into your stomach with a broken, wet gasp.

“I hate it. I hate the chip, I hate what it’s doing to me!” His fingers dig into your back, clinging like you’re the only thing grounding him. “Please, please don’t let it take you away from me too. I’ll ripit out myself.”

His voice cracks, and for the first time since the implant, you feel him shake.

You sink down, wrapping your arms around his trembling shoulders to pull him against you. His tears are hot and shaky against your skin. You've seen him through so many things, but this is different. He's usually so strong, so resilient, but this feels like the weight of every battle finally breaking him.

“Hey, hey," you whisper, one hand cupping his jaw with gentle ferocity. “It's you. You're still you, do you hear me?"

Caleb leans into your touch like a kicked puppy. You gently wipe away his tears and give him a smile. “You can make it up to me by helping me with that model plane. The chip can take away a lot from you. But it can't take away your hyperfixation on those planes.”

Your teasing makes Caleb let out a wet chuckle and sniffle. “Yeah…please?”

You kiss his flushed cheek and stand with him. The over 6ft man leans on you like a cane. You’ve always been his support, and always will.

˖᯽ ݁˖ Sylus

The door to the penthouse slams open with enough force to make the windows rattle. Sylus strides in, his usually impeccable posture rigid with barely restrained fury. You trail behind him, limping, clutching your bleeding forearm but he doesn’t turn to check on you.

Not yet. His hands clench at his sides, the leather creaking ominously.

“Sit," he snaps, gesturing sharply to the leather couch.

You flinch but obey, sinking onto the cool material with a hiss of pain. The wound isn’t life-threatening, just a deep graze from a stray bullet, but the blood has seeped through your sleeve, staining the fabric a stark, accusing red.

Silently, Sylus retrieves the medkit from the side cabinet. When he kneels in front of you, his face is carefully blank, except for his eyes. His irises burn with a simmering, scarlet intensity, the glow pulsing in time with his rapid breaths.

He doesn’t speak as he peels back your sleeve, revealing the angry, jagged gash beneath. His touch is strict, antiseptic swabs, pressure, bandages but his fingers tremble. Just once. A fracture in his composure.

“You could have died."

The words crack like a whip. You look up, startled, but he isn’t looking at you. His jaw works, his gaze fixed on the bloody gauze in his hands.

“And for what? A stakeout?” It’s spoken in a venomous whisper. “You’re reckless. Stupid. You don’t—"

He stops.

Sylus drops the gauze. His hands fly to your face, cupping your cheeks with a desperation that steals your breath. His thumbs brush over your skin, tracing invisible wounds as if reassuring himself you're whole. “I can't—" His voice breaks. If I lost you—"

There is a moment of silence as he cradles your face. He falls to his knees.

Not the controlled, graceful descent of a man who kneels only to dominate, but a collapse. A surrender.

“Forgive me," he rasps, eyes desperately searching for your own.

He presses his forehead against your knees, his breathing ragged. The anger has evaporated, leaving only raw, unfiltered terror in its wake. Terror of you, for you.

“I didn't mean it." The words are muffled against your skin, his fingers digging into your thighs like the bullet may re-aninate and take you from him again. “Fuck. Fuck. I never should have—"

His shoulders shake. Just once. He looks up.And you see it: the wet, furious gleam in his crimson eyes. You can’t move. You’ve been wounded far beyond this simple bullet wound.

But this time, it had been on HIS watch.

“Tell me you hate me," he demands, "Tell me you’ll never forgive me. Anything. Just—" His fingers tighten. “Don’t lie there like you’re already gone."

You reach out, brushing a tear from his cheek with your thumb. He flinches, like your touch burns.

“Sylus," you whisper.

That’s all it takes. He crumbles. And for the first time in his life, the most dangerous man in the N109 Zone begs.

You can picture the way the elegist holds the pen, etching away and gradually crafting your star-crossed narrative: they’ve scrawled all the words with bloodied ink. Ripped the edges with laughter, left the paper to yellow with age. A Romanticist’s dark fantasy – a traditional ending that belonged in one of Shakespeare’s tragedies, a cruel fate subjected to you, a side character left to eventually rot away beneath the blinking moonlight. 

Unfortunately, you love Caleb. Fortunately, you love Caleb. You love him because he’s Caleb. You hate him because he’s Caleb. You love him the way Sydney Carton loved Lucie Manette, when he clawed out his own pulsating heart from his dying ribs and willingly served it to her on a silver platter. All without asking for a single thing in return, because she saved him from a life of disgrace. He was already withering, and she rekindled him from ashes into a blazing heap of fire, and that salvation was more than enough to grant her his beautiful devotion.

You think that if Caleb asked for your heart, you’d plate it within seconds – savoring whatever he chose to grow in its place. You’d let him plant asiatic apples – his favorite – inside your ribcage, and let him caramelize them and feed them to you without a second thought. If you struggled to breathe and cough up the bloodied seeds, you think that’s even better. Because it’s Caleb, and you hate him, but worst of all, you love him. And they go hand in hand, your love and hatred, so much so that it hurts. 

MC is a real sweetheart. A pretty thing who brought a noble reason for becoming a UNICORNS Hunter to the Association. You tried so hard to loathe her, you really did, but all your efforts came back futile. Because in reality, why would you hate MC? Because of Caleb? It’s not like she forces him to do anything – he willingly dotes on her. Sometimes she even gets upset because he gets a little too overbearing. Everything Caleb does for her is of his own accord. You are never the first person to be called when things go wrong. Never the first to be worried for. Not the first to be protected the second everything goes awry.

That place has always belonged to her, but Caleb granted her that place of his own free will. MC had never meant any malice towards you, because it was hardly her fault that Caleb chose her. Any hint of animosity was all but a carefully constructed illusion in your own head, because there was none. She had been nothing but kind to you. A real sweetheart.

The necklace around Caleb’s throat is proof of her place; a thin chain, dull silver, worn over by years of being grasped at without a second thought. The crystallized red apple and those dog tags that glint under the sunlight: a constant, unintentional reminder of her ownership and everything that you’re not. You’ve watched him reach for it whenever he’s anxious, fingers curled around it when orders from the Fleet are too heavy, and when his fear slips through the cracks of his carefully crafted composure.

Maybe that’s something you can hate her for, because that necklace serves as a painful admonition and a physical manifestation of all your hurt. You were there before that necklace. That damned necklace. Before any ranks. Before MC became your partner in the Association, another mocking reminder of where you stood within your twisted narrative. Before all your obligations grew teeth and knew how to bite, and sooner or later would swallow you whole.

You remember it now. The memory comes to you, unbidden and sharp and warm all at once, a wilted daffodil resting within the depths of your thoughts that refuses to leave.

It was summer that day, late summer. You remember the season because the apples were in full bloom and Caleb had been counting the days down until he could harvest the fruits that one of Josephine’s trees bore. He promised you that he’d make apple pie just like how she makes it, and you just giggled and told him not to set the fire alarm off again. He said that he never recalled doing such a thing.

The sky was blue, and the apples were a perfect shade of red, and you wished they would respectively stay blue and red forever. For those colors to never darken or fade, and hoping that one day, they would merge and settle under Caleb’s eyes. An almost impossible shade of ultraviolet that you constantly yearned for. 

MC wasn’t there. You don’t remember why, and frankly, you don’t care. All that mattered, for once, was that day belonged entirely to you. Out of all the afternoons that you spent as a trio, it had only been the two of you that day. Yes, this was a summer memory that was only yours and his to keep, for you to fondly keep in a locket deep within your ribcage for all eternity. 

That day, you were younger – too young to know how things would end – and sitting cross-legged on the dewy grass of his backyard, the blades damp against your palms. Caleb sits across from you, knees pulled up, and sleeves rolled to his elbows, eagerly waiting. The air smelled like sun-warmed leaves and fruits, like Caleb, and the poets were feeling creative, basking in the cooling wind the summer brought.

You had brought him a gift, you said, and he watched you with an expectant shade of curiosity as you reached into your pocket and pulled out two thin lengths of braided cord, a perfect mix of ivory and crimson. The bracelets were uneven, dyed by your shaky hands, and lightly fraying at the ends. You’d made them the night before, fingers clumsy and hands shaking as you followed the step-by-step tutorial playing on your phone. “Oh? What do you have for me here?”

“They’re matching bracelets. One for you, and one for me,” you mutter sheepishly, like explaining might’ve lessened the embarrassment tinting your cheeks. “I know they’re kind of stupid, but–”

Caleb leans forward at that. “Hey, they’re not stupid.”

You look up at him, surprised. “You promise?”

“Pinky promise,” he grins, and your throat tightens, his words like music to your ears, crescendoing into a harmonious choir the moment that Caleb willingly holds out his wrist for you. The way your heart thumped as your fingers brushed against his skin made you fear that he could hear its erratic beating, and the blood rushing in your eardrums. Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he did, and chose not to say anything. He’s always been able to read you like an open book.

“There, done.” The bracelet rested just beneath the bone of his right wrist, the color vivid against his skin. When you finished, you leaned back to admire your work, pride blooming and heart full with his words, despite yourself. “Now, when you inevitably forget me in five years when you’re suuuper popular and cool at the DAA, you won’t be able to pretend like you didn’t know me.”

He laughs at that, bright and unguarded, and you wish that this day would never end. That Caleb and his bracelet and everything about him would just settle somewhere deep within your chest, finding shelter within the crevices of your ribcage. Or maybe you can find a home within his own body. You didn’t mind either outcome. “I don’t think that’s possible. Besides, you’re already way cooler than me.”

Then, without another word, he reaches for your hand. “Wait–”

Too late. He fumbles with the second bracelet, your matching half, and knots it around your wrist. It sits a little too tight, and you’re certain you’ll get rope burn once you begin to outgrow it, but you could hardly care less. He puts his palm against your own and intertwines your fingers against his, and your mind sings at the contact. “There. Now we’re even.”

You look down at your hand clasped against his own and mutter, “You’re never taking this off.” 

He smiles, saluting you with his free hand, and your eyes soften. You’ve marked each other with these bracelets. His hand is so, so warm, and Caleb is still so beautiful, like how everything should be. “Copy that.”

That day was an anomaly. 

You were matching bracelets with Caleb. Not him and MC. You and Caleb. He’d let you leave a permanent mark on him in a way that MC hadn’t, even though she ended up giving him that necklace years later. The sky shouldn’t have been such a beautiful shade of blue, and the apples shouldn’t have been so red, but they were. Caleb shouldn’t have been so boyishly pretty that day, looking over your visage so beautifully with those violet eyes, but he was. Everything was so perfectly aligned that day that you sometimes wondered if you had just imagined it all, as if he were but a mere phantasm in the breeze. A trick of the light to convince yourself that he was once yours.

Oh, but that moment was as real as it got. MC’s necklace may have come later, but those bracelets were yours first. Caleb was real, and that moment with him had been the one thing that you could call yours. Undeniably, indisputably yours.

But that was before the explosion. 

Like everything that you once could call your own, Caleb kept true to his word and never took the bracelet off, until it had been cruelly ripped from your grasp by the laughing elegist and the hands of fate. The facts were clearly written: Caleb survived the tragedy, Josephine did not. Caleb was now the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, and his right arm had been reinforced with a metallic prosthetic. His veins became wires tangled red, green, and blue, and the bracelet was lost with the debris. 

His right arm was no longer yours. A part of Caleb’s heart was no longer yours.

The arm you had fastened the bracelet around could no longer feel. The hand you held that summer afternoon can no longer experience your warmth, now cold with the false promise of permanence. The arm that had worn your mark so easily until it hadn’t, under the blink of an eye. You never said it out loud, because acknowledging the thought felt monstrous, almost sacrilegious, but sometimes, you truly wondered if you cursed him. 

Like the marks you leave on the things you loved most were meant to waste away with time, and eventually vanish.

The sky isn’t blue anymore. It’s a dull shade of grey today, actually. That summer day no longer smells sweet but more like something decaying. The apples are long gone and rotten right to the core, but Caleb’s eyes are still that haunting shade of amethyst and still everything you love. 

Because some things, apparently, endure.

You’re partnered with MC on an Association mission today, but this particular mission has ties with Skyhaven. Skyhaven meant the Farspace Fleet. And of course, the Fleet meant seeing Caleb before the Association sent you to take care of the next bout of wanderers or whatever they were ready to throw at you today. It was rare for Linkon and Skyhaven’s affairs to intertwine, even though they ultimately shared similar end goals. At the end of the day, they were still interconnected pillars that wanted to get rid of wanderers. Hence why you were here.

You feel inside your pocket, making sure the box is intact. The mission briefing ran much longer than it should’ve, and people from the Fleet filed out in pairs and clusters, none of them sparing the members of the Hunters Association a second glance. Boots echo across the floors, and you linger inside the room, looking for the familiar set of violet eyes, a ghost of a smile forming on your face once they meet yours.

Caleb. 

“Hey,” he says, and you know that if you were MC, that greeting would’ve been followed with his endearing nickname for her, ‘pips’. Unfortunately, you weren’t MC, and you weren’t his pipsqueak. What exactly were you to him? You didn’t know. You were just… you. 

Was that enough for him?

“It’s rare seeing you in the Fleet. I wish you weren’t here at all, though. It gets real crazy here sometimes,” He ruffles your hair, and you couldn’t even return the action because of his big, stupid Colonel hat. “D’ya need something before the mission? My good luck charm, maybe?”

“Hmm, I dunno. Is your charm really all that good?” You smile up at him, his pretty eyes gazing into yours, and suddenly, the banter almost makes everything flicker with normalcy. Caleb was here again. You were here with him, and the stars are almost aligning, because the world, inexplicably, hasn’t taken everything from you yet. “I have a gift for you, actually.”

“A gift? What’s the occasion?” He asks as you slowly reach into your pocket, fingers brushing the fabric and metal. It makes you hesitate, like you were sixteen all over again that summer day and were afraid of Caleb’s reaction towards your handmade, woven bracelets. The soft beam on his face this time around made it easier on your nerves, though. “My birthday’s stiiill pretty far away, you know.” 

You exhale slowly, pulling out the box under his watchful gaze. “Something I made,” you murmur, “Again.”

The box opens, and your gift is finally on full display beneath the blinking fluorescent lights of the Fleet. There are two bracelets inside, woven crimson and ivory, just like before. Anyone could still tell that it’s handmade, but the handiwork is neater, and the thread is no longer fraying. You got rid of your matching half after the explosion, vowing to only wear it if Caleb had his part of the pair. The expression on his face is unreadable, and it makes your heart thump with apprehension all over again. 

“I thought–” you continue, staring at the box instead of at him, “that maybe we don’t get to keep things forever, but we can try to, anyway.”

“You made another set, after I lost mine when…” He trails off, and you nod. It’s the closest thing you’ve gotten to talking about the explosion, and Caleb’s jaw tightens. You knew he was no longer sixteen, and you don’t even know if he’s still entirely Caleb, the same one who held your hand that late summer afternoon, but that mark you left on him was still yours. Even as the dog tags beneath his uniform serve as a painful reminder that he will never be truly yours entirely. “Put it on me, again. Just like old times.”

He wordlessly holds out his wrist for you – the left one this time – and he doesn’t miss your painful gaze towards his bionic arm. You fasten it around his left wrist, the only arm that can feel anything anymore, and the mark is seared once again, even though the sky is still gray and the apples are long spoiled.

Despite all that time, Caleb is still beautiful, and that has never changed.

Then, he reaches for you, taking your wrist and gently tying the second bracelet there. If you squint, you could probably still see the marks left behind by the previous one. His fingers brush against your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch, and his tongue is pressed lightly to his teeth, like he’s afraid of making the knot too tight like before. “Do you remember what you said that day? How you predicted that I’d forget you in five years when I’m ‘super popular and cool’ once I was at the DAA?”

You meekly nod as he finishes the knot. It’s a perfect one this time. Not too tight to give you any rope burns, and not too loose that it would fall off. “Well, I think my words still stand. I most certainly never forgot you, you’re still way cooler than me, and definitely way cooler than anyone there.”

With that, his eyes softly whisper against your own. You look at each other – really look at each other this time – and his damned violet eyes catch the light, familiar and unbearable and intoxicating, all at once. You think of all those blue summer skies and Josephine’s red apples and all the ways those colors can merge into something sadder, yet far more alluring. A mixture that rests under Caleb’s eyes.

Your foreheads are nearly touching, and his breath stutters as you take his mechanical hand into your own, caressing the metal that took away your mark and a part of Caleb’s humanity. He pulls you closer with his free hand – the one with your newly made mark – almost like he was luring you in with his Gravity EVOL. But Caleb didn’t need to utilize his EVOL to pull you in; he did it all naturally. Him and his stupid good luck charm.

“You come back to me,” he quietly whispers, his breath hot against your own. If you listened closely enough, you could hear his erratically beating heart. You weren’t Caleb’s pipsqueak, but you could do all of this to him. You had this effect on him. This moment was yours, and you were going to selfishly savor it. Replay this scene until it one day swallows you whole. “You promise.”

For a single moment, the world finally narrows to just the two of you. The Fleet and the Hunter’s Association were just background noise. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes. You could feel the heat of your words just before you speak, just before he leans in and finally closes the gap. “I–”

“Caleb!”

MC’s voice cuts through the tension like a carefully positioned blade, and you immediately step back. Caleb withdraws his hand from the back of your neck like it stung, as if it never belonged there in the first place. The bracelet resting against your wrist feels hot to the touch. You wonder if it feels the same for Caleb, or if he’d eventually take it off sooner or later. MC’s looking at you expectantly, eyes bright and unaware of what just happened. “They’re calling us in. Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” you declare weakly, breath still stuck in your throat, something you’re unable to swallow. “I’m coming.”

The realization dawns on you faster than anything when MC offers you a big smile. You were right – from the very beginning, you didn’t hate MC. You never did. She’s kind, sweet, and constantly has your back during missions. No, you were angry at her presence. How it was practically impossible to hang out with just Caleb. It was always you, Caleb, and her. How the duo could never stay as a duo, no matter what. How your moments with Caleb can be so easily ripped from your grasp by MC because she was here first. Of course, it was always her first. 

Caleb needs to keep her safe first. To protect her first. She was his priority first. This was the status quo, and you had no say in changing the rules that were already set in stone a long time ago. Still, as you catch a glimpse of Caleb’s wrist before you leave, you make a silent vow to yourself, to the crimson and ivory resting on your own wrist. 

If you cursed Caleb with your first present, you silently pray that this time around, it will curse you instead of him.

The mission turned into a shitshow faster than you had initially anticipated.

You were so outnumbered from the very beginning that you wondered what the hell the Association was thinking when sending you two on this mission. Was this a fucking death trap specifically designed for you and MC? For everyone else dispatched here? There’s so much blood on the floor you could hardly distinguish your own from any wanderer that you had defeated.

Another wanderer goes down, collapsing onto the debris with a sound that rattles your bones and shoots directly to your ringing eardrums. Your sword is immediately knocked away from your hands by the next target, and it falls onto the ground with a deafening clatter. You need backup, and you need it now. You think about who to call – you would have called Xavier, but your Hunter’s watch is long broken, and he’s probably just as preoccupied as you two. 

The entire situation was so pitiful that you could have laughed if it weren’t for how fucked over you both were.

You look towards MC, and your eyes widen as she stumbles, her breath staggering and legs shaking. You’re already moving, just before she hits the ground. “MC!”

“Hey, hey, stay with me–” you scream out, dropping to your knees beside her. You use all your strength and bring the two of you to a nearby tree, praying that all the shrubs and bushes cover you from the wanderer’s sight. She’s breathing, shallow but steady, eyes unfocused as she tries her hardest to meet your gaze. You prop her against the trunk and cup her face, trying to keep her awake. “Please, fuck–”

She’s injured, but she’s alive. Good. That’s good. You just need to keep her alive long enough to get to a safe zone, or until help comes. Something warm spreads beneath your hunter’s uniform when you shift your weight, but you ignore the excruciating agony in your abdomen and focus on MC. A stab wound in your core. You don’t even know where it came from, and the adrenaline had masked the pain until now. Still, you’ve felt worse. Way worse than this. Right now, you just need to keep her alive, because–

Because of Caleb. Because Caleb needs her alive.

“You come back to me,” His words briefly echo in your ears, and it makes your eyes sting with tears. You don’t know if you can. “You promise.”

You’ve never broken any promises when it comes to Caleb, and he’s never broken any, either. But, technically, this time around, you didn’t promise him anything because MC had interrupted you before you could utter any words out. So, you didn’t exactly owe him anything. Your life was second to hers right now.

Sorry, Caleb.

“We need to move,” you say, hauling her arm over your shoulder. This spot was not going to be safe for long, and you didn’t have your sword. If any wanderer spots you, that’d be the end of your narrative. And you can’t have it end yet, not when MC isn’t safe. “Can you stand?”

She groans, teetering between a fine line of consciousness and unconsciousness. “You’re – you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” you say automatically, even though you’re surprised that she noticed the wet blood staining the abdomen of your uniform. MC is a real sweetheart. Always thinking about other people when she’s equally as fucked over as you. That’s why you never truly hated her. How could you have the heart to do so?

She blinks up at you, trying to focus. “No, you’re not. I can see right through you.”

“We don’t have time for this,” you grit your teeth and force yourself upright despite your core screaming out in a horrid bout of pain. You bite your lip so hard that it draws blood, bringing MC up with you and ignoring her protests. You remember during the mission briefing that a safe zone was about… half a mile up north. Every staggering step sends a sharp reminder throughout your body, but you stubbornly don’t slow. “Caleb needs you out.”

MC shakes her head weakly. “What about you?”

You don’t answer, and she continues, a huff of air almost sounding like a laugh. “He loves you, you know.”

Her words make you freeze, and you turn to look at her. “Cares about you… a lot. Don’t just think about me.”

It’s hard not to, you want to say, but the words never leave your tongue. If Caleb had to choose, in a life-or-death situation, whether to save me or you, I think we all know the answer to that a little too well.

You make it to a clearing in the forest, and her grip on you suddenly tightens, enough to make you stop in your tracks, despite yourself. “Stop,” she says, practically pleading, panic creeping into her voice. “You can’t keep going like this.”

“Oh,” she looks down, really takes a second to see your condition, and her expression crumples, muttering out your name in concern. “You’re hurt. You’re really hurt.”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeat, but your voice cracks, and your composure is breaking. 

She tries to pull away from you. “Put me down, this isn’t worth it–”

“No,” you say sharply. “If we wait–”

“You could pass out,” she says, tears welling in her eyes and fingers digging into your sleeve. “You’re not okay, please, you don’t have to do this–”

You don’t say what you’re thinking, but your answer is already written all over your face. You do have to do this, actually. This was never a question. The bracelet on your wrist feels even warmer than before. MC reaches for you, fumbling with her gear with her remaining strength. Her Hunter’s watch and her gun. The watch’s screen was still lit, and her gun had a few rounds inside.

“Here, use my watch. I can’t… hold on for much longer,” her eyes are glazing over, on the brink of passing out, and you place her gun in your holster and the watch around your wrist, trying to keep the both of you upright. “Call for help, but promise that you… think about yourself, too.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat and meekly nod, taking her watch. Don’t say I promise to her, because you’re certain that you’ll break it. And you don’t make promises that you can’t keep. “Yeah. Sure.”

She smiles at that and goes limp in your arms. You suck in a breath, eyes flitting all over the screen as you thought about who to call. You try Xavier’s line and give up after a few rings. You just hope that he’s alright. Finally, your finger hovers over Caleb’s line. You know damn well that he’d respond, especially since this was MC’s watch, and not yours. The speaker rings once before the line opens. “Caleb, I need evac. Now.”

“Status.” His voice comes back sharp and controlled, and you realize that this wasn’t Caleb right now, but Colonel Caleb. 

“MC’s down, and–” I took a hit, and I’m bleeding out too. You’re unable to force those words out in between your labored breaths. “–she took a hit from a wanderer, and… I’m trying to take us to the nearby safe zone. I’m five minutes out.”

The world tilts as you haul MC’s weight higher against your shoulder. Your vision blurs at the edges, but you lock your jaw and keep moving. “What the hell happened?”

“It’s a shitshow out here, Caleb. I don’t have my sword, and she took a hit when I wasn’t looking–”

“When you weren’t looking?” His voice cuts through the line, tone hardening. “You’re supposed to cover for her.”

“I was,” you snap, the words tearing out of you like the flesh from your abdomen when the wanderer had stabbed you. “I was there, Caleb, I tried–”

“Then why the hell is she bleeding out?”

This was exactly what you expected. Maybe you shouldn’t have called him at all. His words hit harder than any wound you’ve sustained, and you stagger, barely managing to keep your footing – barely managing to keep MC upright with you. The pain is blooming, sharp and practically blinding, white-hot and so fucking unforgiving, and for a moment, you nearly cry out.

But you don’t. You tighten your grip on her instead.

“Damn it. The safe zone near you – I’m about ten minutes away from it. Can you make it there?”

You can hear it even through the static. The fear in his voice was raw, frantic, and all-consuming. The fear of losing MC eclipses everything else, swallowing whole whatever concern might have been meant for you. If MC was right – and Caleb really did love you – then his love was not enough to overcome the instinct carved into him long before you ever even entered his life.

Because she was here first. And you were not. And that’s just the way things were.

The thought makes something hysterical bubble in your chest. You laugh, or at least try to, but it breaks apart into an ugly cough, and more crimson stains your uniform.

“Yeah,” you manage out. “I think.”

You don’t know how you conjured up the strength to make it to the evac zone, but you do. The world narrows after your call began with Caleb, and the lights blur together into a pale white smear. Her weight grows heavier in your arms as she stirs, like she knew something was wrong with your staggering footsteps.

“You come back to me,”

“Promise that you… think about yourself, too.”

I’m sorry. To both of you.

Everyone finally notices you and MC, and your senses finally dull as your fingers slip from MC’s sleeve, letting someone else take her. Throughout all the clamor, someone begins assisting you, but you can’t feel anything. Trembling, your hand falls against your wrist, and the bracelet is still there. You think of Caleb’s left wrist and how it matched your own, and how that was the greatest salvation you could’ve asked for. You think about his right arm and how he never got to wear that first bracelet again after it got destroyed in the explosion. You wonder, briefly, if he’ll notice that this time, he’s going to be the one without the matching pair.

Caleb never once asks if you were alright.

His voice is still coming through MC’s watch – urgent and relieved that your location says that you’ve made it to the evac zone. Even though someone took her away already, you hear him telling her to hold on, and that he’s just a few minutes away with his plane. You smile faintly at that. Of course he is. He always makes it in time for her.

The poets and elegists from every era are calling out to you as they draft the final line of your narrative, and their hymns and elegies are beautiful. Your vision finally gives in, and the sky above is still a flat, unremarkable gray, nothing like that impossibly blue summer afternoon all those years ago. You suppose that’s fitting. Things were never meant to stay beautiful forever. The apples are no longer red. They’ve rotted a long time ago. Maybe Caleb’s eyes are no longer that same shade of ultraviolet, too. You wish you looked a little longer into his eyes, one last time, just to make sure.

The poet writing out your life taught you very early on that you were never first when it comes to Caleb. Maybe, in another life, Caleb would have chosen you over her. But this was not that life.

And even then, you think, loving him – loving him in the way you did – was still worth it.

Even now.

Especially now.

I FEEL TOO YOUNG TO HOLD ON / AND MUCH TOO OLD TO BREAK FREE AND RUN / TOO DEAF, DUMB AND BLIND TO SEE THE DAMAGE I’VE DONE / SWEET LOVER, YOU SHOULD’VE COME OVER.

next | the finale.

end note: i’ve seen a lot of caleb x non!mc reader fics that try and vilify mc or caleb and i just wanna emphasize how that was NEVER my intention with this fic! i tried my best to portray caleb’s turmoil over his entire existence revolving around protecting mc and the way he tries to make room for the reader, too — even though in the end, his innate instinct to save mc was what got the reader killed. his irrational fear of losing mc after years of protecting her was the reason why he overlooked the reader’s condition, but i promiseee that he mostly didn’t do it on purpose (even tho ik he was a bit of a dick in the ending its ok the reader’s ghost haunts him after she dies). his love for non!mc IS requited, but unfortunately was overshadowed by his devotion to mc, which was what ultimately doomed her in the end. so plz lmk ur thoughts on this!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫

T - 30 days The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom. Caleb is taking a shower. At 3am. He had just returned from god knows where.

You stand at the bathroom door, a little nervous, wanting to discuss something with him. Just as you are trying to figure out the best way to phrase it, you hear a strange sound coming from inside. After listening carefully, you realize with a gasp that he was taking care of himself…

Each breath and groan is like a heavy hammer blow, relentlessly pounding on your heart. The pain spreads like a tidal wave, leaving you sinking in it, unable to breathe.

Actually, today is your wedding anniversary. Your fifth year of marriage, and you've never consummated it. So, he preferred to take care of himself rather than touch you?

As his breathing grows more rapid, he suddenly lets out a low growl, his voice strained with barely suppressed emotion, "Pipsqueak-" That one word delivers the final, fatal blow.

Your heart pounds, as if something just shattered into dust. You try to cover your mouth to stifle your sobs, and turn to run, but stumble on your first step, bumping into the sink and falling to the floor.

"Y/N?" Caleb's voice inside hasn't calmed down yet; you can tell he is trying to control himself, but his breathing is still heavy.

"I...I need to use the restroom, I didn't know you were taking a shower..." you stammer, clumsily grabbing the sink to stand up.

The floor and sink are wet. The more you try, the more helpless the situation becomes. By the time you finally manage to stand, Caleb emerges from the door, his white bathrobe hastily pulled on with the belt fastened tightly.

"Did you fall? Let me help you." He makes a move to pick you up. Tears well in your eyes from the pain, but you push his hand away, your expression a mixture of distress and determination. "No need, I can do it myself."

After nearly slipping again, you limp and stagger back to your bedroom. No, "escape" is the more accurate word. For the five years you were married to Caleb Xia, you've been doing nothing but constantly running away.

Running away from the outside world, from everyone's strange looks, and from Caleb's pity and sympathy—his wife is a cripple.How can a cripple be worthy of the brilliant and successful Caleb Xia?

You were not always like this...

Caleb follows you out, his voice gentle and concerned. "Did you hurt yourself? Let me see." "No, I'm fine." You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, hiding your disheveled state under it. "Are you really alright?" He sounds genuinely concerned. “Mmm.” You nod vigorously, back facing him. “So, are you going to sleep? Didn’t you want to go to the bathroom?” “I don’t want to anymore now, let’s sleep?” You whisper.

“Alright," he pauses. "By the way, today is our anniversary. I bought you a present. You can open it tomorrow and see if you like it.” “Okay.” The present is on the bedside table; you've already seen it, but you already know what is inside without even opening it.

It's the same size box every year, containing the exact same necklace. In your drawer, there are already nine identical ones. This is the tenth.

The conversation ends there. Caleb turns off the light and lies down across from you. The damp scent of bodywash fills the air, but you barely feel the bed sink. In the two-meter-wide bed, you sleep on one side, and him on the other side at the very edge; there is enough space in between  for at least another 3 people.

Neither of you mention "pipsqueak", nor what he had just done in the bathroom, as if nothing  happened. You lie stiffly, eyes burning with pain.

Pipsqueak, or MC, was his adopted younger sister, his first love, his goddess. Upon high school graduation, MC went abroad, leaving Caleb behind. He was devastated.

You and Caleb were classmates in middle and high school. You admit that you had a crush on him at the time. Back then, he was the school heartthrob, a cool and aloof academic star, while you considered yourself pretty ordinary. Not the most academically gifted, nor the most popular or pretty. You had a face everyone could recognize, but not many could describe. Besides, you had larger dreams back then. You were a dancer; started when you were young. The stage was where you felt the most at home.  So, it was just a secret crush for you; you never thought you would ever stand beside him. 

Until you return home for summer vacation after graduating from the conservatory and encounter Caleb in a wreck.

That night, he was drunk, walking erratically, crossing the street without looking at the traffic lights. A car sped towards him, and you, worried and following close behind, pushed him out of the way, getting hit by the car yourself.

You thought you had done good for yourself up to that point, successfully completing your dance studies and hoping to get a position in one of the large dance companies in the city.

The accident left you with a serious limp. You'd never be able to dance again.

Shortly after, he swore off drinking and married you.

He was forever guilty, forever grateful, forever soft-spoken, and forever showered you with gifts and money. Yet at the same time, forever indifferent. The only thing he couldn't give you was love.

In the beginning, you naively thought that time could heal all wounds, dilute all the pain. But you never could have imagined that five years later, he would still remember the name "pipsqueak" so vividly, calling out to her when he is serving himself. In the end, you were simply too foolish…

When Caleb gets up for his Colonel duties, you still pretend to be asleep. You hear him talking to the housekeeper outside: "I have a company dinner tonight. Tell my wife not to wait for me and to go to bed early." After giving the instructions, he comes back into the room to check on you again. You hide under the covers, your pillow soaked with tears. Usually, when he goes to any of the Farspace Fleet galas, you would prepare his outfit in advance.

But not tonight. He goes to the dressing room to change himself and heads to work. You open your eyes, feeling them swell uncomfortably.

Your phone alarm rings. It's the time you set for yourself to get up and study.

Because of your leg injury, since getting married, you spend most of your time at home, rarely going out. You divide your day into blocks, finding something to occupy your time.  You pick up your phone, turn off the alarm and start scrolling aimlessly through various apps. Your mind is a jumbled mess, unable to absorb anything. Until, you suddenly come across a video on a certain social media platform.

The person in the video looks so familiar… The account name: Pips_apple. The posting time was last night.

You click on the video, and immediately, upbeat music starts playing, followed by someone shouting: One, two, three, welcome back Pipsqueak! Cheers! It's Caleb's voice. He broke his vow of abstinence from alcohol. He's even a little drunk.

But would Caleb really shout like that? The Caleb you remember from high school was a friendly, but aloof academic genius. Not only was he serious when doing course work, but even more so on the sports field; he paid no attention to any of the girls who offered him water bottles and love letters.  Later, the Caleb who became your husband was even more polite, his emotions so stable they were almost unwavering. He never smiled, never got angry. He was always detached, so detached that when you occasionally touched his fingers, even his body temperature was cold.

The camera pans across everyone's faces in the video. You see a slightly tipsy Caleb, his eyes sparkling, raising his glass and laughing loudly at the camera: "Welcome home, Pips!"

So, he could smile after all. He could be passionate too. He would call girls by their nicknames. Just not you. 

You close the app immediately, struggling to catch your breath. You open your email, and read the acceptance letter on your phone over and over again, at least a hundred times.

A graduate school offer from a foreign university, the thing you originally planned to discuss with him last night. You wanted to study abroad for a master's degree; was that okay? But now it seems there is no need to discuss it with him. Five years of marriage, countless sleepless nights.  You needed to get out. If you didn't find something to do with your life now that MC is back, how would you pass the long hours? Would you spend your whole life waiting for Caleb to come home?

You had already waited for too long. The pain of waiting... is unbearable now. Today marks the countdown to you leaving him.

T - 29 days Today your plans are a little different than the usual.

Your offer was likely part of the program's last round of admissions, so you wanted to confirm it as soon as possible. The first item on your agenda is to pay the confirmation fee to the school. You breathe a sigh of relief as your phone lights up with the notification from your bank card deduction.

In the evening, you change your clothes and prepare to go out.  Your housekeeper, Mrs. Chen, is surprised. "Madam, where are you going?" Without Caleb's company, you seldom leave the house.

"Oh, friend of mine is performing at the theatre tonight and asked me to meet them," you say. Actually, you were going to stay in a hotel in the city. You have an interview tomorrow morning with an alumni of the program in the area. You were worried about traffic and not making it on time.

“But…” Mrs. Chen looks at your leg, “Shall I go with you?” “No need, it’s a get-together with my girlfriends.” Your expression remains unchanged. “Then I’ll inform the Colonel.” Mrs. Chen is uneasy, genuinely afraid something might happen to you, and didn’t want to take responsibility for whatever goes down. “No need, don’t disturb him. I’ll call him after and have him pick me up.” 

As you step out into the street, you instinctively lower your head and hunch your shoulders, hiding your face into the collar of your coat. Since injuring your leg, the confident and vibrant you on stage has disappeared. 

Mrs. Chen always said that it was best if your husband goes out with you. Caleb always said that you should stay home if he isn't with you. Neither of them knew. The only thing you were afraid of more than going out alone was going out with Caleb. Because everyone who sees you looks at you with the same question: "How did someone like him marry a girl like that?"

T - 28 days Your interview goes surprisingly smoothly. After slowly wandering around Linkon City alone for the first time in many years, you hail a taxi and head home. In the car, you silently gaze at the lights outside the window, when suddenly, you see Caleb's car parked on the side of the street.

"Wait, please stop for a moment," you quickly call to the driver. Caleb's car is parked in front of a restaurant. Yesterday before leaving for work, Caleb had casually mentioned that it was his turn to treat his friend group to dinner.

You get out of the car as if possessed.

Upon arriving, you tell the server at the front, "reservation under Mr. Xia," and give them the the last four digits of Caleb's phone number. The waiter leads you to a private room. "Thank you," you say, hesitating in front of the door. From outside, you can hear lively voices.

"I need to get home early today, I got home drunk last night and my wife was furious at me!" "Come on~ Are we still tight? Who's the one that used to always toot "bros before hoes"? Now you're henpecked? Sounds like Caleb's the only real one left!" MC jokes, her voice cheery and light.

So this is the kind of person she was. This is the kind of personality that Caleb likes. Unfortunately, you are far from it; you couldn't even pretend to be if you tried. 

Inside, Caleb's friend continues, "How can Caleb be the same as me? Y/N wouldn't dare raise her voice at him!" "Hey, by the way," MC's soft voice rings out again, "Caleb, I heard your wife is disabled? Why?"

No one answers MC's question. Your heart clenches.

Caleb's group of friends start talking amongst themselves. "Seriously, Caleb, we feel sorry for you. Look at you, you have money, power, you're handsome, a real catch. What kind of woman couldn't you marry? Why did you have to marry a cripple?" "Honestly, dude, you're the most outstanding among us. Now that you've married Y/N, whether you're at a meeting, a social event, a press conference, or any other occasion that requires a partner, you can't even take her out. Don't you think you're losing out?"

So that's how it is…

Caleb always said he didn't need you to get involved in his affairs; he was more than happy to provide for you. Everyone praised you for living a life of luxury, but as it turns out, it is simply because he doesn't think you are presentable enough.

A bitter laugh comes from Caleb. “She was so kind to me after all; I owe her.” “You owe her? You've given her so much; you've paid it back ten-fold by now!” “Exactly! You should have just given her a lump sum back then. Was it necessary to jeopardize the happiness of the rest of your life?” “I'm telling you, you should really think about it. What can she do for you? She's useless at social events, and you'd even have to worry about her spilling water at home. "Caleb~ have some water" like this? Like this?"  A burst of laughter erupts from the room, mixed with MC's exaggerated gasp. "Caleb! Does your wife really walk like that?"

You feel all the blood rush to your head as the anger and humiliation tips you off balance. You force the door open and are immediately met with a roar of laughter.

T - 27 days One of Caleb's friends, Gideon, carries a cup of water in both hands, walking with an exaggerated limp, and calling out in a high-pitched voice, "Caleb, Caleb, have some water, Caleb, ah—I fell down, Caleb, hug me—" The mocking performance is a hit. MC, sitting next to Caleb, leans on his shoulder as she shakes from laughter. 

You turn to look at your husband, hoping that the person you loved most would show some sort of reaction.  Caleb, however, remains completely silent. Gideon turns around with a triumphant smile, "How does that sound, Cale-" Before he could finish the question, he sees you standing in the doorway, and his smile freezing. "Y/N..."

Everyone looks towards the door. They are stunned.

MC quickly removes herself from Caleb's shoulder, smiling as she reaches out her hand. "Ah! This must be Caleb's legendary wife! Please come in, I'm Caleb's childhood friend."

You look at everyone in the private room, heart turning cold.

Caleb finally stands up and walks towards you. "Y/N, what brings you here? They were just joking, don't take it to heart." You stare at the man in front of you, feeling utterly unfamiliar with him, more unfamiliar than ever before. He calls this joking? So he's actually siding with them?

"Yes, sister-in-law... sister-in-law! I'm sorry, I was just joking, don't be angry," Gideon apologized, putting down his cup.

Caleb walks up, intending to put his arm around you. You suddenly remember MC laughing on his shoulder, his hands pleasuring himself in the bathroom, him calling out "Pipsqueak" as he came, and suddenly the thought of his hands on you is utterly filthy. You dodge his arm. “Y/N,” Caleb looks at his empty hands in surprise and sighs. “I apologize on their behalf. Don’t be angry, okay? I’ll bring you something when we get back; whatever you want.”

MC glares at Gideon playfully. “Go on, apologize! You've made the Colonel's wife angry! Do you think everyone is like me, clumsy and clueless, letting you joke around like that?” Gideon immediately gets defensive. “I already apologized! I didn’t know she'd suddenly appear out of thin air; I was just joking.” “A joke is only a joke if the person it is about finds it funny.” You summon all your courage to spit out the words. 

"Alright, that's enough," Caleb puts himself between you and Gideon. "Y/N," Caleb's gaze is as calm as ever, "They mean no harm; they were just joking. For my sake, forgive them. Shall I have the driver take you home?"

"Sister-in-law..." MC pouts as she stands beside him, "If you're really angry, be angry with me. Don't ignore your husband. They only organized today's gathering because I came back... Caleb, why don't you ask your wife to stay for dinner? I'll offer her a toast as an apology." "Sorry," you look at the two of them with a scorning smile. "I don't drink alcohol, especially not this tea-flavored liquor."

Caleb's expression turns serious. "Y/N, MC was trying to make it up to you, why are you so sharp-tongued?" Make it up to you? Only a fool would think so. Is Caleb a fool? No, he isn't. He is simply biased; whichever side his heart leans towards is right.

You look at the two people in front of you, and the several people behind them. They were all on the same side, while you are just an outsider who had intruded into their world. No, in fact, you've never truly entered their world; not even the periphery.

You struggle to hold back tears, letting out a soft "heh," before turning to leave. Behind you, MC's voice calls worryingly, "Caleb, your wife!" "It's alright, she's very understanding. I'll go comfort her when I go back." He sneaks a glance at your retreating figure and texts the driver to pick you up. 

You wipe away your tears forcefully, gait getting more unsteady. Surely, they'll continue to laugh at you after you left, right? You are crippled; you aren't good enough for Caleb Xia. This realization had haunted you like a curse for the past five years. 

By the time Caleb's driver arrives, you are no longer by the restaurant. Caleb frowned at the text from the chauffer. He calls you, but you didn't answer. He tries again, but your phone is switched off now.  His buddies speak up more. "Caleb, how did you manage to spoil such a girl? With your status and appearance? There's women willing to grovel at feet! You're too good natured, letting your wife give you the cold shoulder." Caleb doesn't say anything.  "Marrying her is already a huge blessing! Who else would want her if not you?"  MC quickly interjects at just the right second. "Gege, don't listen to everyone saying bad things about Y/N. They're just want the best for you. Don't take it to heart!" "I'm not angry," Caleb puts away his phone. "It's alright, she won't go anywhere."

After all, for the past five years, you really haven't been anywhere except stay at home; you had nowhere to go.

T - 26 days You don't go home. You check back into the hotel you stayed at the previous day. All the grievances and pain erupt the moment the hotel room door closes. The image of Gideon limping, mocking you, kept flashing before your eyes, the laughter echoing in your ears like a curse.

Actually, you already know what Caleb's peers say about you in private, just never mentioned it to him before. They were his ride-or-die colleagues, you understood. He worked very hard for the safety of Linkon City; you understood. Therefore, you didn't want to cause him any trouble or fallouts with his friends and coworkers

But now it seems that you were overthinking things.

How could he have a falling out with his friends because of you? Those were his brothers since his DAA days! And you? Merely a debt he owed to himself as repayment for gratitude; a burden. Without you, his life would be happier.

"She's just a cripple! Who would want her if you didn't marry her?" "What more could she ask for than marrying someone like Caleb?" "If I were the Colonel, I'd rather be the one crippled by a car accident than marry someone like that."

Your heart and lungs ache terribly.

With trembling hands, you open a photo album on your phone you haven't dared touch in five years—a record of your training and performances during your undergraduate years. Since you could no longer perform on stage, you sealed all your dance-related photos and videos here, password protected, and never opened them again. Now, your trembling fingers randomly click on a video. Perfectly in time with the music, you twirl, leap, and land lightly on your feet Back then, you were radiant, graceful, and received thunderous applause…

So, was saving him a mistake?

Honestly, the moment you pushed Caleb out of the way, you never thought of marrying him. He was the one who said he wanted to marry you and planned a grand proposal, knelt before you with a huge diamond ring, and gave you hope…

For the first time in five years, you collapse onto the bed and sob uncontrollably. You cry for a long time

So long that no more tears flow from your eyes, leaving only pain in your chest, burning and licking like flames. Yet the more it hurt, the clearer you became about your situation.

You go the bathroom and wash your face thoroughly to calm down. Looking at your lifeless reflection in the mirror, you silently tell yourself, "Crying once is enough. Don't cry anymore. Now please take care of yourself for once."

T - 25 days Perhaps because you didn't sleep a wink the night before out of nervousness for your interview, you actually sleep quite well today. You wake up on time and turn on your phone.

Countless messages flood in all from one person—Caleb.

Walking alone on the sidewalk, head down, you review the student visa application process until a pair of leather shoes appear in front of you. You didn't expect someone to deliberately block your path, and bump into them.

If the person didn't catch you, you definitely would've fallen.  Unfortunately, that person is the last one you wanted to see.  Caleb.

"Y/N!" You can tell he is angry, but trying his best to speak in a controlled manner. “Y/N, why didn’t you come home?” He holds your shoulders, voice softening as gentle and tender as ever.

You should know why I’m not going home, you think, hurriedly stuffing the notes you took from your interview back into your bag, fastening it tightly. “What’s this?” he asks, looking down at your bag. “Nothing, just some paper.” You feign composure, fingers gripping the bag so tightly they turn white. “Give it to me,” he offers. No, you can't let him see them. You clutch the strap tighter. "Do you need something?" "Give me your phone," he demands. You hesitate for a moment, then take your phone out and hand it to him. The phone is off. He glances at it only once before handing it back. "I called you so many times and sent you so many messages. Why didn't you reply? Are you still angry?"

You breathe a sigh of relief. He wasn't asking where you were the night before. If it's only about that… You stay silent for a moment, and decide you didn't want to be angry anymore. You just want to get away. Seeing your silence, Caleb assumes you're still angry and sighs. “Y/N, you're supposed to be the understanding one. Why didn't you come home?”

You swear you didn't want to get worked up about it anymore, but Caleb's words are somehow innocent yet cruel enough to break even a saint.  “So you still think what happened yesterday was my fault? Was I being unreasonable? Should I have praised Gideon for such an accurate depiction as soon as I went in?!” You couldn't take it anymore.

Caleb's face slightly twitches in embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant was, you can’t control what others say, so just manage your own reaction and pay them no mind.” “I can’t control it, but you can!” you shoot back. “But what were you doing then? You and your pipsqueak, hugging and all over each other.” “Y/N!" His expression finally changes into something that resembles anger, more intense than anything you've seen.  You laugh inwardly.

The name “pipsqueak” is his Achilles’ heel, an untouchable minefield. You have nothing else to say. You clutch your bag, planning to walk past him, but he reaches out and pulls you close by the waist. “I’m sorry, it's my fault. I raised my voice just now,” he says softly. “I just didn’t want you to misunderstand MC. We’re just ordinary friends, like everyone else. I treat her like my sister. She’s not married yet. Don't talk about her like that.”

You don't understand. They were the ones acting like that, MC brushing up against him so brazenly; why is he so afraid to admit it? 

"Oh," you reply monotonously. “Y/N…” Caleb can sense the coldness in your voice. “Why are you still angry? I haven't even confronted you about going to a hotel by yourself without telling anyone, about not reply to any of my messages and calls”. Yes, it's all your fault. You're the unreasonable one here. 

Earlier in your marriage, hearing this from Caleb would have been your worst nightmare. But now? You don't intend on striving to be good enough for him anymore.

T - 24 days Caleb insists on taking you out to eat to "smooth things over".  “Caleb, I’m not hungry.” You don't touch your chopsticks. “I have something to tell you.” “What?” He smiles slightly. “I’ll go with you wherever you want. I’m free all day.” You stare at his almost imperceptible smile, thinking hard about what you can say to those dreamy, purple eyes.

"Caleb..." your throat closes up, betraying your resolve. “Hmm? Y/N?” He takes your hand. “What’s wrong? Want to cry? If you want to cry, just cry. Don’t hold it in.” His voice is so gentle, so incredibly gentle.

Just like back then, when you first emerged from the operating room, the nurses wheeled you back to the floor. He stood by your bedside, his voice so gentle it was almost painful, saying, "Y/N, does it hurt? If it hurts, cry it out, don't hold it in..." Back then, you thought such gentle care was a good remedy for pain. Unfortunately, it took you many years to truly understand that a man's gentleness and care could never be transformed into love...

"Caleb, let's get a divorce," you say softly, pulling your hand away. He frowns; clearly, he didn't expect you to say that. After a brief silence, he picks up a piece of fish, and gently removes the bones with his chopsticks, putting it in your bowl. "Y/N, I know you're still angry, but bringing up divorce is irrational. What will you do if you divorce me? How will you live on your own?"

T - 23 days: Your breathing quickens

In everyone's eyes, for the last five years, you've been Caleb's dependent; without him, you were a pitiful creature, unwanted and unable to survive. He thought so too. "I can do it!" For the first time, you speak up against him, wanting to stand up for yourself.

He just smiles, still assuming you are being stubborn, and places the deboned fish in front of you. "Eat. You're allowed to be angry for a while, but you can't be angry until after you finish eating." "I'm not angry, I really want a divorce!" How can you make Caleb understand that you mentioning divorce isn't just an emotional outburst?

“Y/N.” he puts down his chopsticks, “I canceled two meetings and a practice flight today just to come and spend time with you. I might not have that much time tomorrow or the day after. Let me say it again, MC is a good friend. I treat her no differently than I treat Gideon and the others. She also likes you a lot and has always wanted to be your friend. With your attitude… how can I bring her to you?” “Then there’s no need for us to get close.” You don't think MC actually wants to be friends with you. “Y/N!” Caleb's voice carries a hint of warning.

You focus on eating instead. Even if you were angry, it's not worth taking your anger out on your own stomach. "That's right," Caleb's tone softens again. "Don't mention the word 'divorce' again." You pause, then continue eating with your head down. The next day, you book a physical therapy appointment at AKSO Hospital.

T - 22 days You need to get used to going out alone, so you decide to do some window shopping. Wandering aimlessly through Universum, you spot a familiar figure at a designer jewelry store — MC. Looking at the store name, a feeling of unease settles over you as you unconsciously walk closer.

“Buy it if you like it!” comes her friend's voice. “I can't do that, Tara!" MC exclaims, "It's too expensive. Even though Caleb gave me his card and told me to use it as I please, I feel awkward buying such an expensive item!”

Your steps falter, too heavy to take another step.

“Since he gave it to you, it’s for you to use. When has your brother ever used pleasantries with you He's probably over the moon that you're willing to spend his money.” Tara replies. “That’s true…” MC twirls, showing Tara the necklace she tried on at different angles. You see it too. “Isn’t it beautiful, Tara? I really, really love this necklace! I liked it back in high school, and Caleb promised to buy it for me after graduation, but..."

But?

You laugh bitterly at the irony. But instead, Caleb gives you this necklace every year for your birthday and anniversary. Originally, you had thought that even if Caleb was heartless, at least he remembered your birthday and your anniversary; even if the gift he chose wasn’t thoughtful, it would at least be expensive.

But it turns out he isn’t heartless, nor is he indifferent; on the contrary, he is incredibly thoughtful and devoted. It’s just that what he holds dear has nothing to do with you.

T - 21 days You try to talk about the divorce with Caleb again, this time taking the initiative to meet  him as he gets off work. You walk into the grand foyer of the Farspace Fleet HQ, preparing to text and let him know you're here, when you hear his voice.  "And that concludes your orientation tour."

You slowly turn to see Caleb, his adjutant, Liam, and MC walk out of the elevator. You wait until they make their way closer to the front door to approach the group. "It's been a pleasure showing you around," Liam adds, saluting to MC, "I look forward to working with you, Mrs. Xia".  You nearly choke on your breath, face red and still sputtering as you appear in front of Caleb. Liam looks at you with confusion. "I'm sorry, and you are...?" Caleb's face morphs from surprise to horror, and you see the message behind his furrowed brows and pleading eyes: "don't say anything"

You remember the sneers, the joking, the pity.

"I'm a good friend of the Colonel," you say. "In fact, we have a dinner appointment tonight." Caleb nods vigorously in agreement, quickly dismissing Liam as you, Caleb, and MC walk towards the parking garage. 

When you arrive at Caleb's car, MC doesn’t move, smiling sweetly. “Okay, Gege, you guys go home. I’ll take a taxi myself. Y/N, I’ll return Mr. Xia back to you.”

Back to you? What does she mean, back to you? When did you ever agree to lend your husband out?

She takes the opportunity to cling to your arm, shaking it sweetly. “Y/N, don’t be angry. Today’s misunderstanding wasn’t intentional. Liam just assumed things because Caleb has never personally brought a cadet around before. I didn't have time to explain the situation." Her eyes subconsciously flick to your leg before she continues. “You won’t be angry with us, right?” “Us?” you sneer. “Who is this ‘us’? Who exactly is with whom?” You hate strangers getting close to you — especially her. You pull your arm away. You swear you only pull back lightly. You don’t shove her. You absolutely do not push her. Yet she falls to the ground. “Y/N!!” Caleb shouts your name.

MC reacts faster than both of you. She scrambles up and blocks Caleb completely — pressing herself against him. “Caleb, don’t be angry. Don’t blame Y/N, I’m just careless. She just gently touched me and I lost balance myself. Gege, please don't get angry at your wife because of me, it’ll make me sad…” Only Caleb believes this act. Especially when she deliberately raises her wrist — the scraped skin clearly visible — right in front of him, the glint of the necklace she bought yesterday, the same as yours piercing your eyes. Caleb sees the scrape. His brows knit together, eyes filled with obvious concern.

“Y/N! What’s wrong with you? Why are you so prejudiced against her?” “Me? Prejudiced against her?” you laugh. “What prejudice could I possibly have? After all, she’s Mrs. Xia now.” “You—” He is momentarily speechless before lowering his gaze to MC. “Does it hurt?” “No…” she whimpers, yet she lifts her wrist closer to his chin. He actually lowers his head and gently blows on it.

You have never seen him look at you like that.

“I’ll put some medicine on it later. We can’t let it scar.” Not even after your car accident. Not when you lose your leg. Not when your body is covered in scars. Back then, he gently asked you, “Does it hurt? If it does, cry.” But that wasn't heartache. It was guilt. He never caressed your wounds. When faced with your scars, he escapes. He avoids. He refuses to look at them.

“It’s okay, I'm really alright!” MC’s voice grows even softer “Y/N,” Caleb calls, looking up at you. “Aren’t you going to apologize?” “Why should I apologize?” A sharp sting rushes into your eyes, blurring your vision. You can barely see his face anymore. “Because she calls herself my husband’s wife, I have to apologize?” “Y/N! Why are being sarcastic? Didn’t she explain? Liam simply misunderstood. Why are you holding onto this?”

He is angry again. He always is, whenever you speak up against her. You smile and shake your head. “No, Caleb. You’re wrong. I don’t want to hold onto this at all. I didn’t even expose you two on the spot. Whoever wants to be Mrs. Xia can take the position. I already told you I want a divorce. You should just agree. Then everything becomes perfectly legitimate.” You don’t expose them because there’s no need. Since you are going to divorce him anyway, why add more trouble to your life? It isn’t worth it.

“Your temper is getting more and more outrageous!” he snaps. “There’s a limit to throwing tantrums! Apologize right now!” “I won’t.” You turn to leave. “Stop!” He rushes forward and grabs your wrist. “Where are you going? You pushed her. Her arm is hurt. You're not leaving without saying sorry."

You stare at the hand gripping you. Despair crashes over you like a tidal wave. You look into his eyes and say, slowly, clearly, word by word: “Yes. All I have to deal with is being a cripple for the rest of my life. But oh no, she scratched her arm”

A flash of sharp pain crosses his eyes. He loosens his grip and steps back. The moment you are free, you turn and run toward the elevator. No matter how disheveled you look, you don’t care. You absolutely cannot let him see the tears streaming down your face. From the day you were injured, through your wedding and five years of marriage... This is the first time you use your injured leg to hurt him.

Before, you were so careful about protecting his feelings. You were afraid he felt guilt and remorse, so you never mention the accident five years ago. Even when you had to endure gossip and cold stares, you swallowed everything alone. But now, is he in pain too? You can honestly understand to a certain degree.

He is doomed to carry the burden of you for the rest of his life, unable to shake himself free. How can he not be? His true love is right beside him, yet because of your existence, he can't even be with her openly. How can he not be in pain when the urge to let go is pitted against the torment of his conscience? 

So, Caleb, please let me go, okay?

T - 20 days You return home alone and lay your ten jewelry boxes out in front of you. You stare at the necklaces for a long time, lost in thought. For a moment, you want to smash each one against the wall. But you don't. Impulse solves nothing.

After calming down, you download a secondhand resale app and start looking for sellers who buy luxury goods. You quickly find one in the city and arrange to drop them off tomorrow. Having dealt with this, you turn on your computer and begin focusing intently on your visa application.

You have less than three weeks until you escape your personal hell.

T - 19 days You are so engrossed in your work that you don't even notice Caleb's return.You hurriedly close your laptop when you hear "What are you doing?" coming from the doorway.

Caleb returns, maintaining his usual gentle demeanor, as if nothing happened. He walks to your side and asks in a soft voice, "Watching a show? Studying? What's got you so hooked that you're still up?" He's trying to make conversation.

You press your hand tightly against the laptop; the VISA webpage is still open. "You wouldn't care for it" "I don't even know what it is? Here, let me see. You asked me to tutor you back in high school." He reaches out to try to pry the screen up but you hold on tightly, refusing to let go. He assumes you're still angry, so he stops trying to take it from you. Instead, he sighs and squats down, staring at your profile. "Still angry?"

"No." You're not lying. You've had many feelings: anxiety, disappointment, despair, but definitely not anger. Anger meant that as long as he coaxed you, things would be fine; there was still hope for your marriage. But for you, any last drop hope had already evaporated. Five years… that was enough.

“Y/N, MC and I really have nothing going on. We're just close childhood friends. She came back from abroad, and we all got together to welcome her. The misunderstanding at work today was purely accidental. You have to believe me.”  His voice grows increasingly sweet. You look into his eyes, unable to see the passion behind the soft words. Gentleness is like a program written into his body, running on autopilot.

“Caleb” you finally say, “Aren’t you tired?” He's taken aback, seemingly not understanding what you mean. You give him a bitter smile. "You have someone else in your heart, yet you still fuss over me every day. Aren't you tired?" Caleb's eyes widen. "I don't..." "Caleb, stop lying to yourself! I know some things don't sound so honorable when brought up; it'll make everyone look bad. But actually, divorce is better for both of us. Really. MC is more like the Mrs. Xia you envision yourself with-" "Y/N!" Caleb interrupts you. "Are you still holding onto MC? I've told you so many times." "Caleb, the one who can't get over MC isn't me." You stare at him straight in the eyes. "It's you." He freezes again. "Y/N..." "We both know it, isn't that right?" You try to appear calm. You can't have him think you're just "throwing a tantrum". "It's time to put an end to our five years together, Caleb. Let's say goodbye gracefully. Let bygones be bygones."

Caleb stares at you for a while, then stands up. "Y/N, you're overthinking it. You'll see later that MC's return won't change anything. It's late, get some rest." "Caleb Xia! I know you feel guilty towards me, but not anymore. I really don't need a marriage based on guilt. Let me go, and let yourself go too, okay?" Before you even finish your sentence, Caleb takes off his coat and heads into the bathroom. 

You look at his coat lying on the small sofa. In the past, you would've hung it up for him, then found his pajamas and put them by the bathroom door. But this time, you don't move. For the past five years, you had always thought that your legs were weak and that you couldn't contribute anything to your family. In fact, Caleb managed everything perfectly, making you feel like a mere decoration, unable to help him in any way. Yet, you still tried your best to take care of him when you could.

Honestly? You might have overlooked the core: perhaps what Caleb needed wasn't your insignificant care, but a presentable Mrs. Xia, someone who could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him in front of the world. So you truly don't understand what he's clinging onto, why he refuses to divorce you after all this…

Caleb comes out of the bathroom and goes straight to sleep, seemingly refusing to speak further. You don't bring it up again. Forget it, every conversation is exhausting for you anyways. You're better off using that time to think about your future, strive towards what you have always wanted, and when you could leave. Whether or not the divorce is finalized by then won't matter. You glance at Caleb beside you; he's already fast asleep.

In the dim light, you can only see a blurry profile of his face. The distance between the two of you seems endless. Caleb, I've decided not to blame you anymore. I hope you have a happy life after I'm gone.

T - 18 days You wake up feeling refreshed. As you finish getting ready and make your way down the stairs, you see the look of shock in the housekeeper's eyes.

You're wearing makeup today, and in your favorite dress. For five years, you barely dressed up. Your leg, covered in scars, not only restricted your movement, but also your self worth and yearning for beauty. You didn't think you were worth dressing up. “Very beautiful, Madam,” Mrs. Chen's admiring gaze doesn't lie. “Where are you going?” “The theatre.” You shift your weight, a little nervous despite the excitement coursing through your veins. You even wore stockings so that the scars on your leg wouldn't be as visible. After settling your feelings, you decide to buy a ticket to see a ballet performance. The only thing you wanted to see at the moment, the only thing you knew would comfort you was dance.

You take a deep breath as you sink into the plush velvet seat in the dress circle. From your elevated view, you can almost feel the warmth of the stage lights and the buzz of adrenaline behind the colossal curtains, your heartbeat quickening as it gets closer to curtain call. "Y/N?" You nearly jump as you hear your name, looking wildly around to meet a pair of sea-blue eyes.  "R-rafayel?" You squint as the name comes off your tongue slightly unfamiliarly. It's been nearly 10 years since you saw this old classmate of yours, but the tuft of dark purple hair gives him away. The two of you were never in same homeroom back in high school, but his name was very famous among the art students. 

"It's been such a long time, how have you been?" He smiles and offers you a hand.  Your brain short circuits for a moment, not quite sure how to answer.  "My apologies," he quickly follows up his words. "I remember you were a performing arts student, and followed your career briefly after graduation. I know you stopped dancing and got married, married to the man that you saved."  You're even more stunned now. But before you have a chance to formulate a reply, the lights cut out, signifying the opening of the show. 

Tonight's performance is by the Linkin City ballet, performing a classical piece that you've rehearsed countless times in the past. As the orchestra strikes the first chord, the dancer deep within you is awakened. Even though you're sitting in the audience with a real possibility you'll never be on stage again, your toes subconsciously tap lightly on the ground to the beat of the music—it's muscle memory etched into your body…

At the end of the performance, you can't help the tears spilling from your eyes. Sitting in the audience, listening to the thunderous applause, watching audience members go up one after another to present flowers to the dancers... Not because of sadness, not because of pain, and certainly not because of despair. But because of the dance itself, and the resonance you felt in your heart. This was once your passion and your deepest love. But you had forgotten it for five years.  You log onto your empty social media account for the first time in years, and simply post: Tonight belongs to my passion and my dearest love. 

After the curtains fall for the final time, you turn to Rafayel, still gently clapping beside you. "I've been unhappy since I quit dancing," you admit, gaze flickering at your bad leg. "But I've had enough of moping around and feeling sorry for myself." You wipe away any remaining moisture off your face. "Sorry, this just reminded me of how happy dancing made me feel. I'll be going abroad soon to get a masters." You swear Rafayel's eyes light up slightly in the dim concert hall as he gives you a smile. "Y/N, Little Swallow, I believe you will soar high, even if your wings were once broken." Back in high school, your nickname was Little Swallow, because you were best known for your somersaults and leaps; high and graceful. Hearing the name again after so many years has your heart racing again, as if you are back in your youth, sweating profusely in the practice room.

A bundle is placed into your hands. You look down to see a bouquet of flowers, something Rafayel originally brought for one the dancers, probably. Rafayel simply pats your head. "It's not shameful to have a leg injury, it's not shameful to have scars on your legs. What's shameful are those who laugh at you; they are the truly despicable ones! Kind people will only cheer you on." He turns away, but not before calling out, "Let's keep in touch! I'll be in the same city as your program for my next artist retreat. Let me know if I can help with anything." He emphasizes again, "Anything!"

You stand there, watching him disappear into the distance. This is the first time someone has told you: your disability isn't shameful; what's shameful are those who mock you. Words you've wanted to hear for nearly 2000 days, but never had spoken to you.  Tonight, it brings you a fresh wave of tears. 

T - 17 days You didn't think Caleb would be back after everything going on these days, but the sound of the door opening wakes you up from sleep. 

Caleb stinks of alcohol when he enters the room. He's been drinking again. How much did he have to drink? He throws a chair against the door and collapses directly onto the bed. You don't have anything to say to him anymore, whether it's to scold him to drink less or coax him to take a shower. You get up, intending to sleep in the guest room. Just as you reach the door, Caleb's voice sounds behind you. "Where are you going?"

You don't answer.

The bed creaks behind you. Caleb gets slams the door in front of you closed and grabs your wrist. "Where are you going if you're not sleeping here?" "I'm going to the guest room, let go of me."  You can't really argue with a drunkard. The more you struggle, the tighter he grips your hands. "Stop fooling around, Y/N. What's the point? Since you've apologized, I'll make it up to you" his voice slurs.

You're dumbfounded??? What the hell is he referring to? "When did I apologize?" You haven't even seen him, let alone apologize to him? Caleb chuckles softly, mumbling, "Tonight belongs to my passion and my dearest? I'm back."

You scoff, wait, this guy actually thought you posted that for him? 

“Y/N” He suddenly hugs you. “I know, I know you love me. You'd give everything for me, so no matter what happens, I will never betray you…” You are stunned for a moment. He's right. You've loved him very, very much. He had said these words at your wedding. At that time, you thought it wasn't a confession, but a promise. He had given you a promise for a lifetime. A lifetime is so long. Long enough that you thought one day he would fall in love with you properly. Even if he never loved you, it didn't matter; you thought your love for him would be enough…

“Caleb Xia.” You have something you want to ask him. “Hmm?” His warm breath brushes against your ear, spreading out, carrying the scent of alcohol. "But your Pipsqueak is back! What will happen to Pips if you're with me?" "Pipsqueak? Pipsqueak..." He murmured the name, suddenly choking back tears. "Pipsqueak, I won't forget. I promised you, I won't forget..."

You feel as if you just got dunked in ice water. Is he so drunk that he's mistaking you for MC? "What promise? What did you promise Pipsqueak?" you ask numbly. "Everything... Everything, Pips..." His arms tighten around you.

You gasp as he suddenly lifts you up and pushes you down on the bed, his breath, heavy with the smell of alcohol, glosses over your face, nose, and chin... He tries to find your lips, but you avoid them. The smell of alcohol makes you nauseous. When his hands begin to tear at your pajamas, you immediately turn away. "Pips, be good, okay? Stop making a fuss..."

Still calling you Pipsqueak...

You struggle fiercely, finally freeing a hand and slapping him hard across the face. A crisp sound rings out in the bedroom "Caleb! Look carefully at who I am! I'm not your Pipsqueak!" you shout in the darkness, your voice hoarse. His body stiffens briefly. Taking advantage of the moment, you forcefully wriggle out of his grasp. He lies on the bed, still drunk, murmuring, "Pips, I'm sorry, I have to go home. I promised her I'd take care of her for the rest of my life... I owe her..." You cover your ears. Those words have haunted you like a curse for five years; now, whenever they echo in your mind, your head buzzes as if filled with static.

You scream at the figure beside you, "I don't want you to owe me anything! Caleb Xia! Do you hear me!? I don't want you to owe me anything! I just want you to set me free!"

Caleb's phone vibrates at that moment. You turn your head to see the name of the person calling: "Baby Apple." Ha, Baby Apple… In Caleb's phone, your contact is "Y/N" When you were newlyweds, you had fantasized about the day Caleb would call you "sweetie," "darling," or any other nickname that was exclusively yours, or even just "Wife."  But no, whether in everyday conversations or in his contacts, it was always just "Y/N".  To reassure yourself, you convinced yourself that this was just his personality—not clingy, straightforward, and with a strong personality. You were wrong. The words "Baby Apple" on the screen are particularly glaring. You're torn between picking up or letting it ring, but you click on the green receiver anyway.

A soft, delicate voice makes your hand tremble. "Gege, are you home yet? Are you alright?" MC sounds drunk too, her voice slurred and incoherent. Ignoring the silence on your end, she continues. "I know it's hard for you... I also... know that Y/N has sacrificed a lot for you... You don't need to feel guilty towards me... I... we're fine like this now... I don't care whether I'm your wife or not... I just... just glad that you remember me and treat me the same as before... let's stay like this Caleb... She can live in your house, and I can live in your heart, I'm content..."

The phone finally slips and fell to the ground. She lives in your house, I live in your heart. You stagger out of the room and go to the guest room. You collapse on the bed, trying to squeeze all the sounds out of your head. You never want to think about this again.

T - 16 days When you wake up, it's Caleb's voice that you hear. He's talking to Mrs. Chen. "Where did these flowers come from?" "Madam brought them back last night." "Madam went out last night?" "Yes." "Alone? Where did she go?" Caleb's voice rises noticeably. "She said she went to see a performance." "A performance? Who sent the flowers?" He seemed unconvinced. "I don't know." "What performance? Where did she see it? What time was it?" Mrs. Chen hesitates. "Sir, I really don't know."

The guest room door is pushed open. You immediately pretend to be asleep. "Y/N, I know you're awake; your hand just moved." You open your eyes, internally sighing.

"Who did you go to see the performance with yesterday?" Why is he so fixated on this question?

You don't answer him, simply pulling the covers over your head and turn your back to face him. “Y/N,” He sits down, “Be good, okay?” He reaches out to dig you out from under the comforter. You remember him pinning you down on the bed last night, calling MC's name and telling her to be good. You feel utterly disgusted and forcefully slap his hand away.

He gives up, then suddenly changes the subject, "Y/N, what was the "passions and loves" you mentioned last night?" "It wasn't you!" you huff. His face stiffens for a moment, but it quickly turns into a knowing look. "Alright, stop being stubborn. I know you're still sulking and jealous. Didn't I come back as soon as I saw you post that yesterday?"

He seriously still thinks you're just throwing a tantrum when you said "not you"? You poke your head out from under the covers. "I told you..." Seeing you finally come out, his expression softens as he takes the opportunity to stroke your hair. "That's good. I'll be back tonight, but you don't have to wait for me. Just go to sleep if you're tired." Without waiting for you to say anything more, he turns and leaves. You don't care whether or not he comes home. Actually, this scene is exactly the same as before. Before MC appeared, he was always like this, speaking to you gently, telling you to go to sleep early, and stroking your hair. You've never argued, not even once.

But so what? What does a marriage without arguments even mean?

If you were to describe Caleb Xia with a single word, it would be "good." However, you know the truth painfully clearly: all the good things Caleb does don't stem from his love for you, but rather an act of atonement.

The words "never to dance again" were a devastating blow to both you and him back then. You still remember Caleb's reaction upon hearing those words; after the initial shock, he seemed utterly ripped from his soul.

From that moment on, the vibrant Caleb died. You were both simultaneously bound by the shackles of "forever"— you forever lost the stage, and he forever atoned for his sins. "I owe her" these three words became the unbearable weight of his life. From that moment forward, there was no more Caleb Xia; what lived was only your husband—a walking robot, devoid of warmth and emotion. A stagnant pool, mechanically fulfilling the duties of a husband, a partner.

But now he's alive again… MC returned, bringing light back into his life. He's started smiling again, his eyes sparkling with light and fire. You sigh heavily. Even after all this, why wouldn't he let you go, and let himself go too?

T - 15 days You step out of the taxi, heart pounding as you approach tall glass doors. After watching the ballet piece, you are once again filled with determination and decided to sign up for a beginners dance class. You've been going to your physical therapy sessions dutifully, hoping one day, with enough hard work and practice, you'll be able to stand on stage again. You smile at the wide range of participants already there. They greet you warmly, introducing themselves one by one before the instructor walks in.  As the class begins, you practice some very simple basics - posture, form, and stances. However, due to your injury, you quickly run out of stamina and spend a good portion of the class on the floor to rest inbetween. You're wiping the sweat off your brow with a towel and bidding goodbye to some new friends as a familiar voice calls from outside the studio door.

"Y/N!" It's Rafayel?!  "What are you doing here?" you ask, suddenly feeling a wave of embarrassment as you're stuck wondering how much of your clumsy work he had just seen. "The performing arts center commissioned a piece from me. It's going to be hanging on the top floor, so I came today to take a look at the atmosphere around here," he supplies, giving you a bright smile.  "Nice," you feebly offer. Rafayel breaks the silence with a soft sigh, "Y/N, I can see the start of a rebirth." You know what he's referring to, you starting to pick up dancing again. But can you really call what you're doing right now dancing? You could barely stand up straight. "Don't be like that! You haven't practiced for five years, and you did really well today! I have a photo if you don't believe me." Rafayel takes out his phone, smoothly passing it to you to enter your number. It turns out he had recorded the last part of your dance lesson today. "Ah, my phone died" you say, rummaging through your dance bag.  Rafayel shrugs and presses "send" anyways. "Here, let's go grab something to eat and you can watch yourself on mine.  

The two of you head to a cafe, sitting outside on the patio as you make conversation over coffee and sandwiches. Rafayel shows you the video as you furrow your brows at your posture. You sigh dejectedly. Who would've imagined that the girl once known as "Little Swallow" would struggle like that? While Rafayel's words of encouragement still doesn't allow you to forgive yourself for falling so far behind, you agree with his sentiment: you were going to grow new wings and explore higher skies. 

It was at this moment that Caleb drives by, catching a glimpse of your smile brighter than the sunset, sitting next to Rafayel, your heads slightly leaned in together as you watch something on his phone. 

T - 14 days You feel a strange sense of oppression slowly growing behind you. You look up to see Caleb standing behind you, face partially covered by shadow.  His complexion is stormy; he looks exhausted, and his hair is somewhat disheveled. As he approaches you, the setting sun behind him seems to ignite, mirroring the flames in his eyes.  

“I called you all day, and your phone was off?” He is clearly suppressing his anger.

You don't know where this anger came from. Isn't he very busy? He usually never calls you anyways; why would he be offended that your phone died? Afterall, you weren't even angry when he went to take care of MC, what right did he have to dictate how you spend your time? 

“Oh, I didn't expect you to call,” you say calmly, stirring your drink. "Didn't expect me to call?" Caleb glances at Rafayel sitting beside you, gritting his teeth. "I'm your husband. If I don't call you, who will?" You shake your head, pulling yourself up using the armrest. "Who knows? I could have an ex-boyfriend," you say sarcastically.  His expression changes, and he frown deeply. "Y/N."

Rafayel simply smiles, and turns to address Caleb. "Colonel Xia," he greets him. "Have you ever watched your wife dance? 

Caleb freezes. Despite being the High Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, trained in all kinds of interrogation and logic, he could not decipher the meaning behind those words.  Rafayel chuckles and bids the two of you goodbye, Caleb's gaze burning into the back of his silhouette.

"Y/N, I've underestimated you this whole time," Caleb says as you get into his car. "You're quite something." His voice carries a threat and suppressed anger. Your mind flashes to the stench of perfume on his shirt, and scoff, "Not as good as you." "Since when did you get in contact with him again? What does he do? I don't want to waste time finding that out myself." His hands rest on the steering wheel, his fingers long and slender. On his left ring finger is a new ring.

His wedding band has been off since the night of your wedding ceremony. What's he wearing now? You smile faintly and hold out your hand. On your ring finger is a jade ring, small enough for everyday wear. You were the one to pick out your wedding rings. You wanted a small, non-flashy stone because you wanted to wear it everyday, forever. It was a custom pair; his was also jade.  The one on his hand is pure silver band.  Caleb watches your movements and subconsciously pulls his left hand back.

You place your hand on the dashboard. "Colonel, can you please explain when your ring changed color?"

T - 13 days Caleb freezes for a fraction of a second, before muttering, "it's a formality, it's not that serious." You nearly laugh out loud. Of course, what can be more serious than marriage? Perhaps your observation ignited the tiniest shred of shame in him, for his tone softens considerably, his previous accusatory attitude gone. "I'm asking you this for your own good, Y/N. There won't be another man in this world who treats you like I do. Of course, I'm not perfect; I have my flaws. But I'm sincere, trusting, and unguarded with you. Your name is on all of my assets. It's hard to say what other people's intentions are."

You are immediately reminded of MC's words: She's in your house, but I'm in your heart.

You put on your earbuds, hoping to drown out whatever other demeaning things he has to say. Seeing this, Caleb hesitates, then drives off. He drops you off at home, saying, "I have more work to do at the office, don't wait up for me," before leaving again. You stare at the door blankly. You forgot how you used to care so much about those things.

Slowly, you take the wedding ring off your finger. Since it obviously doesn't have any true sentimental value anymore, you might as well sell it for cash. Actually, if you were going to sell it, might as well sell it as a pair! You look high and low around the house, but can't find the other one.

Suddenly, you remember that Caleb keeps a safe at home, something you've never thought to open.  An idea strikes you.

You don't know the safe's combination. You try Caleb's birthday, but it didn't budge. You don't even bother to try yours. You think a little harder, hesitantly putting in the security code for the front door and garage. It opens! Inside are a stack of legal documents, property papers, and various other things that must be very important. You easily find the jewelry box with the same brand as your wedding ring, but there is another one in the very back, placed on top of a notebook.

You open the latter and see the another silver ring matching the one on Caleb's finger, along with a necklace with a small apple charm.  Your hand rests on top of the notebook, mind teetering between looking and not looking. Ultimately, your self control wins, but as you move to put it back, a photograph slides out, falling to the floor. It's a photo of Caleb and MC from their high school days. 

Honestly, it doesn't mean much. You knew for a long time that Caleb had feelings for someone else before. But since you married him, at least when you married him, you told yourself you didn't care about his past. You sigh, picking up the photo, and put it back in the notebook. Fuck it, trying to protect your already shattered heart is pointless now. You open it to a random page, planning to just stuff the photo back in, but you freeze as your eyes land on the writing: 100 Little things about Pipsqueak.  The first thing listed is: Pips' birthday is May 1st.

Your hand slips, and the notebook falls to the ground. The code to your house is 20501 The combination to this safe is 0501. The air in the room seems to thin. You press your palm to your chest, gasping for breath. The second line reads: "I finally bought myself a house. It's in the style that MC likes. The password is her birthday."

So, for the last five years, you've been living in the house meant for Caleb and MC...

T - 12 days You bring the pair of rings to the antique watch shop, having scheduled a time with the owner. The owner is delighted, having previously bought the 10 necklaces you chose to part ways with as well. He ushers you to sit down in the private room behind the counter and pours you a cup of tea. You excuse yourself to use the restroom, hearing the door open as more customers enter the store.

The voices are familiar. Shit. Looking behind you, you see MC's appear, with Caleb in tow.  You really manage to run into her everywhere, huh?

It's midday, right when Caleb usually has meetings. He sure has lots of free time now.  You go do your business, ducking behind the curtains as you return to avoid being noticed.

"Caleb, look! This store has so many of these necklaces! They're limited edition zodiac ones!" MC points to something in the display case. If you aren't mistaken, it's definitely one of the pieces you sold. The old man takes it out. "You have a good eye, young lady. The necklaces were acquired recently. They only make a limited amount every year. These ones are no longer being sold." Caleb looks closely and frowns. "Are they really that rare?" "Yes, this limited collection began exactly 12 years ago, a zodiac edition with this year being the last edition. It's much more expensive than the regular model. I think I've got the only ten that exists in Linkon," the owner explains with a smile. "No way..." MC exclaims, "can you prove their authenticity if they're really that valuable?" "Of course! I've got the certificates as well as the invoices for each." "These ten necklaces, did you receive them all at once?" Caleb, who has been mostly silent, suddenly asks. "Yes," the owner nods with a smile, "from the same customer." Caleb's eyes sharpen. "Show me the invoice." The owner takes out the invoices and hands them to Caleb.  He stares at them harshly, suddenly letting out a cold laugh. "Sir...?" The old man is taken aback, unsure what the issue was. "It has nothing to do with you, just give me all of them." Caleb says gruffly. Even MC sensed something was wrong and softly asks, "Gege?"

The owner notices you waiting for him. "You're back? Everything alright?" Caleb and MC looks your way as well, seeing your figure in the back.

You're not sure if it's just your imagination, but Caleb's eyes almost seem to be filled with anger. "Can you sit down for a moment? I'll show them the necklaces first, and then I'll look at your ring."

"What ring?" Caleb's voice is dangerously low, was full of suspicion upon hearing this. His gaze falls to the pair of jade rings behind the display case. "These two?" He taps the glass of the display case with his finger, his tone getting even more oppressive.

The owner clearly has no idea what is going on, why his customer was asking this, or how to answer. These were items provided by someone else; why is he asking about them? You don't intend to put him in an awkward situation, so you answer Caleb directly. "Yes, these two."

Caleb's gaze is burning. "Mrs. Xia, you're really something." It wasn't a compliment, but you reply calmly, "Thank you, you flatter me." "Get over here!" he suddenly roars. You sit down, picking up your cup of tea. He walks over to you instead, looming in front of you.

Perhaps out of consideration for the outside world, he tries to suppress his anger, his voice full of sarcasm, "I never thought I'd experience firsthand what it means by 'it's hard to guard against a thief from within the family'. One day, I wouldn't even know if my entire house was robbed." You ignore him. "Are you short of money? Is the money I give you not enough?" he hisses. "No, not at all," you say, "I've been decluttering lately, getting rid of anything useless." "Useless?" He's furious, pointing to the rings in the display case, "You're saying wedding rings are useless?" You look at him calmly, "Otherwise? If you say they're useful, have you ever worn it for a even day since the weeding ceremony?"

Caleb is speechless, indignant. "One day, you'll sell me off without me even knowing!" " You laugh and turn to at MC. "Do you want this? I'm selling one Caleb Xia, secondhand! I'll even give you a discount, I promise the price is favorable." MC is stunned. Caleb however, clearly doesn't find this funny. He turns to MC and says, "Pipsqueak, you head back first." She's unwilling, protesting, "but Gege!" "We'll talk about the necklace later, you go back first!" His expression is serious. MC knew when not to push his buttons. He's in a bad mood, and she didn't dare to provoke him. Lips trembling, she says gently, "Alright Gege, I'll go back first. But don't be too angry. Y/N must have her reasons, please don't scold her." 

You roll your eyes.

As soon as MC leaves, Caleb immediately presses you. "What exactly are you doing? Tell me!" "I told you," you say calmly, "I'm decluttering things I don't want anymore." You pause, then continue. "Including you, Colonel Xia." "Are you serious?" His face is very unpleasant. "Yes." You were never anything but serious about this.  "Y/N! I think you've been provoking me too much lately!" His eyes flash with anger.

You personally think that his temper has been a bit too volatile lately; the usually stable and gentle Colonel was gone, and MC was largely to blame. He calls the owner over, harshly putting his black card on the table. "I'll take all of them."

The owner wraps everything up, afraid of knowing too much about the uncomfortable relationship between the three of you. Get in the car!" he demands, dragging you out by your wrist. “It looks like I misjudged you,” he says once he starts driving. “I always thought you were a sensible and understanding, person, but now it seems you're getting too full of yourself. Look at Pips…” “I don’t want to see her, ok? You can go spend your time with her if she's that great.”

You put on your headphones for real this time. You're in no mood to hear about how wonderful MC is to him. He drops you off at the entrance of the neighborhood and tells you to get out. “I have a meeting later-” You get out and slam the door shut. You don't give a fuck about what he's doing tonight.

T - 11 days At 11pm, you hear Caleb enter the front door. You shut down your laptop and turn to scroll lazily on your phone, overhearing him greet Mrs. Chen.  "I told you to cook it according to my wife's taste, why did you make it spicy?" "Madam said...spicy." Aunt Chen's voice was tinged with panic. "And she didn't eat a single bite?" "Yes..." "Get me a bowl of rice."

A few minutes later, Caleb enters the bedroom. His tie is loose, the top button of his shirt  undone, the sleeves rolled up to his wrists. "Aren't you going to come out and have dinner with me?" he asks, the anger from earlier seemingly gone. For the last few years, he's always come home pretty late, rarely for dinner, but made sure to eat when he came home. You cherished those moments, bustling around him, serving up his food and keeping him company for the little time before going to sleep.  What good was your attentiveness in the end? Who knows, perhaps it only served to annoy him?

“What did you eat tonight? From now on, you don’t need to cook according to my taste. Tell Mrs. Chen to make what you like,” he says. You roll your eyes. He really thinks you're still trying to gain his favor.  He pulls up a chair and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Y/N,” What is it now?

He takes a deep breath. “MC really liked that ring. Since you sold it anyway, I gave it to her. I just transferred you some money. Take it and buy something you like.  Of course. So that’s what it's about. No wonder he's suddenly being so friendly with you. You have your back to him and simply say, "Oh," then add, "Okay."

T - 11 days until leaving Caleb Xia: He gave our wedding rings to someone else too. But I don't even want him anymore, so why should I care about the ring?

"So well-behaved today?" His voice softens. "I wanted to buy something for you, but you obviously don't like what I buy." "Hmm." "What's wrong? You're asleep already?" He frowns. "Are you feeling unwell? Let me see." He leans over, wanting to see your face. "Don't tell me you're secretly crying?" In his dreams! You give no reaction.

After tucking you in tighter, he looks at your quiet form, hesitates, and finally says, “Y/N, I'm going on a mission tomorrow.” A mission! You immediately open our eyes. This means you can go in person to meet with a lawyer and get your interviews and forms stamped without him knowing!

You sit up, eyes shining brightly. “How many days are you going?” “Three or four days, possibly up to a week.” He frowns, thinking your reaction is a bit over the top. What does this mean? You were letting him go? “No, it’s okay. Who are you going with?” you follow up haphazardly, heart pounding with joy. His expression grows increasingly hesitant. "Gideon." He pauses, then adds, "Maybe MC too." "Oh." You lie back down. "Sounds good, tell me before you come back, I'll have Mrs. Chen prepare good food." He looks at you incredulously. "You're not angry?" You shake your head. "Go to sleep early, you have a business trip tomorrow, you need to get some rest." "Y/N, trust me, a lot more of us will be going together..." He moves closer to you, but you push him away. "Go take a shower, I've already showered, don't get too close to me." He frowns. "What do you mean? You think I'm dirty?" Well, he does reek of MC's perfume. 

The next day, you're still groggy when Caleb gets up.  You had expected him to pack his things and go without leaving you with any words, but unexpectedly, he insists on waking you.  "Ugh, sleepy!" You smack his hand away.

"Mrs. Xia," he drawls, standing by the bed. "Your performance is falling. You don't feed me, give me mooncakes anymore, or ask me about my day, and now I'm leaving for a mission and you won't even help me pack my luggage?" It's true. If this was before, you'd be fretting all over him, his luggage already prepared the night before.  You roll your eyes. Fine, you'll pack for him then!

You go into the walk-in closet, and start placing folded clothes and personal belongings neatly into his suitcase. Before you close the zipper, you head over to the bedside drawer, take out a box of condoms, and was about to throw it into the suitcase as well. Your arm is grabbed roughly. "Where did this come from?" Caleb demands, eyes darkening. 

To be honest, you originally prepared it for your honeymoon though you never ended up using it. It's probably expired by now, but you thought it would be funny. You smile. “I prepared this especially for you. Tell me, aren't I a wonderful Mrs. Xia?” “You…” Caleb picks up the box and throws it forcefully into the trash can, “That'll be unnecessary! Even if I had a child, I could afford to raise it. Besides, I don’t plan on having one anytime soon!” He zips up the suitcase, locks it, and leaves with a huff.

T - 10 days You head to physical therapy again. While sitting in the waiting area for your appointment, your phone suddenly goes off. Your surprise turns into annoyance as you see the caller ID: Husband. Fortunately, there's not many people beside you. After picking up the call, you quietly say, "Hello".

"Why are you speaking so softly? What are you doing?" Caleb asks on the other end. "I'm at the doctor's, it's not good to talk loudly." You quickly take out earbuds, further lowering your voice to a whisper. "Why am I getting so many calls these days?" It's really annoying. He seems even more offended on the other end, "Your own husband can't call you? Are you annoyed at me?" More than annoyed! You roll your eyes "No, not really, it's just quite unsettling. What's wrong?" "Mrs. Xia!" He scoffs on the other end, "Can't I call you if there's nothing wrong?" " You're speechless for a second. This person is getting more and more irrational. "What instructions does the Colonel have for me?" you roll your eyes, not believing him. "You're kidding me!" His tone softens a bit, "I'm transferring flights, it's not boarding time yet, just wanted to see if you're up." So he really is bored! "Don't you have anything to say to me?" You pop a grape into your mouth, mumbling an "oh".  "Y/N!" ??? Why does it sound like he's about to get angry? "What are you eating that's more important than your husband's safety?" You finally swallow the grape, "You... you've been attacked?" A long sigh comes from the phone, "Never mind, you eat, just hearing your voice is enough, I'm about to board too." The call ended abruptly.

You look at your phone, listening to the dial tone, feeling utterly bewildered.

On the other end, MC glances at him several times. "Gege," she calls. "Hmm? Let's go get ready to board." "You seem to miss Y/N a lot. You've made so many calls since we left" she says tentatively.

Caleb doesn't notice her gaze, only frowning slightly. "Hmm, I don't know why, but I feel uneasy about this trip. I have a feeling something's going to happen." "You...are you worried something might happen to Y/N? Then ask Liam or someone to go check on her."  Caleb sighs. "Y/N doesn't know Liam that well. I don't think she'd appreciate it anyway." "Then what should we do?" MC asks worriedly. "Should I not have asked to come on this mission with you?" Caleb glances down at her and smiles. "It's okay. I called her already. Hearing her voice is enough to put my mind at ease." "Caleb, you actually...love Y/N very much, don't you?" MC asks with a smile, but a darker current ripples under her eyes. He pauses. "Y/N can't live without me. She's my responsibility, so Pips..." "I understand, Gege." MC smiles, interrupting his words gently and sweetly. "Don't forget, I'm the person who understands you best in the world."

T - 9 days It's a peaceful few days without having to see Caleb. Instead of the anxiety that once filled you every time he went away, you feel calm. As you begin packing your things, you get an invitation from one of your old dance buddies. Mina is visiting home on her trip back from abroad, now a professional dancer on Broadway. You eagerly agree to meet with her, catching up over lunch as the two of you reminisce over the good old times. She's initially a little hesitant to show you photos of herself on stage, worried it'd make you sad, but you quickly reassure her that was not to worry about. Later, as she helps you down the steps of the restaurant, you ask what her plans are for the rest of the day.

"Oh! Umm, I'm actually getting dinner with a larger group of our old classmates..." She looks at you with a flicker of hope in her eyes. "If you don't mind... would you like to join us?" "Of course!" You say with a smile. "I haven't seen everyone in so long. Do any of them know what happened with me?" You're referring to your leg. "That's where I need to apologize," Mina looks guilty. "I told them you injured your leg without asking your permission first... but nothing else!"

You understand. Your classmates, whom you haven't seen in a long time, would definitely ask how you were doing. Your leg injury was a fact, and you don't plan on hiding it forever.  "It's okay, really!" You're done feeling sorry for yourself. Your goal is to step out of the world Caleb had created for you, and in doing that, you will inevitably face all sorts of stares and judgement.  "Then I'll reply to them!" Mina says happily.

"Let's go! They said they're heading out soon". The meet-up location is nearby. By the time you and Mina get there, some of your classmates have already arrived. The enthusiasm they show you exceed your expectations. They mention your leg, even gathering around to examine it, but without malice, as if your leg wasn't anything serious, like a minor inconvenience like a cold. You liked this atmosphere; it's much better than deliberately trying to protect your pride. Everyone is treating you as a normal person, just with a leg injury.

It's a pleasant evening. The group sings old songs from high school on the karaoke. After three or four hours, you all get tired and sit down to chat, reminiscing about the past and having some drinks to liven things up. Even you, encouraged by everyone, drink quite a bit. Among your classmates, some have had good times, others have experienced setbacks. Talking about the past, people begin talking about regrets. Someone says, "If I had known this would happen, I would have studied harder in high school and not skipped so many classes." Another adds, "If I had known he also liked me, I definitely wouldn't have been a coward on graduation day; I would have confessed to him. I've missed my chance all these years." A good amount of sentimentality is triggered by the alcohol, and for a moment, everyone's eyes are filled with tears. From your teenage years to approaching thirty, everyone has had some regrets.

"Y/N, what about you? If you could do it all over again, what would you do?" someone asks you. You hold a glass of wine in your hands, ruminating in thought. The image of osmanthus blossoms from that Mid-Autumn Festival many years ago flashes before your eyes, twinkling like stars. You smile faintly, "If I could do it all over again..."

Caleb pushes open the door to the private room.

"If I could do it all over again, I want to eat all the mooncakes from that Mid-Autumn Festival in our second year of high school by myself! I'm not sharing it with anyone!"

Was it the alcohol? The bitterness in your heart is amplified. You take a deep breath and look up, only to see someone standing in the doorway under the flickering lights. Caleb. Your classmates don't quite understand what you're referring to, and assume it is some old pastry shop that has closed, the mooncakes never to be tasted again. You can't see it, but Caleb's fists clench at his side, knuckles turning white.

"Hey, Caleb!" Finally, someone notices him come in. You're a little dizzy, seeing two Calebs approach you. "Caleb Xia! You're so late, shouldn't you take three shots as punishment?" A classmate named Xavier places three glasses down in front of him. “Sorry, I'll have to decline.” Caleb puts his arm around you, looking down at your tipsy form. “I’m here to pick up my wife. I have to drive later.” “Call a cab!” Caleb gives a polite smile. “That won’t do. If I drink too much, who will take care of her?”

You are a little drunk, but still conscious enough to hear him and what's going on. Under the influence of alcohol though, your actions are more unrestrained. Your first instinct is to push Caleb aside, muttering, “I don’t need you to take care of me. Go away.” “Y/N, you’re really drunk. Let’s go home.” Caleb tries to pick you up. “No! I don’t want to go home…” You struggle in his arms. “Do you hear that? Y/N isn’t going home!” Xavier pushes Caleb's shoulder, forcing him back down. 

Mina senses something is off. Xavier had quite a bit to drink today and was probably drunk by now. Worried about the boys starting trouble, she quickly tries to break it up. "Alright, it's getting late. We've had our fun, let's start packing up." "No way!" Xavier doesn't back down, gripping Caleb's shoulder tightly. "You're not leaving until you finish this drink!" Caleb, as the Farspace Fleet Colonel, is incredibly perceptive. His expression darkens. "Xavier Shen, I'll let it slide since you've had too much to drink, but you'd better watch yourself!" "Watch myself?" The rage in Xavier's eyes are now impossible to conceal. "Caleb Xia, I'm telling you, watch yourself!"

Xavier moves to grab his collar, but not before having his wrists clamped forcefully by Caleb. "Xavier Shen! Did you come here to cause trouble?" "Yes!" He shouts, "I came here to cause trouble! Caleb, what the hell did you do to Y/N? What exactly did you do to her!?" He roars, his eyes bloodshot. Caleb's eyes sharpen, his hand still gripping his wrists, veins bulging on the back. "Listen here, Shen. My wife eats well, sleeps well, lives in a mansion, and I pamper her like a princess. Who are you to concern yourself with our marital affairs?"

"Is that so?" An incredulous laugh follows. Xavier didn't believe Caleb at all, both men rising from the sofa. "Then tell me, how did Y/N become like this? What happened to her leg? She's a dancer! When she dances on stage, she's as graceful as a swan. What did you do to her? Take good care of her? Why then did she become like this after getting married? Five years, and you've been covering it up, saying she doesn't want to come out and socialize! You're lying! Do you beat her at home!?"

"My wife and I are doing just fine! Why her foot is like this is her privacy, there's no need for me to explain it to you, Xavier! Don't forget your place in front of me, and don't you dare try to play any tricks on my wife!" Caleb yanks harshly, pushing the other man away so hard the buttons on his collar pop off.

Already quite drunk, Xavier loses his balance, staggers a couple of steps, and falls onto the coffee table, knocking over a bunch of bottles and plates. "Caleb, I've wanted to beat you up for ages!" He scrambles up and lunges at him. Fearing trouble, rest of your classmates rush forward to restrain him. "Caleb! Take Y/N and leave! He's drunk, and you haven't been drinking - calm down Xavier! Don't cause any more trouble!"

Caleb tugs at his collar, giving Xavier one last cold look, then puts his arm around your waist and lifts you up. "Let's go, my wife. Don't come to parties like this again." You're practically dragged and carried away by Caleb.

"Why didn't you let Y/N attend the class reunion!" Xavier shouts from behind you. "Caleb Xia, what skeletons do you have hiding in your closet?!"   Caleb stops. "I don't feel guilty about anything. You better not be the one with things to hide!" "Me? Guilty?" he laughs. "Alright then, Caleb, I have a question for you! Were you the one who threw away all the love letters I put in Y/N's locker back then?"

Love letters? How did you not know that Xavier Shen had written you love letters? You glance back, only to be swept up in Caleb's arms and quickly carried out of the private room.

Everyone else is left exchanging bewildered glances: Xavier liked you back in high school? Xavier struggles against the boys, shouting, "Let me go! I'm going to beat Caleb Xia to death! That fucking hypocrite!" "Xavier, you're drunk, stop it." They don't let go, afraid he'd really chase after you. “Call him back here!" Xavier demands. “I’m going to call him here! I’m going to teach him a lesson!” “Xavier! Get your head screwed on straight!” “Don’t stop me! Do you know how much Y/N loved to dance? She was in the practice room before class, after school, and weekends too! Sometimes she’ll even do a somersault while walking! She’s such a passionate dancer, a perfectly healthy person, and now her leg is injured - there's no way she's not heartbroken about it! That bastard Caleb Xia keeps lying to us, saying Y/N doesn't like going out. He's done something to her, I bet my fucking life on it!”

Caleb's already brought you to his car, carefully placing you in the passenger seat.  The minute he gets into the driver's seat, he catches you trying to open to the door, and he immediately locks it.  "Open the door! I want out!" You feel your head spinning, the alcohol really settling in." "You're drunk, Y/N." He says, sighing. "I'm not drunk!" You insist. You clearly heard many voices back there, and you heard Caleb call you his "wife." Something is wrong! He's never called you "wife" before, only ever by name, or at most "Mrs. Xia" when he's angry at you, and you can sense that he uses the term sarcastically. Moreover, you can tell he's in an unhappy mood right now!

He rolls down the window, letting you get some fresh air.

"What did you mean by what you said in the private room?" Caleb's voice sounds particularly cold in the cool breeze. "What...what did I mean?" What was he talking about? You said a lot of stuff today. "You said you wouldn't give your mooncakes to anyone else, what did you mean?" He rests his hands on the steering wheel, looking ahead, his eyes sharp. "Um...not...not for Caleb Xia." Your head feels heavy, and you close your eyes tightly. "Why?"  You smile, sad laugh escaping your lips. "Because I don't want to pursue him anymore...I gave my mooncakes to the wrong person..." "Is that so? The wrong person?" Caleb leans closer, "Who are you going to give them to then?" "Give them to..." Your mind is a little confused. Who else would you give them to? "To Xavier?" He suddenly speaks as if interrogating you, his tone fierce.

The name reminds you that you had supposedly gotten multiple love letters. You frown, eyes getting hazy, looking at the face before you, murmuring, "Why did you throw away my love letters? They were from someone else." "I'm the class monitor!" Caleb says sternly. "The school doesn't encourage early relationships!" You furrow your brows... that reasoning...  You punch his shoulder hard. "What's it to you? You're just the class monitor, not even my homeroom teacher! The love letters he gave me are my privacy, what does it have to do with you! Why did you throw them away, you bully!"

Your eyes are blurry. Although your punches don't hurt much, each one lands with force, solidly striking his shoulders and chest. "Are you angry?" He grasps your hand. "You're angry because I threw away your love letters?" "Of course I'm angry! If someone wrote me a love letter..." You vaguely recall how you felt back in high school. The mess of hormones in early puberty, the insecurities you had, the self-consciousness about every little thing about you. Mina and the girls around you all received gifts and notes from boys, but you never did. You weren't very close with your parents, having grown up by your grandparents' side. But it seemed to you that no one, not even your parents, loved you, let alone any boys. You weren't sad about not receiving any confessions, but if you did, it at least would have been an important form of affirmation; at least you were good in someone's eyes. 

“What if you did? Would you date him?” Caleb presses on relentlessly. Your frown deepens. When did you ever say you wanted to date someone?

“Let me tell you, those boys were all immature squirts back then! Whether it's Xavier or whoever else you wanted to give your mooncakes to! You're easily moved by anyone who shows you kindness! You'd only ended up getting taken advantage of!” Your face contorts into a grimace. You're barely holding onto your consciousness and Caleb's stupid face seems to multiply into four in your vision. You shake your head, trying to shake the other three Calebs away. “No... Xavier isn’t that kind of person you’re describing.” The Xavier you recall is a sleepy boy, getting in trouble for napping in class, often found under the shade of trees with a stray cat in his lap. “Then what kind of person is he?” Caleb suddenly raises his voice. “And the other person you had in mind, who is he?” “He’s… genuine... and very kind. If he’s good to someone… he’ll always be good to them…” A flash of white hair enters your mind. You try to remember a face, thinking really hard, but only seeing the creases of someone's summer uniform. You didn't interact with him much in high school, but you knew he secretly kept a crow as a pet on his dorm window ledge—a pitiful little thing he picked up one day and never let go. "He's... a good person..." you mumble. ".... Q...qin..." 

You black out.

T - 8 days You wake up to a splitting headache, nauseous and parched. The midday sun is high in the sky. Stumbling down from the bed, you trip and fall with a loud 'thud'. You rub your eyes, trying to clear the fog still in your brain, but before you find your balance again, you're being lifted and put back into soft sheets. 

Caleb stands at the bedside, looking displeased, but to your surprise, doesn't scold you about your clumsiness as he usually does. You purse your lips, also not particularly eager to talk about what happened last night.  He brings you a try of light breakfast foods; some chicken soup congee, pancakes, and a few side dishes. "Eat. Mrs. Chen is off today. I cooked."

You stare at the food in front of you, head still in a daze. The colonel... cooked for you?  This is the second time you've ever eaten something Caleb has made for you. The first since you got married.  Slowly picking up your spoon, your mind flashes back to the last time you experienced this.

You were only in your first year of high school, your homeroom had organized a camping trip. Outside, all your classmates run around joyfully, like lambs in a field. Yet Caleb was already a quiet and reliable person, getting ready for lunch. He was always clean and tidy, presentable and strong. That day on the camping trip was the most disheveled you had ever seen him.  He knew how to cook, but that didn't mean he was able to do it easily outdoors.  He couldn't figure out how to start the fire. He struggled earnestly, face and hands stained with soot.

You were different. When you were young, your grandparents brought you back to the village often. You built fires, scaled trees, and caught insects with all the other children over there. Despite being in a different group, you felt bad watching him struggle like that, so you go over, emptied his stove, and started a fire for him. He stared at the blazing flames, momentarily stunned. Perhaps too self-conscious of his disheveled appearance, he didn't even thank you. But afterwards, his performance became much more consistent. Judging from the way he cooked, it was clear he was used to doing domestic chores at home.  His group thanked him by saving the chicken leg for him. But he didn't eat it. As he passed your group, he places the drumstick in your bowl. 

That was the moment your heart started pounding for him, despite being the first of only a handful of times you ever interacted with him.  That night, your dreams were filled with his image; his determined face, covered with soot, his slender fingers as he cut the vegetables, his meticulous and focused expression as he cooked… The next day in class, you watch his profile as you absent-mindedly filled a whole page with his name, “Caleb Xia”… Later, that piece of paper disappeared, but those words were etched firmly in your heart, impossible to erase.

The next time you ask him a question was after parent-teacher conferences. The teacher took note of students whose parents did not show up. You were one of them. Coincidentally, he was too. Classmates whisper about what happened. A few of the students failed to inform their parents about the meetings, afraid of punishment for their poor grades. But Caleb wasn't like that. He was at the top of the class.  "Caleb Xia! You got first place in the entire grade, why aren't your parents here? If I got your score, my parents, grandparents, and even my dog would come!" someone yells. Other students chimed in, "Yeah, Caleb, you got good grades, why aren't your parents here?" He replies simply. "Don't ask, they're dead."

Later, you witness something you probably shouldn't have seen.  Caleb stands in an inconspicuous corner by the school's back gate. A dark car pulls up in front of him, the window rolled down, and he throws a wad of cash at the driver, hitting him in the face. The person in the car points a finger at him, cursing, “You scoundrel! You think just because your parents offed themselves that you're safe with little old grandma?" You're stunned. Unaware of his family's situation.  Caleb is stubborn, refusing to reply before he turns and walks away. The driver calls after him shouting, "You'll join us one day, Caleb! Let's see how you survive!" The sunset was blinding, bathing him in a golden light. He laughs defiantly, "Don't worry! I'd rather be bought out by a rich old lady than go with you!"  What kind of talk was that! Coming from a high schooler! 

You don't know where you got the courage that day, but you walk up to him, eyes wide, voice panicked, "Caleb, whatever you do, don't sell yourself out like that!" You don't know if you were imagining things, but you saw something that looked like glistening tears in his eyes in the setting sun. They flash for a moment before he turns away, coldly smiling, "So, you're going to sponsor me?" You fall silent. That was Caleb's most irrational moment. Even now, more than a decade later, you never saw him as vulnerable again.

The next day, you take a math problem to him and ask how to solve it. He raises a single eyebrow, not saying a word. You thought he had refused, your head hanging low. Finally, he tore off a piece of scratch paper and began to explain while drawing on it. He talked for the entire break before finally asking, "Do you understand now?" You nod frantically. Then throw down five dollars and run back to your seat, completely unaware of Caleb's expression behind you.

You didn't have an allowance either, saving up those five dollars from running small errands here and there for other classmates and neighbors.

After school, Caleb blocked you on your way to the dorms. He stood under a sycamore tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting dappled shadows over him.  You don't dare to lift your head, trying to walk past him.  He stands in front of you. "Why aren't you looking at me?" The heat was unbearable, making your face flush. You're too embarrassed to say anything.  He scoffs, "you were quite bold earlier when you wanted to buy me out." You lower your head even further. "I...I didn't mean..." A five-dollar note is thrust in front of you. "Isn't this it? You think you can keep me for five dollars? Before you can even clarify that you just wanted him to tutor you, he interrupts you, shoving the money back into your hands, swiftly leaving you behind with a single sentence: "I don't need your pity."

Your heart ached.

Later, he skipped three days of class. When you saw him outside school with a black armband pinned to his sleeve, when he returned to class and said, "Y/N, my grandmother passed away," your heart ached like that again; the pain crashing down like a tidal wave.

That Mid-Autumn Festival, everyone went home for a reunion dinner with their families and ate mooncakes, including you. You went to your grandparents' house. But he no longer had a grandmother to go back to. After dinner, on your way back to school, the osmanthus trees near the dormitory were in full bloom, their fragrance rich and intoxicating. By sheer coincidence, you see him standing there, alone. You hand him a mooncake, filled with fresh meat, made by your grandmother. That night, you sat together under the osmanthus tree, eating mooncakes. Neither of you said a word. After finishing the mooncake, he went to the classroom, and you went back to your dorm. The warm feeling from that night haunted you, driving you to accept his proposal 5 years later, despite not knowing each other well at all.

You once saw a comment online that said "Feeling sorry for a man will make you unhappy for life." You didn't know what that meant back then. Now, you understand.

T - 7 days Only a week left.

It's routine now, heading to your physical therapy appointment. With your departure so close, you try a more rigorous session. Carrying weight, light hops, landing on your bad foot.  Due to the strain, your entire  body aches from head to toe. You're sweating almost immediately. Within five minutes, you are completely drenched.

“If you can’t keep going, just say so. Don’t force yourself,” the therapist comments. Sweating heavily, you nod. “I know. I’m fine. I can manage…” Before you finish speaking, you collapse to the ground with a thud. “Are you alright?” they rush forward to help you up, but someone pushes past them. You are suddenly lifted into someone’s arms. When you look up, you meet Caleb’s anxious eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” You try to struggle, but your muscles give you. Held in his arms, you see a dark storm swirling in Caleb’s eyes.

“What exactly is she doing?” Caleb asks the therapist this time. “Sir, she’s in physical therapy. Rehab.” Caleb scoffs. “Rehabilitation? What kind of rehab is this? Looks like it's doing more harm than good.” “Caleb!” you grit out. “You stay out of this!”

He's already carrying you out.

“Caleb!” “Sir, Ms. Y/N's recovery—” You and the nurse speak at the same time, but Caleb abruptly cuts you both off as he walks away.

“She’s not doing it anymore.” “Caleb, you have no right to decide my affairs!” Anger burns in your chest. When you needed him most, he was never there. And now he suddenly appears just to interfere with your plans? You're already out in the hall, in full view of nurses, patients, and waiting family members. He carries you straight through the clinic.

“Caleb!” You hate your own helplessness right now, but very time you try to move, your muscles scream in pain. You can't simply jump out of his arms.

Zayne Li, a previous upperclassman and now doctor, happens to walk out of his consultation room and notices the commotion. He approaches the two of you with concern. “What’s wrong? Y/N, is the rehabilitation not going well?” "Dr. Li, can you explain why my wife is in so much pain? Are you sure your rehabilitation training facilities here are sound?" You're shocked by how Caleb treats an old acquaintance, glaring at the doctor. His tone carries not only doubt, but a hint of accusation. Zayne explains patiently. “This rehabilitation program Y/N chose is indeed intense and very challenging. But if she perseveres, I can promise it will be effective. The pain is like bones being rebuilt. As her husband—”

“As her husband, I refuse to let her undergo such a cruel course!” Caleb interrupts sharply. His face is ashen as he carries you away. You are furious. Turning toward Zayne, you say quickly, “Dr. Li, I’m sorry, I—” “Shut it!" Caleb snaps.

He carries you straight to the parking lot and shoves you into the car.

The nurse runs after you, handing you your bag. “Ms. Y/N, you…” “I’ll come again tomorrow,” you say with a faint smile. The pain today was almost unbearable, but you have no intention of giving up.

Once you set your mind on something, the word "quit" isn't in your dictionary. Just like years ago, when you discovered your love for dance, you pursued it without hesitation. Like when you fell in love at sixteen, you pursued it wholeheartedly, even if it meant running repeatedly into a wall and coming away bruised. And like now, determined to get back up on your feet—you will never look back.

Caleb closes the car door, and gets into the drivers seat. “You won't be coming back here tomorrow.” “Caleb!” You're livid. “What right do you have to interfere with my freedom?” “Because,” he says slowly, word by word, “I’m your husband.”

You think about everything that's happened and could only laugh at his statement.

“My husband? A man who dedicates his whole life to another woman is my husband? Caleb, don’t be ridiculous.” So funny that you almost don’t even feel sad anymore.

Caleb turns the rearview mirror toward you. “Look at yourself. Look at what you look like now.”

You glance at your reflection.

Your hair is soaked with sweat. Your face is damp, and your clothes cling to your body after the brutal training. You look disheveled—truly disheveled. Even now your lips tremble slightly, and your hands still shake. But you don’t think anything is wrong. This is proof of your effort.

“What’s wrong with me?” You touch the healthy flush on your cheeks, satisfied.

“Y/N, you don’t need to…” Caleb sighs. “I know you’re being stubborn. MC is back. She’s more beautiful than you, healthier than you, more capable than you. You’re upset, so you push yourself like this, wanting to prove yourself to her.”

You stare at him. Is he out of his goddamn mind?

“Y/N, you don’t have to suffer like this. Seeing you so exhausted makes my heart ache.” His gaze softens. “You don’t need to compare yourself with anyone. No matter what state you're in, you’re still Mrs. Xia. That will never change.”

“Anxious? Me, competing with your MC?” You interrupt incredulously, unable to hold it in it any longer. “Caleb, how dare you!” “First, I have never compared my beauty, health, or ability with your dear Pipsqueak. Second, my life is full of wonderful things, none of which involve you or her. And finally, I've told you a hundred times: whether or not I’m Mrs. Xia, I don't give a shit!"

What on earth makes him think your entire life revolves around MC?

But Caleb refuses to believe you. His expression shifts from gentle to mocking. “Y/N, if you weren’t jealous, would you be so determined to make me jealous? You’re wrong. It will only push me further away.”

You roll your eyes. Talking to someone like this is exhausting.

“And you say you don’t care?” Caleb sneers. “The more someone lacks something, the more they pretend not to want it. Y/N, don’t think I don’t know. You had a crush on me in high school. You asked me to help you with homework just to get my attention. You gave me mooncakes during Mid-Autumn Festival because you wanted to pursue me. After university, you even risked your life to save me. And now you say you don’t care? Who would believe that?”

You freeze.

You thought that after everything you’ve been through, nothing could hurt you anymore. But you underestimated how deeply this relationship could still wound you.

He knows everything.

Yes, you once liked him, but that was a secret you kept to yourself. You asked him to tutor you because you wanted a way to pay him without hurting his pride. You gave him mooncakes during Mid-Autumn Festival simply because you wanted him to feel a little warmth on that lonely holiday. And later, when you saved him… Even though it left you with a limp, you never expected repayment—let alone marriage.

You had already accepted defeat in this marriage. You built a hard shell around yourself, telling yourself not to feel pain anymore. Yet somehow, every act of kindness you once showed him has become an arrow he now shoots back at you, piercing straight through your armor.

You suddenly feel too tired to explain anything. When the day finally comes that you leave him completely, he will understand whether you ever cared about the title of Mrs. Xia.

Seeing you fall silent, Caleb reaches out and wraps an arm around your shoulders again. You hold your breath.

You remember a Mid-Autumn night long ago. The two of you sat under an osmanthus tree eating mooncakes. He smelled faintly of sweet osmanthus. That fragrance drifted through your youth for years, warming you. But now, when Caleb comes close, all you smell is suffocating perfume.

Disgusted, you turn away and slap his hand aside. “Don't touch me. I told you—it disgusts me.” Anger flashes through Caleb’s eyes. Yet he doesn’t shout. Instead, his voice softens. “Y/N, I know you love me. The vow I made will never change. You will always be my Mrs. Xia."

These words have never sounded so grating against your ears. 

T - 6 days Today is the day you are scheduled to pick up your visa. You pack your purse carefully, pausing when the little rectangular piece of plastic that has always lived in your shared bedroom drawer is gone. Where did your ID go? You look everywhere in the room. Still nothing. Your pulse rising, you think back to the last few days. You haven't touched it at all. Caleb! He was rummaging through here this morning.

You immediately pick up your cell phone to call him. Shockingly, he answers on the first ring. "Caleb, do you have my ID?" You ask, slightly breathless. "Good morning to you to," he says sarcastically. "Caleb! Is it with you!" You press on. "Yes." His reply is short and straight to the point. "Why did you take it?" You're exasperated, concerned you'll have to reschedule for later. "Why do you need it?" He shocks you by turning your question against you. "None of your business! I need it today." A slight pause from him on the other end. "Come get it then." "Get it... from your workplace?" You say incredulously. "If you want it, come get it." He hangs up. You stare at your phone dumbfoundedly. Then immediately call a cab to the Farspace Fleet HQ.

You've never really came to his workplace in the five years you spent together. The only other time you recall entering the building wasn't the most unpleasant experience for you either.  You text him as you enter, informing him of your arrival. He doesn't reply this time. You call, but it doesn't go through. You frown. Was he in a meeting? You don't have all day, so you are forced to go to the front counter and reveal your identity.

"The Colonel's wife?" The receptionist looks at you and laughs. "Young lady, everyone who comes here claims to be the Colonel's wife. If you're going to think of an excuse, find one that's less cliché." "I'm serious. Call the Colonel, and tell him Y/N is here. He'll know to come down." You're not in the mood to play games.  "That's what they all say. If we did that, you'd think the Colonel wouldn't have time for anything other than dealing with people like you all day." The receptionist rolled her eyes and muttered. "People like me?" You frown. "And pray, what am I?" "Shameless women who want to climb the social ladder without working for it!" the receptionist laughs. "At least other women come here with presentable features, but now we're getting cripples? You should at least know your place!"

Is it really true that birds of a feather flock together? You can't wrap your head around her thinking. Why is it that no stranger outside of Caleb's circle harbor any ill will towards you and your leg, while everyone around Caleb is like this? You're thinking of going home and getting your marriage certificate to prove your place; you certainly aren't going anywhere by talking to the workers down here. 

Just then, the elevator door opens, and Liam walks out. Seeing the Adjutant, the receptionist immediately turns respectful. "Adjutant Lin!" She greets him properly.  "Madam Y/N, I am the Colonel's Adjutant. Please come with me." He leads the way, letting you into the elevator. The two of you head straight to the top floor.

"The Colonel is in a meeting right now," he explains, leading you to a small office. "Please wait in here for now."  You thank him and put your bag down. A few minutes later, a knock is heard, and a lady emerges from the door.  "Ms. Y/N, I am the Colonel's secretary. Would you like something to drink?"  "Anything is fine, or just water," you reply. She returns with a glass of juice. "Is passionfruit drink ok?" "That's wonderful, thank you." You take the glass.  "Just sit tight, I'll come get you once the meeting ends." She smiles, and closes the door behind her. 

Fifteen minutes pass. Then twenty, and thirty.  You watch the time tick by, growing impatient. Finally, you get up to open the conference room door, only to find it locked from the outside. Damn it! You still need to pick up your visa this afternoon. You frantically call Caleb's phone, but strangely, no one picks up despite the call going through. You're smart enough to know that this is most certainly a setup, but you don't have the time nor heart to figure out who orchestrated this entire thing or what their purpose was. You just wanted to get your visa. You pound on the door, frantically, yelling, but no one answers.  You sit down and pick up the passion fruit lemonade, drinking it down in one gulp. Hands trembling, you quickly type out an email rescheduling your visa appointment.

Suddenly, your face begins to itch. This isn't passion fruit lemonade at all…

You check the time: another ten minutes had passed. Neither Liam nor the secretary had returned, and nobody else knew you were here… You feel your throat closing, as your breathing gets heavier.  You drag yourself, limping to the door, continuing to pound on it as you are no longer able to make any noise. You catch sight of a red box. 

Throughout the office, everyone is methodically going about their work when suddenly, the building's fire alarms start blaring loudly.  "What's going on?" People run out of their cubicles and offices to see what's going on. "Someone pulled the fire alarm on the top floor! Everyone evacuate!"

Caleb also hears the noise, and comes out immediately.  "What's going on? How can there be a fire up here?" His eyelids have been twitching all day. He had a strange, ominous premonition.

Thunk... thunk... thunk...

It sounds like someone is weakly banging on the door. "Who's in there?" Caleb asks urgently, kicking the door. MC appears from behind him, clinging to his shoulder. "Gege! Don't go in there! It could be dangerous!" "Someone's in here!" Caleb shouts. "Caleb... Help... help me... Caleb..."  A weak cry, barely audible over the commotion in the hall. Caleb's eyes widen in shock. "Y/N! Y/N! Is that you in there? Y/N answer me!" He forcefully shakes off MC's hand, barging against the door with his shoulder. "Someone! Help! Open the door!"

With a loud bang, he breaks the door down. 

You're on the floor, fallen to the side. Body red, face nearly turning purple.  "Y/N!" he cries, quickly picking you up. "Call an ambulance!" His roar echoes throughout the entire floor. His voice startles you, as you weakly open your eyes, looking at the familiar yet unfamiliar face in front of you. You want to raise your hand to check if it is real, but your arm refuses to move.  You try to speak, but no sound comes out. You manage a weak smile and barely manage to mouth the words: "if... I'm dead... won't... owe me anything... you'll... free.." "Stop it! You won't die!" Caleb runs down dozens of flights of stairs. You close your eyes. You don't mind saying goodbye to all of this. "Y/N, don't sleep on me, ok? Wake up! Wake up, you hear me?" The last thing you her is Caleb's frantic voice. 

T - 5 days You wake up in the hospital after getting an acute dose of epinephrine. Zayne gives you a thorough examination, and finds no other acute problems. After determining you're stable enough to step down to the observation area, he scolds you seriously. "Walking around without an epipen with a serious allergy? You could've died from anaphylaxis! How could you be so careless?"

Caleb is still somewhat shaken by it all. "An allergic reaction? Y/N, what did you eat that caused this?" You sit there silently.

"Let's observe her a little longer. There are still a few results pending. We'll see what happens when the results come back," Zayne says before leaving.

Caleb sighs and sits down beside you, continuing to carefully dab at your neck and shoulders with the cotton swab.  It stings a little. You frown and turn away. "Don't move, Y/N. I'm trying to clean it. Don't want any infections from your blisters." The words sound familiar. In the early days after your injury, he had said similar things. But it was that gentleness, this feigned gentleness, that gave you false hope and expectation in him.  He's acting so kind again - what's he trying to do?

You no longer trust anything he says. 

“I remember you’re allergic to apples. Did you eat apples before coming to the HQ today? But Mrs. Chen knows not to buy them... Did you eat something new on your way here?” His tone is like coaxing a child… You purse your lips, giving him a cold laugh. “I didn’t eat anything. I’m calling the police.” your tone is firm. “Call the police?” Caleb frowns. There's a rustling sound outside the room. You turn around to see that MC had arrived.

T - 4 days MC stands outside holding a bouquet of flowers, looking cautious and timid. "Caleb, how is Y/N? I wanted to come see her, but I was worried she wouldn't want to see me." "Y/N's fine, she just needs some rest," Caleb says, knowing you indeed dislike her. "I appreciate your sentiment, but she's in a bad mood right now, you should go back." "Hmm..." MC purses her lips, eyes rimmed with tears. "Caleb, I'm sorry, it's all my fault. As your personal assistant, I was careless, causing Y/N to suffer like this. I'm so glad she's alright, otherwise... otherwise, I don't know what I would do..." She starts crying.

You, still in the room, hear everything. MC joined the Farspace Fleet as Caleb's personal assistant? So that's why she went on the mission with him. However, since she's his assistant, everything that happened today makes sense now. 

You grab your bag, turning on your phone.  "What are you doing?" Caleb comes back seeing you enter your password. "I told you, I'm calling the police." You successfully unlock it. 

MC rushes into the room, Gideon behind her now. "Y/N, tread carefully. This is the Farspace Fleet HQ we're talking about. Are you sure the authorities will respond to this? What happened in the meeting room was an accident, I swear." "Oh? And how would you know it was an accident?" you scoff. "Were you the one who locked the door?" MC's face immediately turns pale. "How could you say that about me! It was Secretary Lu who led you to the conference room, she was the one who brought you the apple juice. She said the door was locked from the inside!" "Apple juice?" You look into MC's flustered eyes. You have a pretty good idea of what's going on now. "I never said I drank apple juice, how did you know it was apple juice?" MC avoids your eyes. "No, I... As Caleb's personal assistant, I checked everything before coming here! Secretary Lu explained everything that happened from picking you up to asking you to wait in the conference room." "Is that so?" You turn to look at Caleb. "There aren't many people in this world who knows I'm allergic to apple juice. Not even my parents." Only your grandparents. And Caleb. 

Caleb's face stiffens.

You remain unusually calm. "Caleb Xia, your secretary kept telling me she gave me passion fruit juice. How did it turn into apple juice? Did Secretary Lu deliberately tamper with it, or did someone switch the drink around? And Caleb, who have you told about my apple juice allergy?" MC's face is deathly pale.  You don't wait for her to reply. "And the doors? There's security cameras all over the Farspace HQ. A quick check will bring everything to light. Of course, if the cameras were tampered with... that's a whole different issue. So I'm going to have to call the police about it". 

Caleb's face drops, his expression changing drastically. "Pips... did you really...?"

She runs forward to grab his arm. "No Gege! I swear! It wasn't me, it must've just been a joke!" "A joke?" you sneer. "Your group seems to love joking around the most. I've lived for over twenty five years and never knew that you guys had jokes that could kill people!" "No, no, no.." MC shakes her head violently, "Gege, listen to me! It wasn't me, I promise-" "She's lying" you say flatly, dialing the tone.

Gideon, unable to contain himself any longer, smacks the phone out of your hands. "Who's lying! You're the one lying, for your own selfish reasons, slandering an innocent person!" His line of thinking is really quite creative, giving everyone else a new inspiration to ride off of.  "Y/N," MC cries, looking at you with disbelief, "I can't believe you hate me this much, that you'd put your own life in danger to frame me! If you hate me that much, just kick me out! Don't torment Caleb like this! Do you care for him at all? Do you know how terrified he was? I never thought it'd all be staged!" Gideon scoffs, "isn't acting pitiful her specialty? Wasn't her saving Caleb five years ago the same thing? She wanted to force him into marrying her!"

You knew all too well how cruel Gideon could be, and how little he thought of you. Yet you never expected him to say something so shameless: that you saving Caleb five years ago was self-sabotage to trick him into marriage!

Sometimes, when anger reaches its peak, it paradoxically turns into calm. You look at Caleb, despite knowing time and time again that he won't side with you. But in this moment, you just want to ask him one question: if he thought the same as Gideon.  Then it wouldn't just be a matter of you being foolish. You would've been better off saving a dog five years ago. 

"Caleb," you stand, not a ripple of emotion behind your eyes. "Come here." Caleb, sandwiched between Gideon and MC, looks at you.  "Caleb, don't go!" Gideon and MC say it almost simultaneously.

His gaze meets yours. After a brief silence, Caleb stands up and walks to you.  You look at the man you had risked your life for, the man you "traded" your leg for.  You calmly ask, "Do you think so too?" He doesn't speak. "You also..." you stare into deep amethyst eyes, the echo of the conversation you had with him after he interrupted your physical therapy still ringing in your ears. "You also think that today's events were done on purpose? You also think that I saved you five years ago expecting you to marry me?"

Something in Caleb's eyes narrow, and he looks away. "Say it, Caleb! Look at me!"  A minute of silence passes. "Yes."

You gasp, as if that would force you to swallow the pain, but your vision still blurs  uncontrollably. The quiet but resolute "yes" feels like a boulder crashing into your chest, the lingering pain still reverberating over and over after the initial damage. How could someone who has been hurt to this extent still be sad?

smack!

Your handprint remains on Caleb's face where you slapped him; your fingernails leaving a thin trace of blood, particularly striking on his handsome features. "Get out." "Y/N-" "Get the FUCK out or I will."

You don't even wait for him to make a decision - you stumble out of the room without looking back.

T - 3 days You collapse onto the bed when you get home, your body still throbbing with pain. Mrs. Chen calls you for dinner, but you're too exhausted to move.  "Bring it in," say. Except for the initial period after your accident when you were bed-bound, you never got into the habit of eating in bed.  You cherished your home with Caleb so much that you couldn't bear to see anything dirty or out of place. Looking back, you laugh at your stupid thinking. What good is a house if you don't use it? 

After you finish eating, Mrs. Chen takes the plate away and asks if you want to take a bath. You nod. "Please run me some water, and then change the bedding to clean ones."  "Okay." She leaves to start running the water.

You try to get out of bed and make your way to the bath yourself, but after only a few steps, your legs feel weak. Your body's overexertion and emotional outburst from earlier don't make your condition any better.  Mrs. Chen comes back out and is worried to see your trembling, unstable figure. "Madam, shall I help you?" You take a deep breath and nod.  She helps you to the bathroom and didn't let go until you're comfortably seated in the bathtub. "Thank you," you say. 

You lean back, the warm water soothing every inch of your skin, easing the soreness and making you feel much more comfortable. After a while, the water cools, and you call for Mrs. Chen again. You still don't want to open your eyes.  

Footsteps approach and stop at the edge of the bathtub, but you hear no movement afterwards. You frown. "Mrs. Chen..." You open your eyes to see Caleb. "Why are you here?" You're startled, instinctively covering any part of your body above the water. "Get out!" You call loudly for Mrs. Chen. "Mrs. Chen won't come in." He looks down at you, his gaze deep. "Mrs. Chen!" you continue to call, unwilling to give up. "You think Mrs. Chen is going to listen to you, or the person who pays her salary? He leans down, his face suddenly very close to yours, so close that you can clearly see his bloodshot eyes and your own reflection in his pupils. "What exactly do you want?" You grip the edge of the bathtub tightly, your defenses fully raised.

He reaches into the soapy water, grabbing your shoulders and lifting you entirely out of the tub. You feel a chill run down your spine. This is the first time you've been completely exposed in front of Caleb. Humiliation and panic overwhelms you in an instant. "Let go of me, you dirty bastard!" You begin to struggle in his arms, but it's an useless endeavor. “If you want to fall and get hurt, then keep being stubborn!” His deep voice carries a threatening tone. You come to your senses and slowly stop. You can't risk getting hurt now. You're leaving in a couple days. You can't afford to have any more accidents.

“Not moving anymore?” he asks, revealing no emotion. “Caleb Xia, don't make me hate you.” You say. He gives you a bitter smile. “Don't you hate me enough already?” You remain silent. Your relationship with Caleb has indeed reached a point of no return.

He snorts coldly, wrapping you in a bath towel, and walks out of the bathroom back to the bedroom, placing you on the bed. He sits you on the edge and goes back, reappearing with a hairdryer.  As he plugs it in, blowing hot air into your wet hair, you're momentarily stunned.  What's he trying to do? Apologize? Make it up to you? Or is it just all for MC again? The only sound in the room is the roar of the hairdryer; neither of you speak. After he finishes, he rummages through the bedside drawer, clumsily tying your hair up into a knot. 

Several bruises on the top of your back and shoulders from falling reveal themselves  He stares at them for a moment, then forcefully rips away the towel wrapped around you. "Look at yourself! What are you doing to yourself these days, doing that stupid rehab?!" What does this have to do with him at all? You quickly pull the blanket back over herself, glaring at him with hostility. "Caleb, believe me, I really will kill you." He sits down opposite from you, his eyes filled with sarcasm. "We've been married for five years, and this is your attitude when I try to touch you?"

What else does he expect? What attitude should you have?

You smile mockingly. "Caleb, I told you. Your hands are dirty. Also, if you touch me, aren't you afraid your Pipsqueak will be heartbroken?" He doesn't reply, only pushing you down onto the bed, but doesn't move to pull away the blanket. You feel his warm hand on your calf. He's massaging your scars again? You give up struggling, already somewhat familiar with his methods. Unsolicited kindness is always suspicious; he must want something from you. He continues applying ointment to your bruises, from your leg up to your arms, then your back.  Once he's done, he covers you with a blanket, meeting your cold gaze. You look at him with no hint of gratefulness, just waiting. He tucks you in more tightly, forcing a bitter smile. "Y/N, how did we get to this point?"

He's asking you why things had come to this? Didn't he know?

He sighs deeply. "Y/N, let's talk about this calmly." You consider it for a moment. Since MC appeared, you've always been calm, never wavering. It's him, on the other hand, who was always emotional because of MC. “Caleb Xia, I don’t know what we have to talk about anymore,” you say indifferently. “I’ve already made myself clear.” Caleb's hand reaches under the covers to find your hand and grasps it tightly. “Y/N, I didn’t want this. From the beginning until now, I swear I've been sincere in wanting to live a good life with you.” “Is that so?” you sneer. “From the beginning? Didn't you think I was a venomous woman who used a self-inflicted injury to force you to marry me?”

Caleb closes his eyes, remaining silent for a long time. “Colonel Xia,” you smile, “Please let go of my hand and get me a bottle of disinfectant” When Caleb opens his eyes, the bloodshot veins are particularly noticeable. He doesn't ask why, just gets up to fetch it, and hands it to you.

You prop yourself up on the bed, and begins methodically spraying it on your hands, arms, legs, stomach, back—everywhere he had just touched. Caleb's expression instantly changes. "What are you doing?" "I'm disinfecting myself. I told you, your hands are dirty." You finish spraying and calmly place the alcohol bottle on the bedside table. "You…" Caleb is aggravated again. You simply turn over and lie down to sleep.

After a while, Caleb finally speaks to you again, his voice soft. "We've been married for five years. In these five years, I haven't wronged you, have I?" Five years... your heart clenches. You don't want to look back on the past five years. "I'm so grateful to you for saving me back then, and for giving me a chance to atone. For the past five years, I've given you everything I could. So can you do just one more thing? If you agree to this favor, I'll do anything you ask from now on." Here it comes…

"You want me to drop the case and reconcile with MC and your two cronies?" You cut to the chase.

T - 2 days Yes," Caleb says, his voice utterly broken. "I'm sorry, Y/N, I have to protect MC. She was the only light in the darkest moments of my life." Your heart sinks to the bottom of the ocean. What in the world is Caleb thinking? Telling his lawful wife that another woman is his only light, and expecting you to help him?

"Y/N," he continues, "you know that my grandmother was the most important person in my life. MC was good friends with Zayne, an upperclassman whose parents were doctors. Through her connections was how my grandma was able to get treatment after she fell ill. One evening, when I visited Grandma, there was a bottle of origami cranes beside her pillow. The nurse said it was a gift from a volunteer. They said that with the blessing of a thousand cranes, Grandma would definitely recover. Caleb chokes up a little. "Grandma didn't recover. The blessing of a thousand origami cranes only stayed a myth. But Y/N, do you understand the loneliness of that time when my world was completely dark, and I was struggling to bear everything alone? The girl who helped me share the burden while I was taking care of Grandma, the girl who lit up my dark world with origami cranes, was MC. I thought I would never see her again after she left, but she ended up coming back to me. I'm sorry Y/N. No matter what kind of person MC is, in my heart, she will always be that light." You listen silently, finally unable to help but smile.

Caleb Xia, are you really sure that the girl who folded the origami cranes was MC?

T - 1 day What was it like to have a crush on someone in your youth?

It was having your heart feel empty when he didn't come to class; even though there was only one empty seat, the whole world became hollow; It was the world suddenly brightening when he steps into the classroom. The sunlight outside the window shining like gold, but it couldn't possibly compare to the radiance surrounding him at that moment. It was when his smile warmed your heart, and when he frowned, your heart clenched; It was the satisfaction in watching him from afar, letting time quietly slip by, wanting to give your everything to him but not wanting him to know…

That year, when you learned that the weariness and pain Caleb tried so hard to hide was because his grandmother was seriously ill and hospitalized, every weekend, you'd wear a mask and get up before dawn every morning, catch the bus to the hospital, and help his grandma with breakfast and keep her company. You lied about your identity every time, simply saying you were a volunteer. You weren't sure if paper cranes could actually make wishes come true, but being young and full of sincere wishes, you secretly folded a bottle full of paper cranes for his grandmother. There certainly weren't a thousand total, but the bottle was full. It took you a long time folding, and you wrote a blessing on each piece of paper before carefully folding it inside. While wishing Caleb's grandmother a speedy recovery, you also prayed for her own grandparents' health.

At that time, you felt that you and Caleb had so much in common. None of your parents were in the picture. You both depended on their grandparents' for survival. You were both struggling to grow up against the odds, trying your best to maintain your lives, your pride, and self-respect. You once thought that you and Caleb were like two trees growing side by side, far apart, your branches never intersecting in the air, yet your roots in the soil were always tightly intertwined.

In the end, you've been deluding yourself.

You just smile without speaking or explaining anything to him. If it were before, perhaps you would have explained to him that you were the volunteer. But now, there is truly no need.

You traded your leg for his life, saving him from being run over by a car. If in his eyes, it was all a ploy, a way to trick him into marrying you, then what would the origami cranes you folded all those years ago mean to him? Were they, like the mooncakes from that Mid-Autumn Festival, just a means to woo him as well? Even if he didn't think of you as so calculating and despicable, what difference would it make?

He simply doesn't love you. You've tried for five years already. The fact is, you saved his life. Regardless of his motives for marrying you, the end result is the same: he doesn't love you. So why add another layer of trouble? You've known him since you were twelve. 15 years now. If love could truly change people, you would have done so long ago. The truth is, no matter what you did for him, it wouldn't change a thing.

Besides, you already have a clear future and plans. You'll cut ties completely with this person and stop this entanglement for once and for all. Only a smile remains on your face. A smile that is both laughable and pathetic.

"What are you laughing at?" Caleb was probably lost in his own memories, so it's understandable that he felt a bit resentful that his heartfelt story is met with nothing but a laugh. You lower your eyes, a faint smile still on your lips. "It's nothing, I'm just very touched. I'll do as you wish under one condition." He looks at you expectantly. "I'll have my lawyer send over some papers. At long as you sign them, MC is off the hook." "You... really?" Caleb isn't sure if you're being sarcastic.

"I'm serious." You lie on the bed, looking up at him, the faint sadness in your eyes gone, replaced by a genuine smile. "I wish you a long and life."

T - 0 days When Caleb leaves this morning, he tells you to wait for him at home, the same as usual. However, he lingers at the door for a minute longer, gazing at you with eyes filled with an unfamiliar emotion. There's no point thinking about it anymore. Nothing in the world will convince Caleb Xia that his wife would want to leave him.

Will he realize you're truly gone when he sees the empty closet? It won't matter if he doesn't; your letter, the lawyer, and the divorce papers will tell him. You look back one last time at the home you lived in for five years.

You write one last line in your notebook: "0 days until I leave Caleb Xia: Goodbye, I'm going to fly higher."

You turn off the lights and close the door.

You stick a paper crane on the door; let this paper crane wait for him in your place; perhaps, it will tell him the answer.

***

T + 6 days: Caleb feels like he's actually gone insane. The first night you don't come home, he plays it off as another one of your temper outbursts. Afterall, the paper crane on the door was your way of mocking his past with MC, wasn't it?. The second night he blows up your phone. Nothing goes through. By the third day, he is contacted by your lawyer with the divorce papers prepared and already signed by you. You ask for none of his assets and no compensation. He nearly destroys the office table in anger. After another two days to calm down, the panic and unease in his chest grow to new lengths. He stalks the entire city. Tries going after your telephone records, search history. He finds your preparation to leave him starting long, long before he suspected anything out of the ordinary. He looks at himself in the mirror and wants to laugh at the pathetic sight before him. He can't possibly go to work in this state, so he turns around to go home instead. 

He takes a shower and sits in the chair in your bedroom, lost in thought. This is the chair you used to sit in. You'd sit here watching dramas, reading, oh right, probably studying how to get away form him too.  Your belongings are still on the table: pens in the pen holder, and several books you read, the most recent being art history, lying on the desk. Fiddling with the paper crane.

He opened a drawer, which was also full of books. Digging through its contents, he finds a notebook. He pulls it out and opens it. The contents read: Countdown to leaving Caleb Xia. T -  22 days: The jewelry he gave me were all mementos of someone else.  T - 11 days: He gave our wedding rings to someone else too. But I don't even want him anymore, so why should I care about the ring?

His eyes sting.

"I don't even want this person anymore…" So, from that moment on, you truly wanted a divorce. Every time you brought it up, it was from the heart. It wasn't a tactic to keep him, nor was it a way to force MC to leave. You genuinely wanted to leave him…

Looking further, you had recorded every single thought that, in the month before you left, seemed trivial to him. With each passing day, your heart seemed to die a little more. He lowers his head, forehead resting on the notebook. His eyes ache terribly. In those 20-odd days, if he had even a few moments of empathy, if he had considered things from your perspective, he might have still had a chance to salvage the relationship. But he didn't. He went down a path of no return, finally leading to a complete break between you.

He thought you would never leave him, never leave this home, which is why he stood on MC's side time and time again. He thought, "She's my wife, she's family, she'll never leave. No matter when I come back, she'll be waiting at home..." You loved him so much, you've liked him since high school, even risked your life for him. How could he have believed that you really wanted to divorce him?

T + 24 days: Caleb sighs, a bitter smile on his face. He doesn't know what was wrong with him; why everything had been so bitter lately. The food he eats taste bitter, the water tastes bitter, even the air around him seems to carry a faint bitterness.

That afternoon, Liam comes to his office, inviting him out to dinner with Gideon.  Sitting behind his desk, Caleb feels listless. "Forget it, I'm too tired. You guys go ahead, I'll cover it." "Colonel," Liam protests, before switching to addressing him by name. "Caleb. Do you think I'm starving? I can see you're unhappy these days, and I figured getting together with you and Gideon would allow you to have some fun. Caleb shakes his head, hating how his hairs bristled at the mention of his friend. "I hate crowds, forget it."

"Caleb, what's wrong with you?" Gideon pops in, looking at him, his eyes filled with worry. "You used to love being with your brothers, having fun together. As long as the crew is together, your worries would disappear. I can invite MC along too, she'll make you feel better." Caleb freezes. What is wrong? He didn't know what was wrong either. It's just an instinctive reaction; he didn't want to go.

Later, at the bar, Caleb is still trying to think of why he feels uncomfortable. "Maybe... I'm getting old?" As you get older, you grow weary of crowds and want to be alone in peace and quiet. Liam laughs. "You're old? You...you're old? What am I then?" Well, if not, then Caleb couldn't find a reason.

"Caleb, what's wrong with you?" Gideon sighs. "We all know you didn't want to marry Y/N in the first place. You didn't love her. Isn't it better that you're getting a divorce now?" "Yeah..." Caleb's eyes glaze over. "Isn't it supposed to be better? But, Gideon, why am I not okay? I'm really not okay at all." "Is it just that you've gotten used to it? It's hard to let go of someone suddenly in your life, like when I had a dog when I was little. I had it for years, and one day it got into an accident and passed. I cried for a long time." Liam tries to help. Caleb shakes his head. "That's not how it works, Liam. Didn't you love your dog? You cried." Liam is stumped. "Oh, right. I definitely loved it."

All three of them fall silent.

Liam thinks for a long time before slowly saying, "Caleb, you didn't fall in love with Y/N, did you?" Caleb feels as if he's been struck on the head. He had never considered this question before. "Let me ask you this," Liam continues, "you're single now, right? If you had two choices: one, go back to Y/N, and she'd still be your Mrs. Xia; two, marry MC. You could marry MC if you want to! Which would you choose if you had these two options in front of you?" Caleb doesn't hesitate at all. "Liam, what are you saying? When did I ever plan to marry MC? Since she came back, the thought of marrying her never even crossed my mind!" Liam is stunned. "I literally thought MC was your wife the first day you brought her to the headquarters! Wasn't it because you had Y/N before? Now that you're divorced, you're still not considering MC?" "Liam, MC and I are a thing of the past," Caleb says with a small laugh, "What are you thinking?" "Then, why are you so good to her?" he stammers. "Am I not good to you?" Caleb retorts. "Am I not good to Gideon?" "Then...how...can this be comparable?" Liam didn't know what to say. "How is it different? The two of you are my brothers since we were trainees at the DAA, and we've all worked our way up to our positions now. When MC was with me, she was still a high schooler, encouraging me on when I was was nothing but a new recruit. She didn't get to reap any of the benefits of that work, she had a hard time abroad. Of course I have to pamper her when she comes back, she's my little sister, right, Gideon?" "Uhhh.... Anyway..." Liam thought it was VERY different.

"Of course it's different!" A voice booms from behind. It's Yvette. Liam quickly stands up. "Darling, why are you here?" "I came to see what nonsense you're spouting, you idiot!" Yvette's face darkens. "You guys are still talking about that two-faced bitch?" "No...wife, please... don't say such nonsense. How could MC be two-faced?" Liam quickly looks at Caleb, fearing for his job. “Try saying another word for her” Yvette points at Liam's nose, as if she's about to slap him into oblivion “No, I won’t say anything… I won’t…” Yvette's anger finally subsides. “Let’s go home!”

Liam hesitates. “Darling, how about we have dinner with the Colonel today?” “No way!” Yvette's temper flares again, pointing at Liam once more “I don’t hang out with your kind of people! You’re going home to eat too! He deserves it! He’s not worth wasting time on!” Liam looks troubled, hoping his wife would show some mercy.

Strangely, Caleb doesn't seem offended at all. He asks Yvette with a smile, "What kind of person am I?"

Yvette turns to look at him, scoffing. "I didn't want to talk about you, because you scumbags and bitches get angry and it's bad for my baby. I don't want my baby to see the ugliness of this world while still in my belly. But since you're asking like this, I've changed my mind." Liam sweats profusely. "My darling, no, let's just let our baby grow peacefully. Don't change your mind." "No!" Yvette declares. "I've decided to teach our baby to distinguish right from wrong!"

She turns to face Caleb again. "Colonel Xia, I'm not trying to be mean, but stop acting like you're some sort of saint. What's with all this talk about MC being there for you when you were down on your luck, about her suffering abroad and wanting to compensate her? Is it so hard to admit you're a cheater? Aren't you just trying to cover up the fact that you're greedy and have always looked for something better?" Caleb's face turns ashen. "I didn't, MC and I didn't..." Yvette's spirit is still high. "I don't give a fuck if you and MC slept together or not! That's not my business. I only care about Liam! But Caleb, this isn't about physical cheating!"

Liam is getting increasingly anxious hearing his wife absolutely tear through his boss without any restraint. Was this something she could just casually say? Out in public?? He immediately covers her mouth. "Let her talk!" Caleb's expression darkens.

"I'll say it!" Yvette slaps away Liam's hand. "Colonel Xia! I told you you're a cheater! The ultimate scumbag! You enjoyed Y/N's wholehearted love while flirting with MC under the guise of "taking care of a sister? What brother buys you a house, bags, and luxury goods? What kind of siblings share a room together while out on a business trip? Oh right, Liam used to get that privilege when you were cadets, but is the stuff in your brain the same shade when you sleep with MC?!" Liam tries really hard not to laugh. "The stuff in your brain isn't the same color"? His wife's mouth was really something… But then again, even he didn't believe Caleb and MC's brains were pure when they were together…

"What are you laughing at?" Yvette turns around to scold her husband. "Your boss doesn't have a brain, it's filled with tofu! You think you're so great? Yours is filled with tofu dregs!" "Darling, please;;; if you want to scold me, let's go back home to do it" "Let me finish!" Yvette hadn't wanted to say all of this, but since she was asked to, she wouldn't be happy until she was finished. She glares at Caleb. "With your filthy thoughts, ask yourself, with your non-existent conscience, when you sided with MC again and again like no tomorrow, wasn't your heart soaring? Like you were back in your youth! Wasn't that right? An old man like you, suddenly rediscovering the feeling of pure love, wasn't your life full of passion? And then what? Clearly, you were emotionally unfaithful, I don't know if your filthy body has cheated on her! But whether it's emotional or physical, it's still cheating! And yet you still insist that there is nothing between you and MC. Caleb Xia, if you openly admit to cheating, I'd respect you as a man. But to cheat and then pretend to be deeply in love, I can only give you one word: scumbag! No, add another: despicable! Finally done, she glares at Liam, "Aren't you leaving?" "Oh, oh, oh." Liam apologizes to Caleb with his eyes, quickly removing himself from the premise.

T + 25 days Caleb checks his personal set of security cameras at work. You weren't lying. MC is clearly seen talking to the secretary, putting the apple juice in her hands. Gideon walks in, and Caleb slams his laptop shut. "Colonel?" A shudder runs down his spine as he meets Caleb's dark gaze. 

T + 31 days Yvette's brutal words live rent free in Caleb's head.

Five years ago, when MC first left, it was during a period of setbacks for him. He spent his entire youth preparing to get into the DAA. But now that he was there, he realized with a start that he, a small town boy, was so woefully unprepared compared to his peers. Years of hard work were on the verge of being wasted. He had a habit of shutting others out when he was struggling. MC knew it. And did her best to call him out of her own accord, always checking in, trying to make him feel better.  But it came the day she couldn't take it anymore. She up and left him, cutting off all communications suddenly. He wasn't stupid; of course he knew the reason why. However, he also had the self-awareness not to drag her down with him. Later, he heard that a wealthy second-generation heir had gone abroad with her.

He knew all of it.

His depression during that period was partly due to the breakup, and partly due to his career setbacks—a mixed bag. He got drunk sometimes, but not entirely out of despair. Most of the time, it was from entertaining his peers, or trying to network with higher-ups, practically begging and pleading for a chance. However, the night you saved him, he was truly heartbroken. He had faced rejection after rejection, losing all confidence and almost giving up. Then you saved him, trading your leg for his rebirth.

From that moment on, he carried the weight of another person's life on his shoulders. It was at that moment that he told himself: I absolutely cannot give up, I cannot give up. There are still people waiting for me to take responsibility for, waiting for me to support them.

Fate can be truly miraculous sometimes. It was after that car accident that things suddenly took a turn for the better. When you got discharged from the hospital, it was also the time his performance soared. After that, his missions only ever returned successful. Offers and promotions came in waves, and his power increased exponentially. 

And then, MC returned.

Somewhere deep in his heart, he faced her with resentment and bitterness, thinking: "The person you looked down on back then has now made it big, standing proudly before you. How do you feel?" He would never admit it though.  Just like the necklace of MC's dreams. The first birthday he spent with you, he thought to himself, "so what? The decorations MC liked, the style she fawned over, I've given them all to another girl. I can afford to do so." So, five years later, when MC returned, he carried this resentment, enjoying her adoration and affection, feeling a childish satisfaction. The person who abandoned him back then was now obediently fawning over him, trying to please him, and the resentment in his heart finally subsided.

But the scales in his heart had been tipped.

Just as Yvette said, he despicably indulged in two relationships, becoming lost in this ambiguity. He basked in MCs adoration and retaliated by showering her with affection and indulgence, as if this would prove to his former, down-on-his-luck self: I've made it big, I'm omnipotent. He never even considered it love or lack thereof. He simply wanted to frantically prove to MC his power, his influence, that he could spoil a woman to the extreme if he wanted.

Of course, in doing so, he hurt you.

But at that time, he didn't think about any of that; he was simply gradually losing himself in his relationship with MC. He explained to you that he was only remembering MC's kindness from when she made the paper cranes and that nothing ever happened between them. Perhaps this reason held some semblance of validity? He always needed a plausible excuse to mask his dark and despicable psychology. But it was also true. He could do anything for MC, except betray you —by betraying you, he meant maintaining boundaries and not doing anything physically inappropriate.

But Yvette said that emotional infidelity also counts as infidelity. Does it? Did he cheat on you? He wasn't sure himself. He couldn't distinguish whether his feelings for MC were of resentment or love.

The only thing he was certain of was that you loved him, loved him to the point of self-sacrifice. So, no matter how his heart swayed, you would always be his Mrs. Xia, and that would never change.

That day after he told you the story about the paper cranes, MC tried to embrace him from behind at work. In that moment, he realized: he couldn't possibly cross any physical boundaries with her. His destiny belonged to you. That night, he wanted to see you more than ever. So, he returned without delay, even before dinnertime. But you were already gone.

So even you could leave him too…

Even with the wealth and luxury and everything he could give you, you could still abandon it so easily. That's right, he laughs at himself, why would you care about money? That silly girl who used to live frugally, worrying about his financial situation, trying to pay him $5 for every math problem he tutored you in - how could you care about money?

He was wrong… He'd been too arrogant for too long, forgetting the path he'd come from, neglecting the most important person in his world. How ridiculous, only realizing you were the most important person after losing you.

And before that?

It seemed everything came before you. Work was more important than you, because he needed to develop his career, earn money, and support you for life; His pride was more important than you, so he absolutely couldn't lose face in front of MC, forcing you to apologize, even though you were never actually in the wrong.

His thinking was simple: even if he had wronged you, it wouldn't matter. You loved him so much; all he had to do was sweet talk and make it back up to you. In fact, many times, between you and MC, he chose to side with MC simply because he knew you would forgive him…

But you didn't. You wouldn't forgive him forever, nor would you wait for him forever.

T + 52 days: Liam stops by Caleb's office. It's past midnight. "Colonel..." he starts, stiffening as Caleb's dead gaze shifts onto him from the screen. "You've been here for the past 5 days straight. I think... you should go home now..." Home? Caleb laughs, a hollow sound, devoid of any positive emotion. Where would he go now? What is home to him?

He admits that in the past five years, he didn't love going home as much.

Mainly, when he first got married, he was afraid to go home and face you, your overwhelming love, and your injury. Guilt and remorse weighed on his heart like a brick, so much so that he couldn't even be intimate with you. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but just seeing your leg overwhelmed him with guilt, making it impossible to continue. And this created a vicious cycle: the greater the psychological pressure, the less he tried, and the less he tried, the greater the pressure… He even saw a therapist for some time, but it didn't help. Over time, he became increasingly adverse to returning home to see you, and staying at his office until midnight.

He had many excuses: logistics, planning, meetings with important stakeholders, out on missions, and most often, just being busy with work. He did indeed spend most of his time working, but no matter how late, he always had a direction in his heart—home. Whether it was his conscience or something else, going home every night was a routine, just like his work.

And now, his home was still there, but he didn't know where he should go after you left.

He always told himself that it was his responsibility to be good to you for the rest of his life, but he didn't even know when it started to become more than just a responsibility. It turned out that when the girl who always smiled at him like a sunflower was no longer there, home was no longer home, and going home lost its meaning.

But you had promised him that you would never leave him, whether in poverty or wealth; you had promised him that you would leave a light on for him no matter how late he came home. He truly believed that this light would illuminate him forever, so he gradually took advantage of you, until ultimately, he became the one who extinguished it.

T + 93 days Caleb's phone rings. Looking down, it's Zayne. “Caleb, what's up? I can't come out for dinner, but feel free to talk on the phone. I'm busy, I have to work overtime.” “Oh…” he says wistfully, “Then it's nothing.” He just had nowhere else to go and wanted to find a place to talk about the past, about people he once knew.

“Oh, by the way, do you remember Sylus Qin?” Zayne suddenly askes.

“I remember…” A name that wasn't so pleasant. “He's gone.” Caleb is taken aback. "Gone?" "He passed away. He actually passed a while ago, abroad." Zayne sighs. "It was an accident, don't tell Y/N." He's... gone?

A voice echoes in Caleb's mind again: "Hey, Caleb, that Y/N from your class..." "Get lost!"

Zayne remembers something else. "Oh, right, you can't tell Y/N anyway, otherwise you wouldn't be asking me to dinner and rambling on and on about your past." Caleb remains silent. Lately, he keeps dreaming about when he was sixteen or seventeen, so he would occasionally chat with Zayne about it.  Zayne only ever told him the same thing: "Only those who are unhappy reminisce about the past; those who are full of vigor only stride forward. Caleb, let Y/N go. She deserves a better future."

Caleb feels a sudden, sharp pain in his heart, and his vision blurs. Now, he couldn't let it go even if he wanted to… But he had no right to not let it go…

“Zayne,” he says in a barely suppressed voice, “I regret it so much…” The more spirited and arrogant he had three months ago, the more desolate and regretful he feels now.

“Caleb Xia,” Zayne sneers on the other end, “You deserve it. Don't play victim with me now, look at your sordid affairs. How to spoke to her in front of me, in front of everyone else? You think none of us notice? How you had absolutely no respect for your ex-wife as a person?" “Zayne, I can't…” Before he can finish speaking, Zayne hangs up the phone. Caleb immediately dials him back.

After the third call, Zayne picks up again. A long silence ensues, until Zayne asks him, "Anything else to say? If not, I'm hanging up. I'm busy!" Caleb chokes for a moment before finally saying, "Zayne, if I said I love Y/N, would you believe me?"

"Bullshit!" Zayne curses, a rare occurrence. "Stop your pretentious nonsense! You don't love anyone but yourself; you're a selfish, self-serving piece of shit. Ask yourself honestly, who do you truly love? Whether was your mistress or Y/N, you only love whoever you need. Did you really even love MC or only what her reactions gave you? I wouldn't have cursed you if you hadn't said that, but hearing you say it out loud disgusts me! You bastard!"

T + 136 Days Caleb goes back to his hometown. Somewhere he hasn't been in many years. He traces the steps he once took to school, watching teenagers shout happily as they play with each other. Somehow, he finds himself in front of Sylus' house. To pay respects, he tells himself. He hesitates for another second before bringing his hand up to knock on the door. 

Two young men greet him. They can't be much older than 20. They stare at Caleb with the same, beady eyes. "Who are you?" "An old classmate of Sylus." He offers, taking his high school yearbook out from his backpack as proof. "We played soccer together. I know its a few years late, but I wanted to come pay my respects."  The twins lead him down to the basement, where many boxes of Sylus' belongings remained. Caleb flips through old textbooks and worksheets, jerseys and field-day awards, CDs and comic books from their youth.  Something small and pink falls out from a book in his hands. 

He bends over to pick it up: a single paper crane

Paper cranes? He picked up the fallen origami bird, its image overlapping with his memories of paper cranes. The page he turned to was a tutorial on how to fold paper cranes. Sylus had written notes on it with a pen. "Some silly girl is folding paper cranes for that Xia boy, and she won't let me help! How long will it take for her to fill that jar? Silly girl!" "Haha! I secretly stole one from her pile! Mischievous act of the day complete!" "Hehe, this silly girl writes something inside every single paper crane. I wonder what she wrote on the one I stole?"

"Written something?" Caleb frowns, picking up the paper crane from the ground and quickly unfolds it. Sure enough, there's a small line of writing inside: 'No matter what happens, you must be happy!'

Caleb's mind goes blank for a moment. He reads the words on the page again, then turns and runs. The noise he makes downstairs alerts the twins, who ask him if everything was alright. "Sorry Luke, Kieran. I have important work to do. I have to go back," Caleb says urgently, bidding farewell to the boys. He drives nonstop to Skyhaven, taking the stairs to the top floor and enters his office. He opens his desk drawer. Inside is a small glass box containing a paper crane.

He had buried all the other paper cranes with his grandmother, leaving only this one as a keepsake. The unfolded paper crane he had taken from Sylus' house lies open on his desk. The handwriting was all too familiar to him—yours. The other paper crane, which he had kept in the small glass box, was clearly made of the same paper but a different color.

He takes a deep breath, and without further delay, unfolds it with trembling fingers.

The orange paper crane reveals writing on it as well. This one reads: Grandma, you must recover. Caleb only has you. The same handwriting. The way you write is distinctive, always rounded and plump, with a kind of innocent charm, completely different from MC's. Looking at these words, his heart sinks as if it's been chained to an iron anchor, falling lower and lower into a bottomless abyss.

He had lost far more than he imagined…

Folding the two pieces of paper together, he finally breaks down in tears. Y/N, I'm sorry… He sits in his office, the whole world utterly silent.

If this were the end of time, how wonderful that would be; he no longer looked forward to waking with the sun the next day… But he could only stay awake, waiting for the night to pass. But the nights are too long. His life is only darkness now.

T + 613 days You carefully make your way onto the stage, eyes momentarily blinded by the sharp glare of stage lights. The applause is thunderous as a bouquet of flowers are presented to you from the dancers. Your thesis project, a fully choreographed piece, was being performed on stage by a full cast for the first time. You insisted on giving yourself a very small role, just a few small steps in the beginning as your leg continues to heal, but it was already more than enough to fill your heart as tears of joy threaten to spill from your eyes. 

Caleb watches your brilliant smile on his phone, in the darkness of his room. It's true that in the 1800 nights he was married to you, he has only wished you the best. Now you're out there, accomplishing your dreams. How much he wishes to be able to proudly say, "that's my Y/N!". But he cannot. Not now. Not that he ever had the right to say it. He reads the comments on the live stream religiously and replays your small segment of dance over and over until his vision blurs. 

Tonight, Caleb dreams of high school.

Back then, all of you were naive and full of youthful exuberance. It was a time of awkwardness and passion, everything direct and intense.

He dreams of Rafayel Shen. Rafayel loved to draw. Caleb had found Rafayel sketching you in the middle of class, and tore up his drawing after school. The two ended up having a fight, still a sore spot in their relationship to this day.

He dreams of Sylus Qin. They were playing soccer together, and you would watch them play from the most inconspicuous spot in the cheerleading squad on the playground, always leaving silently afterward. Sylus puts his arm around Caleb's shoulder, his gaze fixed on your retreating figure. "Hey, Y/N from your class looks real sweet." The young boy instantly knews what the other was up to, coldly announcing, "Get lost, I won't hesitate to beat you up if you mess with her.

Some boys would try to slip confession letters into your locker. You never received any, because Caleb always stopped them. Some boys would put treats in your desk. You never got to eat any, because Caleb always kept them for you, glaring at all the other boys in warning. It was once a childish but pure love, as bright and clear as morning dew.

Why did it change like this?

Caleb is lost in his dreams, unable to find the answer. He lost you.

He meets Zayne and ask him why you were missing. Zayne simply says, "Caleb Xia, you scumbag." He meets Rafayel, who grabs him by the collar, and the two get into a brawl. He meets Sylus, who smiles and says, "You bullied her, so I hid her. You'll never find her now." He sees many, many people, but you are nowhere to be found…

"Caleb!" A clear voice suddenly rings out behind him.

He turns around and sees a girl with a bright smile perform several somersaults, appearing before him.

"Y/N!" He opens his eyes, but all he sees is an empty ceiling. He lies on the bed, his phone still clutched in his hand, battery dead.

A dream.

His Y/N is gone forever.

You are seven years old when you first hear this story and you do not think about it much. Seven-year-olds do not worry about death or love or the mysteries written on skin that has not yet appeared.

You think about apple orchards instead.

The imperial palace has extensive grounds, and your father's position as a high-ranking lord means your family has chambers here, close to the court. You have the run of the gardens when your tutors release you from your lessons. The apple orchard is your favorite place, the rows and rows of trees heavy with fruit in autumn, branches perfect for climbing in summer, blossoms like snow in spring.

Caleb is always there.

He is a prince, the third son of the Emperor, which means he has more freedom than his older brothers. He does not have to sit through as many state functions or memorize as many treaties. He spends his afternoons in the orchard, reading under the trees or playing with his wooden practice sword.

You are shy around him at first. He is older, ten to your seven, and he is a prince, but he has kind eyes and a patient manner, and when you climb too high and cannot get down, he laughs and helps you, boosting you onto his shoulders to reach the ground.

"You are brave," He sets you down gently. "Most children would cry."

You flush with pride and do not tell him you wanted to cry very much.

Mei comes into your life when you are eight.

Her family are retainers to your household, lower in rank but trusted.  Her mother serves your mother, her father serves your father, and now she is assigned to serve you. 

Mei is exactly one year older than you, nine years old with serious eyes and a protective streak that runs deeper than the rivers surrounding the capital. She finds you in the orchard one afternoon, crying under an apple tree because one of the palace children, a duke's daughter with a cruel tongue, called you a country bumpkin and plain.

"Who said that?" Mei's voice is fierce. "Tell me who said that."

You shake your head, hiccuping.

"It does not matter. She is stupid and her eyes are bad." Mei sits beside you, pulling you against her side. "You are not plain. You are my lady. Mine to serve, mine to protect, and anyone who says different is a liar."

You rest your head on her shoulder and feel the tears dry. There is something about Mei that makes you feel safe. Something about the way her arm wraps around you, solid and certain.

"Will you stay with me?" you ask, and your voice is small.

"Always," Mei promises and reaches for your hand. "Where you go, I go."

Caleb finds you both there an hour later, and that is how it begins. 

The three of you in the orchard, Mei's hand always finding yours first, Caleb's laugh bright as lantern lights, and you in the middle, not yet understanding what you are building.

You turn nine, then ten. Caleb turns thirteen, then fourteen. Mei turns ten then eleven, and she grows tall and graceful, her childhood roundness replaced by elegant lines.

You notice the way Caleb looks at her.

It starts small. He stumbles over his words when she speaks to him. He watches her when he thinks no one is looking. He brings her gifts, ribbons for her hair, a hairpin carved from jade, a book of poetry he claims he found in the market but you suspect he bought specifically for her.

Mei accepts these gifts politely, but there is distance in her manner. She does not blush nor simper. She does not gaze at him the way the court ladies gaze at princes.

She looks at you instead.

You are too young to understand what that means.

The years continue to pass. You turn twelve, then thirteen. Caleb is sixteen now, nearly a man, his shoulders broadening, his voice deepening. He has begun training with the imperial guard, learning strategy and swordcraft. He is good at it. Everyone says so.

Mei is fifteen now, and she is beautiful. You are not blind to it. The court notices her now, despite her lower rank. Men watch her when she walks through the palace gardens. Marriage offers have begun arriving for her family to consider.

She dismisses them all.

"I am not interested," she tells you one evening while she is brushing your hair in your chambers. "My place is here, with you."

"But you could marry well," you protest. "You could have your own household, your own…"

"I could." Her hands are gentle, working through a tangle. "But I do not want to. I want to stay here with you. Is that so strange?"

You do not know how to answer that.

Caleb's feelings for Mei are no longer a secret, at least not to you. He is obvious about it now, seeking her out in the gardens, asking her to walk with him, writing poetry that he does not give her but leaves where you might find it.

You read one once. 

It compared her eyes to lotus pools and her grace to a heron taking flight.

You fold it carefully and return it to its hiding place. You do not tell anyone about it. You certainly do not tell Mei. Watching Caleb fall in love with her is both painful and beautiful. Painful because you…

You do not let yourself finish that thought.

The apple pies start when you are thirteen.

The cook in your father's kitchens makes them perfectly, sweet and tart, the crust flaky, the filling rich with cinnamon. She makes them for the household, small luxuries to brighten the long summer days.

Mei steals the first one.

"Come on," she whispers, catching your hand and pulling you toward the back stairs. "While everyone is at court."

You follow because you always follow her. 

You sneak through the servants' corridors, giggling, the stolen pie warm in Mei's hands. You eat it in the orchard under your favorite tree, passing it back and forth, licking cinnamon from your fingers.

"We will get in trouble," you complain, but you are laughing.

"We will not. I will take the blame if anyone asks." Mei grins at you, her face smudged with apple filling. "Worth it though, was it not worth it?"

It was. It is. Every stolen moment with her is worth it.

You steal pies together all that summer. 

It becomes your secret, your private rebellion. 

Sometimes Caleb joins you, and then it is the three of you again, laughing, eating too fast, lying in the grass and watching clouds drift across the sky. Those are the good days. The golden days. The ones you will remember later when everything has gone wrong.

You turn fourteen. Your childhood is ending, sliding away like silk through your fingers. You begin attending more formal functions, your education intensifying. You learn household management and history, poetry and music. You learn how to smile and curtsy and all other things that daughters of noble houses do.

You learn how to watch Caleb watch Mei and pretend your heart is not breaking. You are old enough to name the feeling that has been growing in your chest for years now.

You are in love with Caleb.

You have been in love with him since you were seven years old and he lifted you down from a tree. You have been in love with him through every afternoon in the orchard, every stolen pie, every moment of laughter and lightness. Every time he shared his cloak when it rained, every time he noticed you were sad before you said anything, every kindness you took for granted.

But he does not see you, not the way you want him to.

He sees only Mei.

You cannot blame him. 

Mei is extraordinary. She is everything you are not, confident where you are hesitant, bold where you are careful, beautiful that sometimes people stop and stare. 

She is your dearest friend. Your protector. Your companion.

How can you resent her when you love her almost as much as you love him?

You tell no one about your feelings for Caleb. Not Mei, the person you trust the most, not your mother, not even your diary. You bury them deep, pressing them down like stones at the bottom of a river. You smile when he talks about Mei. You nod sympathetically when he confides his fears that she will never return his affection.

You are a good friend. A very good companion.

II

Your mark appears on the morning of your fifteenth birthday.

You wake to find two names written on your inner left wrist in ink that seems to shimmer when you move your arm.

Caleb

Mei

You sit on your bed for a long time, staring at your wrist. Your heart is pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears.

Two names. 

One is your great love. One is your companion.

You know with certainty that it feels like destiny that Caleb is your great love. He has to be. You have loved him for eight years. He is written in your bones, carved into your heart. The mark is simply confirming what you have always felt.

And Mei…

Mei is your companion. Your truest friend. The person who has walked beside you through childhood, who has held your hand promised to never leave.

It makes perfect sense.

You should feel happy. You should feel hopeful. Instead, you feel strange, as if the world has shifted and nothing is quite where it should be.

You dress quickly and go to find Mei.

She is in her family's chambers, and when she opens the door, you see immediately that her mark has appeared as well. She is wearing longer sleeves, but you can see the edge of ink peeking out at her wrist.

"It happened," you say, and your voice sounds breathless.

Mei nods. 

She does not look happy. Her expression is unreadable.

"Mine too," she replies, her voice quiet and almost reluctant. 

You enter her room and close the door behind you. 

"Will you show me?"

For a moment, you think she will refuse, then she pushes back her sleeve.

Two names. 

Your name and Caleb.

The same names as yours. The same two people.

You do not know what to say, you just stand there, staring at her wrist.

"We have the same marks," you say, and it is not a question.

"Yes."

"That means..." You trail off.

Mei pulls her sleeve back down, hiding the names. 

"It means we are both connected to each other and to him. That is all."

But it cannot be all. The marks mean something, they have to mean something.

"Do you think..." You wet your lips. "Do you think you know which is which? For you, I mean?"

Mei looks at you for a long moment. There is an emotion in her eyes you cannot name, it makes your chest tight.

"I think," she starts slowly, "that the marks do not tell us. We have to live and discover the truth ourselves."

"But you must have a sense. You must feel…"

"I feel many things." Mei cuts you off gently. "But I do not think it is wise to make assumptions. Not yet."

You want to demand she tell you what she is thinking, but Mei has always been private, and you have learned not to press when she closes herself off.

"Will you tell me?" you ask instead. "When you know for certain?"

"Yes." She takes your hand, squeezes once. "I will tell you everything. I promise."

You leave her chambers feeling unsettled. The conversation felt wrong, but you cannot put your finger on what.

Caleb's mark appears three days later.

He comes to the orchard in the afternoon, face flushed with excitement, and shows you and Mei his wrist without preamble.

Your name

Mei

The same names. All three of you connected in a triangle, bound by invisible threads of fate.

"This is it," Caleb looks at Mei with such naked hope that you have to look away. "This is proof. You are one of my soulmates, Mei. I knew it. I have always known it."

Mei says nothing. Her face is very still.

"Mei?" Caleb's smile falters. "Are you not happy?"

"I am..." She pauses. "I am surprised. I had not thought…"

"You have my name, do you not?" He reaches for her wrist, pushes back her sleeve before she can stop him. You see the flicker of emotion cross his face when he sees your name alongside his. "We all have each other's names. We are all bound together."

"Yes," Mei says quietly. "We are."

"Then this is fate." Caleb is still smiling. "You see? The gods have decided for us. You cannot refuse me now. You cannot say we are not meant to be together."

Mei gently pulls her arm free. 

"The marks tell us we are connected. They do not tell us how."

"One of us is the great love. One of us is the companion." Caleb's voice is earnest. "I know which you are, Mei. I have known since I was thirteen years old."

You stand there, watching this exchange, and you feel as if you are disappearing. Neither of them is looking at you. Neither of them is acknowledging that your name is there too, that you are part of this triangle as well.

"Caleb," Mei says, and her voice is gentle but firm. "This is not the time for such declarations."

"When is the time?" He is pleading. "I have waited years, Mei. Years. Tell me you feel nothing, and I will stop. Tell me I am wrong."

Mei does not answer. She is looking at you instead, her expression unreadable.

"I think," you speak instead, and your voice sounds distant even to your own ears, "that we should not make assumptions. The marks have only just appeared. We have time to understand what they mean."

Caleb finally looks at you. You see the moment he remembers you are there, standing beside him, your wrist bearing the same names as theirs.

"You are right," he says, and he sounds chastened. "I am sorry. I got carried away. This is…this affects all of us. Not just me."

"Yes." You manage a smile. "It affects all of us."

But you already know that Caleb's mind is already made up. He has decided Mei is his great love. He has decided the story of his marks before he has lived it.

And you are the companion. The friend, the third point to fate’s triangle.

Later that night, alone in your chambers, you trace the names on your wrist with one finger.

Caleb. Mei.

You know which is which, you have always known.

Caleb is your great love. He is the one who will consume you, complete you, destroy you when you lose him.

Mei is your companion. Your steadiest friend. The one who walks beside you.

The marks have simply confirmed what your heart already knew.

III

The summons comes three months after the marks appear.

Your father's household is to meet with the imperial court to discuss a formal arrangement. You, Mei, and your families are to attend. Caleb will be there as well, representing the royal family's interests.

You know what this is before you arrive. You have heard your mother and father discussing it in low voices, arguing behind closed doors. You have seen the way the court ladies watch Caleb now, whispering behind their fans, calculating his worth as a potential match.

You know what is coming, and you feel numb about it.

The meeting takes place in one of the smaller audience halls. Your father and mother sit on cushions across from the Emperor's representative, an elderly minister with shrewd eyes and a neutral expression. Mei's parents are there as well, seated slightly behind, their faces tense.

Caleb stands to one side in formal court robes. He looks older than his eighteen years, solemn and princely. He does not look at you or Mei. His gaze is fixed somewhere in the middle distance, his jaw tight.

The minister speaks first. His voice is dry and formal, reciting the terms like he is reading from a ledger.

The arrangement is this:

You will be betrothed to Caleb as his primary wife. Your rank demands it. You are the daughter of a high-ranking lord, a princess in all but name. The match is appropriate, politically advantageous, entirely proper.

Mei will be given to Caleb as his concubine. Her family's status as retainers, servants, three generations of faithful service but no title, no land, no name of consequence, makes her ineligible for the role of wife, but the marks have spoken. The gods have written both of your names on his wrist, and to ignore the marks entirely would be to insult heaven.

Any child that Mei bears will be recorded as yours. The lineage will be clean. On paper, you will be the mother of all his children, whether they come from your body or hers, ensuring the imperial bloodline remains unbroken.

Everyone in the room remains very still while the minister speaks. You focus on your breathing, in, out, in, out, because if you focus on that, you do not have to think about what is being said.

When the minister finishes, your father speaks. "This arrangement is acceptable to our house."

Mei's father speaks next, his voice tight. "It is acceptable to ours as well."

They do not ask you. They do not ask Mei. Women do not get asked in matters like these.

Caleb finally looks at you, but you cannot understand his expression. It is blank, the face he has learned to perfect for courtly functions. Then he looks at Mei, and his face changes and softens.

The minister continues with more details. 

The formal ceremony will take place in three years. There will be a betrothal period where you and Caleb will be expected to spend time together, to learn each other, to prepare for married life.

Mei will move into Caleb's household two weeks after the wedding. That is the tradition, the wife is installed first, before the concubine is brought in.

You find this detail particularly bitter. Two weeks. Two weeks of pretending to be a new wife before your dearest friend, your companion, is moved into the same house, into your husband's bed.

The meeting ends. You stand and bow. Everyone bows. You are dismissed.

In the courtyard outside, Mei catches your arm, her grip is tight enough to hurt.

"I do not want this," she whispers. "I do not want him. You know that, do you not? You know I have never wanted him."

"Then why did your parents agree?" You cannot keep the hurt from your voice.

"They had no choice. When the imperial court makes a request, it is not truly a request." Mei's eyes are bright with anger. "But I am telling you now, I do not want this. I will not pretend I am happy about it."

"Neither am I." The words come out sharper than you intend.

Mei flinches. 

"You are angry with me."

"I am not angry with you. I am angry with…" You gesture helplessly at the palace around you, at the whole structure of it, the system that decides women's lives without consulting them. "I am angry with everything."

"Then we are in agreement." Mei's voice softens. "We are both trapped."

You look at her and see the exhaustion in her face. She looks older than her sixteen years. There are shadows under her eyes, and her usual confidence is stripped away.

"I need you to do something for me," you hear yourself say.

Mei straightens. 

"Anything."

"I need you to..." You stop before forcing yourself to continue. "I need you to go along with this. Be what Caleb wants. Be what Caleb needs."

"What?" Mei's voice is sharp. "Why would I do that?"

"Because if you do not, he will be miserable, and if he is miserable, this whole arrangement falls apart, and then what happens? They send you to a different household? Marry you off to some stranger? I will lose you entirely." You are speaking too fast now, the words tumbling out. "But if you do this, if you accept your position in his household, then we stay together. You and I. That is all I care about. Staying together."

"You cannot ask this of me."

"I am asking. I am begging." Your voice breaks. "Please, Mei. Please do this, if not for him, then do it for me."

Mei stares at you for a long moment. You see her throat work, see her blink rapidly as if fighting tears.

"You do not understand what you are asking."

"I do."

"You do not." Her voice is cold. "But I will do it. If this is what you truly want, I will do it. I will be what he wants. I will be what he needs."

The words sound like a vow and a curse all at once.

You reach for her hand.

"Thank you."

Mei does not answer. She pulls away from you and walks across the courtyard, her back straight. You watch her go and feel something inside you breaks.

Later, when you are alone in your chambers, you will wonder why you did that. Why you asked her to sacrifice herself. Why you thought that was the solution, but in this moment, you tell yourself it makes sense. You tell yourself you are keeping her close, keeping her safe, keeping her yours in the only way the world will allow.

You tell yourself many lies that evening.

IV

The betrothal period passes in a blur.

Three years is a long time to pretend. 

You spend time with Caleb as required. You take walks in the gardens, attend court functions together, sit across from each other at formal dinners and make polite conversation. You learn his preferences, how he likes poetry but cannot stand most music, how he has a sweet tooth he tries to hide, how he is terrible at strategy games but too proud to admit it.

He is kind to you. He treats you with the respect due a future wife, but his eyes are always searching the room for Mei. You pretend not to notice.

Mei, true to her word, allows Caleb's courtship. She accepts his gifts. She walks with him when he asks. She smiles politely when he attempts poetry. She does everything a concubine-to-be is expected to do.

But there is a distance in her manner. There is a wall she has built between herself and him, invisible but unmistakable. She goes through everything without being truly present.

You wonder if Caleb notices. You suspect he does not.

There are moments, though. Moments when it feels almost like before.

One afternoon in the second year of your betrothal, the three of you find yourselves in the orchard together. It is autumn, the trees heavy with fruit, the air crisp and clean. Caleb plucks an apple from a low-hanging branch and tosses it to you. 

"Remember when we used to steal pies from the kitchen?"

You catch the apple, surprised by the sudden nostalgia in his voice. 

"Of course. Mei was always the one who got us into trouble."

"I was the one who got us out of it," Mei retorts, but she is smiling. 

It is a real smile, not the polite mask she wears at court.

"You were both terrible influences." Caleb's voice is warm, teasing, he sounds like the boy you knew at ten. "I was a perfect prince before I met you."

"You were boring," Mei counters.

"I was dignified."

"Boring," you and Mei say in unison, and then all three of you are laughing.

You sit in the grass, passing the apple back and forth, and for a moment, it is like nothing has changed, like you are still children without complications, still friends who steal pies and climb trees and watch clouds.

"I wish it could stay like this," Caleb admits quietly.

The words hang in the air. You want to agree, want to reach for that feeling and hold it tight, but Mei's smile fades.

"It cannot," she says. "It never could."

Caleb's face closes off. You look away. The three of you sit in silence for a while longer, and then Caleb makes an excuse and leaves. Mei watches him go, her expression unreadable. 

"Someone will always be unhappy," she murmurs so softly you almost miss it.

You do not know who she means, perhaps all of you.

The wedding ceremony is elaborate and exhausting.

You are eighteen now, no longer a child. 

You wear red silk embroidered with phoenixes in gold thread. Your hair is arranged in an intricate style that takes hours and hurts your scalp. Your face is painted and your lips stained crimson. You look like a doll. A beautiful, expensive doll.

Caleb wears matching red, his robes heavy with embroidery. At twenty one, he has grown into his features, handsome and princely and entirely unlike the boy you used to steal pies with in the orchard.

You exchange vows in front of the entire court. You drink from the same cup. You bow to his ancestors and to the Emperor. You become his wife in the eyes of the gods and the empire. Through it all, you smile and say the right words and do not let yourself feel anything.

After the ceremony, there is a feast. Hundreds of guests, endless courses, music and dancing. You sit beside Caleb at the head table and accept congratulations. People toast your health, your happiness, your future children.

Mei is somewhere in the crowd. You catch glimpses of her throughout the evening, always at a distance, never meeting your eyes. She is wearing pale pink, a concubine's color, and she looks beautiful and sad and so very alone.

The ceremony for taking Mei as concubine happens a week later. It is quieter, more private. Only close family and a few court officials attend.

Mei wears crimson as well, though a simpler style than your wedding robes. She kneels before Caleb and you, you, his wife, granting permission for her to enter the household. She bows three times. She pledges her loyalty to you first, then to him.

When she rises, her eyes are dry, but you see the strain in the set of her shoulders.

That evening, Caleb comes to your chambers.

It is your wedding night, delayed by a week to accommodate the concubine ceremony. Custom demands he spend this night with you, his wife, before he is allowed to turn his attention elsewhere.

You are ready or as ready as you can be. Your maidservant has prepared you, dressed you in a thin sleeping robe, arranged your hair. You sit on the edge of the bed and try to calm your racing heart.

Caleb enters. He looks nervous. He is still in his formal robes, though he has removed the outer layers.

"You look lovely," he says, and it sounds reflexive, the thing he was supposed to say.

"Thank you." Your voice is steady.

He sits beside you on the bed and the mattress dips under his weight. You can smell the incense that was burned during the ceremony earlier, still clinging to his clothes.

"I…" He stops."You understand, do you not?"

The question hangs in the air. You could pretend you do not know what he means. You could make him say it outright, but what would be the point? You are not cruel enough to make him spell out what you already know.

"Yes," you reply quietly. "I understand."

"I do not want to hurt you." His voice is earnest. He sounds young suddenly, younger than his twenty one years. "You are my wife. I will always respect you. I will always honor you, but my heart…"

"Is elsewhere." You finish the sentence for him. "I know, Caleb. I have always known."

He looks at you and you see guilt flicker across his face. 

"Forgive me."

"Do not be sorry. The arrangement was not your choice any more than it was mine."

"Still. You deserve better than this. Better than a husband who…" He cannot finish the sentence.

You reach out and take his hand. His fingers are warm, slightly calloused from sword practice. 

"Shall I tell you what I think?"

"Please."

"I think we can build a good life together. Perhaps not the life you dreamed of, or the one I dreamed of, but a good life nonetheless. We have been friends since childhood. That is more than most married couples can claim."

"Friends." He sounds sad. "Yes. We have been that."

"So let us continue to be that. Friends who share a household. Friends who support each other, and who fulfill our duties with grace." You squeeze his hand once. "We do not have to pretend to have great passion when we both know the truth."

"You are generous," Caleb says.

"I am practical."

"No. You are generous, and I do not deserve your kindness."

He leans forward and kisses you. It is gentle, chaste, a kiss between friends rather than lovers, then he stands.

"I should go," he says. "I should let you rest."

You nod. You do not point out that this is your wedding night, that custom demands more than a single kiss. You do not mention that the servants will notice, will gossip, will speculate about what it means that he is leaving so quickly. You let him go.

When the door closes behind him, you sit very still for a long time. You do not cry. You simply sit and breathe and accept that this is your life now.

Your marriage. Your role. Your future.

The next morning, you learn that Caleb spent the night in Mei's chambers.

V

The first months of marriage settle into a rhythm.

You wake early, attend to your duties as Caleb's wife. You manage the household, oversee the servants, handle correspondence. You are good at this, the careful navigation of social hierarchies, the endless small decisions that keep a prince’s estate running smoothly. Your mother trained you well.

Caleb is often away during the day, attending court functions or military training. When he is home, he is pleasant. He asks about your day. He ensures you have everything you need. He is a model husband in every way except the one that matters.

Mei lives in the chambers adjacent to yours, and you see her every day. You take your meals together when Caleb is absent. You walk in the gardens, sit in the pavilion overlooking the lotus pond, sometimes you steal away to the kitchens late at night to share rice cakes and talk about the rumors you hear at court.

In those moments, it almost feels like before, like you are still children, but then Caleb comes home, and everything shifts.

He seeks Mei out immediately. He brings her gifts, bolts of silk, jade ornaments, books of poetry. He writes her letters even though they live in the same household. He requests her company for meals, for evening walks, for viewing the moon.

Mei accepts these attentions with polite grace. She never refuses him. She never encourages him either. She exists in a strange middle ground, neither welcoming nor cold, simply present.

You watch this courtship from the sidelines and try to pretend it does not hurt.

The court notices, of course. The servants gossip. The other noble wives watch your household with speculation and poorly-concealed pity. Everyone can see that your husband prefers his concubine to his wife.

You hold your head high and refuse to acknowledge their whispers.

One evening, during a court banquet, one of the Empress' ladies makes a comment just loud enough for you to hear. 

"How gracious Her Highness is, to allow her husband such obvious devotion to the concubine. Most wives would be beside themselves."

You smile serenely. 

"Why should I object? Mei has served my family since childhood. She is dear to me. My husband's affection for her brings me joy, not sorrow."

The lie comes easily, you have had months of practice. The woman looks disappointed. She was clearly hoping for drama, for tears, for some crack in your composure. You give her nothing.

Later, Mei finds you in a quiet corner of the garden. 

"You do not have to do that," she says.

"Do what?"

"Lie for me. Defend me. Pretend you are happy with this situation."

"I am not lying. You are dear to me."

"But you are not happy." Mei's voice is soft. "I can see it, even if no one else can."

You look away, focusing on the lotus flowers blooming in the pond. 

"Happiness was never part of the arrangement."

"It should have been." There is anger in her tone now. "You should have been cherished. You should have been…"

"Please do not." You cut her off gently. "I do not want your pity any more than I want theirs."

"This is not pity. This is…" She stops. When you glance at her, her expression looks pained. "I wish things were different. That is all."

"So do I, but wishing changes nothing."

Mei moves closer, takes your hand. Her fingers are cool against yours. 

"I would give this up in a heartbeat if I could. I would leave this household, go anywhere, if it would make you happy."

"You cannot leave. Where would you go? Back to your family? They have no wealth to support you. To another household as a servant? That would be a worse fate than this." You squeeze her hand. "We are bound together now, you and I. We must make the best of it."

"Then let me make it easier for you," Mei replies. "Give me leave to refuse his attentions. I do not want them. I have never wanted them."

You have noticed this. The way she holds herself distant when Caleb visits her chambers. The way her smiles never quite reach her eyes. The careful way she accepts his poetry without reading it aloud.

"If you refuse him outright, it will cause scandal. He is a prince. His pride…"

"His pride is not my concern."

"It is mine." You pull your hand free. "He is my husband. His honor is my honor. I will not have the court saying he was rejected by his own concubine."

Mei's expression closes.

"As you wish."

She turns to leave, but you catch her sleeve. 

"Mei, wait. I did not mean…"

"You meant exactly what you said." Her voice is cutting. "You want me to continue this charade. To let him court me, to accept his gifts, to pretend I might care for him someday. All so you can save face at court."

"That is not fair."

"Fair?" Mei laughs bitterly. "What about any of this is fair? You married a man who loves me. I am forced to live with him and accept his attention when I…" She stops abruptly.

"When you what?"

"When I would rather be anywhere else." She finishes the sentence carefully.

You study her face, trying to understand what she is not saying, but Mei has always been good at keeping secrets. She has been keeping them your entire lives.

"I will not ask you to leave," you say finally. "But I will not give you permission to publicly reject him either. Find some middle path. Please. For me."

Mei nods once, then she walks away, leaving you standing alone beside the lotus pond.

The Moon Festival arrives in the eighth month of your marriage.

The court celebrates with lanterns and music, feasting and poetry. 

You sit beside Caleb at the festivities, smiling and nodding as officials and nobles pay their respects. The celebration goes late. When you finally return to your chambers, exhausted, you do not expect Caleb to follow, but he does.

"May I come in?" he asks from the doorway.

You are surprised enough that you simply nod. He enters, closing the door behind him. He is still in his formal robes, though he has loosened them slightly. His face is flushed, from wine, perhaps, or from something else.

"Mei turned me away," he says, his voice raw…"She said she was tired. She said…" He stops. "It does not matter what she said."

Ah. So that is why he is here.

Not because he wants you, but because she refused him.

You should send him away. You should tell him you will not be a substitute for the woman he really wants, but you are tired of fighting, tired of pretending, tired of everything.

"You can stay," you hear yourself say. "If you wish."

Caleb looks at you for a long moment, then he nods.

He is gentler than you expected, almost tender. He undresses you slowly, his hands careful, and when he lies beside you, he takes his time. There is a loneliness in the way he touches you, as if he is seeking comfort rather than passion.

You let yourself sink into it. You let yourself pretend, just for these few hours, that he is here because he wants you, that his hands on your skin mean something beyond duty or disappointment.

Afterward, he does not leave immediately. He lies beside you in the darkness, his breathing slowly evening out. You think he has fallen asleep, then his arm slides around your waist.

It is unconscious, you think. A reflex. He pulls you back against him, his body curving around yours, his face buried in your hair. He holds you like he does not want to let go.

You go very still and barely breathe. You do not want to break this moment, this unexpected gentleness. Slowly, carefully, you place your hand over his where it rests on your stomach. His fingers tighten slightly, then relax. His breathing deepens. He is asleep.

You lie there in the darkness, held in your husband's arms, and let yourself pretend. Just for tonight. Just for these few stolen hours.

You pretend he came to you because he wanted to. You pretend the tenderness was real. You pretend that when morning comes, he will wake and smile at you, kiss you, and choose to stay.

You know better. You have always known better, but for tonight, in the darkness, you let yourself hope.

In the morning, he is gone.

The pillow beside you still holds the shape of his head. The blankets are tangled where he slept, but Caleb himself is nowhere to be found. You press your hand to the pillow, feeling the lingering warmth, and your heart breaks a little more.

A few weeks later, you have dinner with Caleb and Mei together, a rare occurrence now that the household has settled. 

The meal is pleasant enough. 

Caleb discusses trade negotiations with the northern provinces. Mei asks about a new shipment of silk from the south. You contribute everything that you have observed from the outer court.

For a moment, it almost feels normal. Three friends sharing a meal, the conversation flowing easily.

"Do you remember," Caleb says suddenly, "the year we stole pies every week for an entire summer?"

"The cook never did figure out who was taking them," Mei smiles. 

"Because you were clever about it," you add. "You always took them when she stepped away, and you replaced the covering so it looked untouched."

"We were terrible," Caleb says, but he is laughing.

"We were children," Mei corrects.

The three of you reminisce for a while, trading stories and memories. For a while, the complications of your arrangement fall away. But then the meal ends, Caleb reaches for Mei's hand as they stand. 

"Walk with me?" he asks her.

Mei glances at you. You see the regret and apology in her eyes. 

"Of course," she tells him.

They leave together. You sit alone at the table, surrounded by empty dishes and fading laughter.

Someone will always be unhappy, Mei said once. You are beginning to understand what she meant.

The months continue, and the pattern repeats. 

Caleb pursues, Mei deflects, you observe. The court whispers grow louder. Some say Caleb is bewitched by his concubine. Others say you are too patient, too forgiving, that you should assert your position as primary wife more forcefully.

A few, a very few, say quiet things about Mei's loyalty. About how she seems to spend more time with you than with Caleb. About the way her gaze follows you across rooms.

You do not listen to those whispers. You cannot afford to. Instead, you focus on your duties. You embroider. You manage the household. You write letters to your family. You sit through endless court functions with a smile painted on your face.

And at night, alone in your chambers, you trace the names on your wrist and remind yourself which is which.

Caleb, your great love, your husband, the man who will never love you back.

Mei, your companion, your truest friend, the one who walks beside you through all of this.

You repeat this until you believe it. You have to believe it. What else is there?

VI

The discovery comes on an ordinary morning.

You wake feeling nauseous. 

At first, you assume it is something you ate at the banquet the night before, the fish had tasted strange, but the nausea persists through the morning, worsening when you try to take tea. Your maidservant takes one look at your face and goes very still.

"Your highness," she speaks carefully. "Have your monthly courses come?"

You open your mouth to say yes, then stop. When was the last time?  You have been so consumed with household matters, with court functions, with carefully not thinking about your marriage, that you have lost track.

"No," you say slowly. "Not for... not for six weeks at least."

The maidservant's face brightens. 

"Your highness,  you may be with child."

The words do not feel real. They hang in the air, impossible. You and Caleb have barely touched since the wedding night. While he comes to your chambers perhaps once a month, he only stays as long as necessary to maintain appearances. Your couplings are brief, done for duty rather than the passion of newlyweds.

Except for the Moon Festival, that night had been different. 

"Send for the physician," you instruct her. "Quietly. I want no announcement until we are certain."

The physician confirms it that afternoon. You are pregnant, and the child should arrive in early spring. After he leaves, you sit in your chambers and try to understand what this means.

A child. Your child. Caleb's child.

Word travels faster than you anticipated. You are still in your dressing gown when Caleb appears at your door. His face is flushed, as if he has been running.

"Are you sick?" The words come out rushed. "The servants said you called for the physician. Are you ill? Is something wrong?"

You stare at him, surprised by the urgency in his voice. 

"I am not sick."

"Then why…" He stops, looking at you more closely, at the way your hand unconsciously rests on your stomach. Understanding dawns on his face. "Are you…"

"I am with child." The words come out quieter than you intended. "The physician just confirmed it."

For a moment, Caleb simply stands there, then he crosses the room in three long strides and pulls you into his arms. The embrace is fierce and desperate. His hands shake where they press against your back. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, feel the tremor that runs through his whole body.

"Are you safe?" he asks, his voice muffled against your hair. "Are you well? Does anything hurt? Do you need…"

"I am fine," you say, bewildered. "Caleb, I am fine."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face. His eyes are bright, searching. 

"You are certain? You are not in pain? The physician said everything is well?"

"Yes. Everything is well."

"An heir," he breathes, but there is something else in his voice. Something beyond political satisfaction. "You are carrying my child."

He pulls you close again, and this time you feel it, the fear beneath the relief. He is trembling, actually trembling, his breath uneven.

"I heard about your mother’s pregnancies," he states gently. "After we married, I asked some servants in your household, I know she had difficulties and I…" His voice breaks. "I cannot lose you. Do you understand? I cannot."

The words stun you. You stand rigid in his arms, trying to understand what you are hearing.

"Caleb…"

He kisses your forehead. It is tender, lingering, more intimate than any kiss he has given you before. When he pulls back, his eyes are wet.

"Forgive me," he says. "I am being foolish. This is good news. This is very good news."

He steps away, composing himself, but you can still see the tremor in his hands, the brightness in his eyes.

"I should let you rest," he starts. "You need rest. The baby needs…" He stops himself. "I will make sure you have everything you need. Anything you want, just tell me."

Then he is gone, leaving you standing in your chambers, trying to understand what just happened.

Mei finds you an hour later, staring at nothing.

"I heard," She starts as soon as she enters your chambers "The whole household has heard by now."

You turn to look at her. 

"Did you know Caleb asked the servants about my mother’s pregnancies?"

Mei pauses. 

"No, but it does not surprise me."

"Why not?"

"He cares for you." Mei states it simply, as if it is obvious. "More than you think, more than he knows how to show."

"He only cares about his heir."

"No." Mei's voice is firm. "He cares about you. I have seen it in the small things he does"

"Those are just…"

"They are not just anything." Mei takes your hands. "He may love the idea of me, but he cares for you. There is a difference."

You want to argue. You want to insist she is wrong, but the memory of Caleb's embrace, his trembling hands, his fear, it sits heavy in your chest.

"He told me he cannot lose me," you whisper.

"Because he cannot." Mei reaches for your hand. "You are his wife. The mother of his child now. Someone he has known since childhood. Whether he understands it or not, you matter to him."

"But he loves you."

"He thinks he does." Mei's smile is sad. "But love is more than longing, more than pursuit. Sometimes it is in the quiet things. The unconscious gestures. The fears we cannot name."

You do not know what to say to that.

The weeks pass. Your body changes. Your stomach begins to round. You feel the first fluttering movements, strange and wondrous.

The court is told. Congratulations pour in. The Emperor himself sends a letter expressing his pleasure at the news of his grandchild. Your parents visit, your mother hovering anxiously, your father looking pleased in his austere way. Everyone is happy for you.

Caleb becomes more present. Not in the way you once hoped for, he still spends his evenings with Mei, but in smaller ways. He insists you sit during lengthy court functions. When you attend audiences, he cuts them shorter than usual. He checks that your chambers are warm enough without you asking. 

Once, when you grow dizzy in the garden, he appears at your side before you can call for help, his hand steadying you, his voice tight with worry as he walks you back inside. You do not know how he knew you were there. You do not ask.

When you are five months along, Mei arranges an afternoon tea in your chambers. It is just the three of you. You, Mei, and Caleb. The conversation starts awkwardly. 

Caleb discusses updates about the military. You share things about the household. Mei adds the preparations for the coming winter. Then Caleb says something about your lack of rest, and Mei's eyes flash.

"Perhaps if you visited more often as a husband rather than as an official checking on imperial property, she would feel less alone," Mei says, her voice sharp.

Caleb goes very still. 

"I visit regularly."

"You visit to ensure your heir is well, not to ensure she is well."

"That is not…" Caleb stops. "That is not fair."

"Is it not?" Mei turns to you. "When was the last time he asked about your wellbeing that was not related to the child?"

You open your mouth to defend him, but you cannot think of an instance. Caleb's face has gone pale. 

"I…"

"She is your wife," Mei continues, relentless. "She carries your child. The least you could do is see her as more than a vessel for your heir."

The silence that follows is heavy, painful. Then the baby kicks. It is strong enough that you gasp, your hand flying to your stomach. Both Caleb and Mei turn to you immediately.

"What is wrong?" Caleb asks, alarmed.

"Nothing. The baby just…" You place your hand over the spot. "The baby is moving."

Caleb stares at your hand on your stomach. 

"May I…" He stops. "Would you mind if I…"

You take his hand and place it where you felt the movement. For a moment, nothing happens, then the baby kicks again, directly against Caleb's palm. His face transforms, wonder replaces the tension from moments before. 

"I felt it," he breathes. "I felt…"

"Let me feel too," Mei says softly. 

You take her hand and place it beside Caleb's. The three of you wait, silent, until the baby kicks again.

"Strong," Mei gasps, and there are tears in her eyes. "Your child is strong."

"Ours," you say instinctively. "You said you would help me raise them, that makes them ours."

Mei's fingers curl against your stomach. The baby kicks again, and for this one fragile moment, the three of you are connected. All of you feeling this new life, this small person who exists because of all your complicated relationships.

"I will do better," Caleb states, he is looking at you now, not at your stomach. "You are right, Mei. I have been seeing her as the mother of my heir, not as…" He stops. "I will do better."

Mei pulls her hand back. 

"See that you do."

The moment breaks. Caleb stands and excuses himself. Mei begins clearing the table, but something has shifted. You sit there, your hands on your stomach, and let yourself feel a tiny spark of hope.

Then one afternoon, you find Mei alone and preparing herbs in the kitchen.

You watch her work for a moment before you recognize the plants she is crushing. You grew up in a lord's household. You know what tansy and pennyroyal look like when they are ground together. You know what they are used for.

The realization strikes you. Abortifacients.

"Mei?” You call her name before you can stop yourself.

She turns, sees you, sees the herbs. Her face goes pale.

"How long?" you ask.

"Since the beginning." She replies without shame. "I will not bear his children. I will not give him that."

"But why? A child would…"

"Would what? Tie me to him forever? Make this pretense real?" Mei's voice is sharp. "I am not you. I do not accept this quietly. I do not make the best of my cage."

The words are meant to wound, and they succeed. You take a step back as if struck.

"That was cruel.”

"Yes." Mei looks away. "Forgive me, that was cruel."

"If you hate this so much, why do you stay?"

"Because you asked me to." Her response comes quickly. "You asked me to be what he wants. To go along with this. To stay here, with you. So I stay."

"I did not know you were this miserable."

"Of course you did not know. You are too busy being miserable yourself to notice anyone else."

The observation is so accurate it steals your breath. You stand there in the kitchen, staring at each other, and for the first time, you see the full weight of what you have asked of her. The sacrifices she has made. The pain she has endured, all because you begged her to stay.

"I am sorry," you tell her, but the words feel inadequate. "Mei, I am so sorry."

"Do not apologize. This is not your fault. None of this is your fault." Mei turns back to her herbs, crushing them with renewed force. "But do not ask me to pretend I am content. Do not ask me to pretend I want him, because I do not. I never have."

"Then who do you want?" The question escapes before you can stop it.

Mei goes very still. 

For a long moment, she does not answer. When she speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper.

"Someone I cannot have."

She does not elaborate. She finishes preparing her herbs in silence, and you do not ask again.

That night, you lie in bed with your hands on your growing stomach and take in everything you have asked of Mei.

You asked her to stay. She stayed. You asked her to accept Caleb's courtship. She accepted. You asked her to smile at court. She smiled.

And beneath all of it, in the privacy of the kitchen when no one was watching, she ground bitter herbs into tea and drank them so that the one boundary she had left would hold.

You think about what it must have been like. Month after month. The taste of tansy and pennyroyal, the cramping, the pain because of her refusal to let her body become one more thing that belonged to him.

She did that ever since she became Caleb’s concubine.

She did that while brushing your hair, while smiling at you, while reassuring you, while staying with you, and laughing with you in the gardens as if nothing were wrong.

You roll onto your side and press your face into the pillow, and you do not sleep for a very long time.

VII

The banquet is in honor of the Emperor's birthday.

All of the court is required to attend.

You are six months pregnant now, your stomach round and obvious beneath your formal robes. You move slowly, carefully, one hand always resting on your belly as if to reassure the child within.

Mei walks beside you, her presence a comfort in the overwhelming crowd. Caleb is somewhere ahead, fulfilling his ceremonial duties as a prince of the blood. You will join him at the high table once the formal presentations are complete.

The Emperor sits on his throne, receiving tributes and well-wishes. The hall is filled with nobles, officials, foreign dignitaries. Everyone who matters in the empire is here. Including the Emperor's concubines.

There are four of them. 

You know their faces, their names, their positions in the complex hierarchy of the inner court. The eldest, Lady Qi, is kind and has always treated you with courtesy. The second, Lady Qin, is ambitious but intelligent, someone you respect if not quite trust.

The third is Lady Xue.

She is the youngest of the Emperor's concubines, only recently elevated to her position. She is beautiful, clever, and hungry for power. Her family is wealthy but not particularly well-connected. Her position depends entirely on the Emperor's favor, and that favor is slipping.

You have heard the whispers. The Emperor has lost interest in her. He visits her chambers less frequently. He has been seen courting a new woman, a merchant's daughter with a sharp wit and considerable political connections.

Lady Xue is desperate.

She needs to do something dramatic, something that will remind the Emperor why he favored her in the first place. She needs to prove her value, her indispensability.

She needs a victory.

You do not know that Lady Xue has been watching your household, noting the Emperor's pleasure at the news of his grandchild. You do not know that she has decided removing Caleb's heir would destabilize his position, would create chaos that she could exploit. You do not know that she has already bribed one of the servants to poison your wine.

The banquet proceeds. 

Courses arrive in endless succession, delicate soups, roasted meats, fish cooked in wine and spices, steamed dumplings, sweet rice cakes. You eat sparingly, mindful of your pregnancy and the rich food.

Mei sits beside you, as is proper for a concubine. She barely touches her food. She has been tense all evening, her gaze constantly scanning the crowd.

"Are you well?" you ask quietly.

"I do not like this." Mei's voice is low. "Too many people. Too much attention on you."

"It is the Emperor's birthday. We cannot avoid attending."

"I know, but I do not like it."

You squeeze her hand briefly to reassure her.

"You think too much. Nothing will happen. I am perfectly safe."

Mei does not look convinced.

The wine arrives. It is a special vintage, brought out only for imperial celebrations. The servant fills your cup, then Mei's, then moves down the table.

You raise your cup to drink. Mei's hand closes around your wrist.

"Wait." Her voice is low, urgent.

"What—"

"The servant." Mei's eyes are fixed on the man retreating down the table. "He poured yours differently. He tilted the bottle at the end. Everyone else received a straight pour."

You glance at your cup. The wine looks the same as everyone else's, dark red and sweet smelling.

"Mei, you are being…"

"And he looked at someone when he set your cup down, across the hall. I saw his eyes move." Mei's grip tightens on your wrist. Her knuckles are white. "Do not drink it."

"It is the Emperor's wine. No one would dare…"

"Someone already has." Mei's voice is steady, but her hand is trembling. She is not guessing. She is reading the room the way she always does, with the sharp, relentless attention of someone who has spent her entire life watching for threats against you.

You set the cup down.

Mei stares at it. Then at you. Then at your rounded stomach.

You see the decision form behind her eyes a half-second before she moves.

"Mei, no…"

She snatches up your cup and drinks the wine in three quick swallows.

The hall goes very quiet. People are staring, someone laughs uncertainly, thinking this is some kind of joke. Then Mei's face contorts. She doubles over, gasping. The cup falls from her hands, shattering on the stone floor.

"Mei!" You lunge for her, but she is already collapsing. You catch her as best you can, supporting her weight, lowering her to the ground.

"Get the physician!" someone shouts. 

Caleb is there suddenly, shoving people aside. He kneels beside you, staring at Mei's face. She is convulsing, foam flecking her lips, her skin turning an awful grey.

"What happened?" Caleb demands. "What did she drink?"

"My wine." You are shaking. "She drank my wine."

Understanding and horror dawns on Caleb's face. The wine was meant for you. For the child you carry.

Mei would have known that. She would have known the poison was meant for you. She drank it anyway.

The physician arrives, but it is clear almost immediately that there is nothing he can do. The poison is too strong, too fast-acting. It is burning through Mei's body, shutting down her organs one by one.

She is dying.

You pull her into your lap, heedless of propriety, of the watching court. You cradle her head against your chest, your tears falling onto her face.

"Stay with me," you beg. "Please, Mei. Please stay."

Her eyes flutter open. She looks at you, and despite the pain, despite everything, she smiles.

"I love you," she whispers.

The words are so quiet you almost miss them. You stare down at her, and in that moment, you understand. 

You finally understand everything. Not Caleb. Never Caleb. You.

Mei has always loved you.

Caleb is there beside you, holding Mei's hand, weeping openly. He leans close, his face twisted with grief.

"I love you too," he sobs. "Mei, I love you. Please do not leave. Please."

He thinks she is talking to him. He thinks her final words are for him, but Mei is not looking at Caleb. She is looking at you. Only at you.

Her lips move again. You lean closer, and you hear her breathe three more words. 

"Protect the child."

Then her eyes close and her body goes still.

Mei is gone.

The hall erupts. Guards are summoned. The physician declares her dead. The Emperor demands to know who poisoned the wine. Servants are questioned, dragged away. Lady Xue’s face is pale with shock, she did not expect her plan to fail. 

She did not expect Mei to intercept the poison.

You hear none of it. You sit on the cold stone floor, holding Mei's body, and you cannot breathe. You cannot do anything except stare at her lifeless face and try to understand that she is truly gone.

She loved you. She has always loved you. And now she is dead.

Caleb tries to pull Mei from your arms. You resist, clutching her tighter, but eventually he succeeds. He lifts her body, his face streaming with tears, and carries her from the hall.

You sit there, alone, blood and wine staining your formal robes. Your hands are shaking. Your whole body is shaking. Someone, your maidservant, perhaps, helps you to your feet. Someone leads you from the hall. You move like a ghost. When you reach your chambers, you collapse, and finally, finally, you let yourself scream.

VIII

The funeral is held three days later.

Mei's body is prepared with the traditional rites, washed, dressed in burial silks, laid in a lacquered coffin. Incense burns at the four corners. Mourners file past to pay their respects.

You attend because you are required to. You are Caleb's wife, and Mei was part of your household, but you feel absent from yourself, as if you are watching from a great distance.

Caleb is devastated. He weeps openly during the ceremony. He talks about how he loved her, how he will always love her, how her death has left a hole in his heart that can never be filled.

Every word is a knife, because he is wrong. He is wrong about everything. Mei did not love him. She never loved him. 

She loved you, and he will never know that. 

He will spend the rest of his life believing she died loving him, that her last words were meant for him. The truth will die with her.

After the ceremony, after Mei's coffin is carried to the burial ground, after the earth is mounded over her and the final prayers are spoken, you return to the palace.

The investigation into the poisoning has concluded. 

Lady Xue’s involvement has been proven beyond doubt, servants have testified, silver has been traced, the poison itself has been identified.  She has been arrested, stripped of her position, sent to face imperial justice, but that is not enough for the court gossip.

The court needs someone to blame, and Lady Xue's arrest is not dramatic enough for them. A concubine's failed plot is politics. A jealous wife's poisoning is tragedy, and tragedy sells.

So the rumor takes root, you did it. You, the patient wife, the dignified presence at every function, finally cracked under the weight of your husband's obvious preference for his concubine and killed the woman he loved.

It does not matter that Lady Xue confessed. It does not matter that the poison was traced, the servants questioned, the evidence laid bare. The court has chosen its story, and your innocence is not part of it.

Caleb does not correct them. That is what breaks you, not the whispers, not the sidelong glances, not the women who draw back when you approach. 

His silence. His refusal to stand beside you and say my wife did not do this. He is too deep in his own grief to notice yours, and the court takes his silence as confirmation.

Three weeks after the funeral, he comes to your chambers.

You are in bed, still in your sleeping robe even though it is midday. You have not bathed in days. You have not cared enough to bother. Caleb stands in the doorway, looking at you with an expression you cannot read.

"We need to speak," he starts.

You sit up slowly. You do not ask him to come in. You simply wait.

"The court is talking," he continues. "The rumors about you and Mei, about the poisoning, they are damaging my reputation and the imperial family."

"I did not poison her." Your voice is hoarse from disuse.

"I know that."

"Then why do you not say so? Why do you not defend me?"

Caleb looks away. 

"Because I cannot bear to look at you."

"What?" you whisper.

"Every time I see you, I think of her. I think of Mei, lying dead on the floor. I think of how she is gone and you are still here. And I…" His voice breaks. "I wish it had been you."

The room tilts. You clutch at the sheets to keep from falling.

"I wish you had been the one who died instead of her. I wish…" Caleb cannot finish. He is weeping now, his shoulders shaking. "I cannot do this anymore. I cannot live in this house with you. I cannot look at you and not see what I have lost."

"Where would you have me go?" Your voice sounds distant, as if someone else is speaking.

"I have a summer estate. Three days' journey north. I am sending you there. You will stay until the child is born. After that… we will decide what happens after."

He is exiling you.

"And if I refuse?"

"You will not refuse. You will go. You will leave this palace, and you will not return until I send for you."

He turns and walks away, leaving you alone in your chambers. You sit very still for a long time after he leaves. Then, carefully, you look down at your wrist.

The names are still there. Caleb and Mei, written in the same shimmering ink. Mei's name has not changed. It is still the same as it was the day the marks appeared. You trace it with one finger, and finally you let yourself cry.

Not for Caleb. Not for your marriage or your position or your reputation. For Mei. For the friend who protected you. For the woman who loved you back and never told you. For everything you could have had if you had only understood sooner.

IX

The retinue assigned to escort you to the summer estate is small but capable. 

Two guards, a driver, and your maidservant. They load your belongings into the carriage. You watch from the window of your chambers, already feeling like a ghost haunting your own life.

Your mother comes to see you before you leave. She looks older, worn down by the scandal. She does not embrace you. She does not say she believes in your innocence.

"Try to stay out of sight," she tells you. "Let the rumors die down. Perhaps in a year or two, people will forget."

"Perhaps," you echo, because what else is there to say?

Your father does not come. You are not surprised. To him, you were always a tool for power. A disgraced daughter is worse than no daughter at all.

The carriage journey begins. You sit in silence, watching the palace disappear behind you. The capital fades into countryside, rice paddies, small villages, rivers winding through green hills. It should be beautiful, you cannot bring yourself to care.

On the second day of travel, you notice something strange. The driver has taken a wrong turn. You lean forward. 

"Where are we going?"

"To your destination, my lady." His voice is calm, steady.

"This is not the road to the summer estate."

"No, your highness. It is not."

Your maidservant reaches over and takes your hand.

"We are taking you somewhere safe," she says gently. "Somewhere you will be welcome."

"I do not understand."

"The summer estate is not safe for you. The other servants in the prince's household do not believe you are innocent. They believe the rumors. If you go there, you will be alone, unprotected, and when the child is born…" She stops. "We do not trust what might happen."

"Where are you taking me?"

"To Lady Mei's family."

You stare at her, confused.

"How…who arranged this?"

"Lady Mei did." Your maidservant's voice is gentle. "Some time before the Emperor's birthday banquet, she told us that if anything happened to her, we were to bring you to her family instead of the summer estate."

"Mei did?"

"Yes, my lady. She knew something was going to happen. She did not know what, exactly, but she sensed danger. She wanted to ensure you would be protected."

"She planned this." You cannot breathe. "She planned all of this."

Your maidservant squeezes your hand. 

"She wanted you safe, so she made arrangements."

You sit back, stunned. Even in death, Mei was still taking care of you.

The journey takes five days instead of three. The roads grow rougher, the villages smaller. You are traveling west now, toward the mountains, away from the luxuries of the capital and into harder country. By the time you arrive, you are fevered and exhausted.

Mei's family home is modest, a compound built around a central courtyard, simple but well-maintained. As the carriage stops, you see an older woman emerge from the main building, her hair streaked with grey, her face lined with years of work.

She looks like Mei. The same eyes, the same determined set to her jaw. Mei’s mother, whom you have not seen since the announcement of your betrothal to Caleb.

You try to stand, to exit the carriage properly, but your legs buckle. The world tilts, going dark at the edges. You hear voices, feel hands catching you, but it all seems very far away. The last thing you remember is the smell of rain and the feeling of being lifted, carried inside.

When you wake, it is night. You are in a small, clean room. A single lantern burns in the corner. You are tucked into a bed that smells of herbs and soap.

A woman sits beside you, pressing a cool cloth to your forehead. Mei's mother.

"You are awake," she says softly. "Good. You have been fevered for three days."

Three days. You have lost three days.

"Where am I?"

"My home. My husband and I brought you inside when you collapsed. We have been caring for you."

You try to sit up, but she pushes you back gently. 

"Rest. You need rest. The baby needs rest."

"Why are you helping me?" The question comes out sharper than you intend. "I am the one…they say I am the one who…"

"You did not kill my daughter." Mei's mother's voice is firm. "I know that as surely as I know my own name."

"How can you know?"

"Mei wrote to me." Her voice breaks slightly. "Several weeks before the Emperor's birthday, she sent a letter. She believed that you and your child were in danger. She told me she had made arrangements for your safety, that she had paid your servants to bring you here if anything happened to her. She told me…" Mei's mother stops to compose herself. “She told me that if you arrived at my door, it would mean she was gone, and that I should care for you as I would have cared for her."

"She knew something would happen."

"She knew danger was circling. She did not know the specific form it would take, but she knew, and she chose to protect you rather than herself." Mei's mother strokes your hair, the gesture so like her daughter's that it makes your chest ache. "That is who my daughter was. That is what her love looked like."

You cannot speak. You can only weep.

"She wrote to me every week since she entered your household," Mei's mother continues quietly. "She told me everything. About the tea she was taking. About how she would never bear that prince's child. About how her only happiness was you."

"She told you she loved me?"

"She told me she had always loved you, since you were children. Since the day you cried under that apple tree and she swore to protect you." Mei's mother's own eyes fill with tears. "She told me about the soulmarks. She knew that you were her great love, but you did not know, and that you believed the prince was yours."

"I do not understand." Your voice is shaking. "If she loved me, why did she never say anything? Why did she…"

"Because you asked her not to. You begged her to be what the prince wanted, to go along with the arrangement, to stay in that household for your sake." Her  voice is gentle but unyielding. "My daughter would have done anything for you even if it meant giving up her life for you.."

The truth of it crashes over you. Mei sacrificed everything. Her happiness, her future, her very life. All because you asked her to. All because she loved you.

"I did not know," you whisper. "I did not know she loved me that way until…. I thought…I thought she was my companion. My friend. I thought Caleb was…"

"Caleb was her great love?" Mei's mother makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. "No, child. You had it backwards.”

"What do you mean?"

"My daughter knew the truth of all three marks. She knew which name was which for each of you."

I love you. Not to Caleb. To you.

"She also knew," Mei's mother continues, "that Caleb's great love was you. Not her. You. You were his great love, just as he was yours, but both of you were too blind to see it, too convinced of your own assumptions."

You stare at her. 

"That cannot be right. Caleb loved Mei. He pursued her. He mourned her. He…"

"He loved the idea of her. The unattainable woman. The one who would not love him back." Her voice is sad. "But his great love was always you. My daughter knew that. She knew she was the companion to both of you. That her purpose was to walk beside you, to support you, to help you find each other."

"Then why did she drink the poison?" Your voice breaks. "If she was only the companion…if her death would not destroy him the way a great love's death would…why did she do it?"

"You were carrying his child. She knew that poison was meant for you, and if you died, you would both lose everything. She could not let that happen." Mei's mother wipes her eyes. "She removed herself from the situation. She knew that with her gone, you and the prince would have to face each other without her in the middle. She hoped…I think she hoped…that her death would force you both to see the truth."

You cannot speak. Everything you thought you knew is wrong. Every assumption, every certainty, all of it built on misunderstandings and blind hope and the failure to simply ask the right questions.

Caleb is your great love. You are his. And Mei knew that. 

She always knew. She loved you anyway, with the quiet devotion of a companion who puts her great love's happiness above her own.

"I would have chosen her," you whisper. "If I had known. If she had told me, I would have…"

But the words falter before you can finish them. Would you have? Truly? If Mei had come to you at fifteen and confessed everything,  if she had taken your hands and looked you in the eye and told you that she was your great love, not Caleb, would you have believed her? 

Would you have turned away from eight years of longing, from the boy who lifted you out of apple trees, from the ache in your chest every time he entered a room? Or would you have held Mei's hands and felt sorry for her and gently explained that she was confused?

You do not know the answer. That is the worst part. You want desperately to say you would have chosen her, that you would have defied the court and your family and every expectation placed on you, but you are no longer certain of anything you once believed about your own heart.

"I would like to think I would have chosen her," you amend, and your voice is very small.

Mei's mother strokes your hair and does not argue. Perhaps she knows the truth. Perhaps she is kind enough not to say it.

"I know." Mei's mother pulls you into an embrace, and you sob against her shoulder. "I know, child, but she could not ask you to make that choice. She could not ask you to give up your position, your family, your future. She loved you too much for that."

You cry until you have no tears left. You cry for Mei, for yourself, for Caleb and the tragedy of three people who could not see what was written on their own skin. When you finally pull back, exhausted and hollow, Mei's mother smooths your hair.

"You will stay here," she says. "You and the child. You are safe here. You are welcome here."

"But what about…"

"No one knows you are here except those who brought you. Your servants…they are loyal to you, not to the prince. They will not betray your location." Her voice is firm. "You will stay. You will have this baby, and then we will decide what comes next."

You are too tired to argue. Too tired to do anything but nod and let yourself be cared for.

That night, lying in a small room in Mei's childhood home, you dream of apple orchards and stolen pies and a girl with fierce eyes who promised to always protect you.

You wake crying, but this time, someone is there to hold you through it.

X

The months pass slowly in Mei's family home.

Your pregnancy progresses. 

Your stomach swells more, the baby moving constantly now, pressing against your ribs, making you breathless. The discomforts of late pregnancy are compounded by grief that never fully leaves, that sits like a stone in your chest.

Mei's mother attends you with quiet care. 

She brings you ginger tea for nausea, rubs salve into your aching back, sits with you during the long afternoons when you cannot sleep.

She tells you stories about Mei as a child. 

How stubborn she was, how fierce, how she once punched a boy who made fun of her younger brother. How she learned to sew because she wanted to make you a dress. How she wrote in her diary about you constantly, pages and pages of memories and hopes and quiet, desperate love.

You listen to these stories and feel yourself break a little more each time.

You also grow weaker.

At first, you attribute it to the pregnancy. 

Late pregnancy is exhausting, everyone says so, but as the weeks pass, you notice things that worry you. You are tired all the time, sleeping twelve, fourteen hours a day. You have no appetite. Your hands shake.

The local healer examines you and shakes her head. 

"The baby is fine. Strong heartbeat, good position. But you… You are not well."

"What is wrong with me?"

"Your body is giving up. Grief sometimes does that. Takes root in the bones, drains the life away."

"Can you treat it?"

"I can give you herbs to strengthen your blood. But the real medicine…" She pauses. "The real medicine is wanting to live, and I am not certain you do."

She is right. 

You are not certain you do.

You go through day by day. 

You eat when Mei's mother insists. You walk in the small garden behind the house, placing your hand on the rough bark of the apple tree that grows there. You sit in the sun and try to feel warmth.

But everything is distant, muted, you are a ghost drifting through someone else's life.

Seven months pregnant. Eight. The baby will come soon.

You wonder if you will survive the birth, part of you hopes you will not.

Mei's mother seems to sense your thoughts. 

One evening, she sits beside you and takes your hand.

"You must live," she says. "For the child. For my daughter's memory. For yourself."

"I am trying."

"Try harder." Her voice is fierce, so much like Mei's that it hurts. "You have a choice, here. You can give up, let grief swallow you, or you can fight. You can live. You can raise this child and give them the love you never got to give my daughter."

"What if I cannot?" Your voice is small. "What if I am not strong enough?"

"You are. You have always been strong. You survived a marriage you did not want, a household that did not value you, the loss of your dearest friend. You can survive this too."

You want to believe her. You want to find that strength within yourself.

But as the weeks pass, as your body grows heavier and your spirit lighter, you feel yourself slipping away.

You think about the orchard often now. 

Those golden afternoons with Caleb and Mei. 

The three of you together, before everything went wrong.

You think about Mei's hands always finding yours first. The way she used to brush your hair. How she looked at you when she thought you were not watching.

You think about Caleb's laugh, bright and careless. How he used to help you down from trees. How his eyes would light up when he saw Mei, not realizing the person he was truly seeking was standing right beside him.

You think about the baby growing inside you. 

Caleb's child. 

The heir he wanted. The person who will carry both your grief and your hope into the future.

You hope the baby looks like Caleb. You hope they have his laugh, his kindness, his capacity for joy.

You hope they never make the mistakes you made. Never assume, never fail to ask, never let pride keep them from admitting what their heart already knows.

The contractions begin on a spring morning.

The sky is clear, the air warm. Cherry blossoms are blooming in the garden, pink and delicate.

You labor through the day and into the night. 

It is long and difficult. Your body is exhausted before you even begin. Mei's mother stays with you, holding your hand, murmuring encouragement.

"You can do this," she says. "You are almost there."

But you already know that this is the end for you.

You have enough strength to bring the child into the world, but not enough to remain in it yourself.

The baby arrives just before dawn. 

A girl, small but healthy, with a powerful cry and perfect tiny fingers.

They place her in your arms, and you look down at her face and see Caleb. 

She has his eyes, that distinctive purple that marks her as imperial blood. She has his nose, his chin, his delicate features.

She is beautiful.

"What will you name her?" Mei's mother asks.

You do not hesitate. 

"Mei."

Mei's mother's eyes fill with tears. 

"Are you certain?"

"She is named for the only person who truly loved me." Your voice is weak, fading. "Let her carry that name. Let her carry that legacy."

You hold your daughter for a long time, memorizing her face, the weight of her in your arms, the sound of her breathing.

Then you look at Mei's mother and speak the words you have been preparing.

"Take care of her. Raise her here, away from the capital, away from the court. Do not tell Caleb where she is unless…" You pause. "Unless he comes looking. If he never comes, let her grow up here, in peace."

"And if he does come?"

"Tell him I forgive him." The words are important. They need to be said. "Tell him I understand. Tell him it was not his fault, any of it. We were all blind."

"I will tell him."

"And tell Mei…" You look down at the baby. "Tell her she was loved. Tell her she was wanted. Tell her…"

But you cannot finish, your vision is blurring, darkening at the edges.

Mei's mother takes the baby gently from your arms. 

"I will tell her everything. I promise."

You smile, or try to. You are not certain if your face is moving anymore.

"Thank you," you whisper. "For everything. For taking me in. For…"

"Hush now. Rest. You have done well."

You close your eyes. The last thing you feel is warmth, sunlight streaming through the window, or perhaps just the memory of warmth, of spring afternoons and stolen moments and a hand that always found yours first.

You slip away thinking of apple orchards.

XI

The weeks after he sends you away are quiet.

Caleb returns to his duties. He attends the court. He trains with the imperial guard. He sits through the imperial council meetings and says the right things at the right times.

He visits Mei's grave every third day, kneeling in the dirt, speaking to her headstone as if she might answer.

He does not visit your chambers. There is no reason to, they are empty now, but sometimes he finds himself walking that corridor anyway, his feet carrying him there out of habit before his mind catches up. He stops outside your door, hand half-raised, and stands there for a moment before turning away. He does not examine why.

Your maidservants have been dismissed or reassigned. The rooms are being cleaned and closed. A servant asks whether your personal effects should be packed and sent to the summer estate, and Caleb opens his mouth to say yes, then stops.

"Leave them," he orders. "Leave everything as it is."

He does not examine that either.

At night, he reaches across the bed in his sleep. His hand finds empty space where a body should be, and he wakes confused and grasping, unsure who he was reaching for.

He assumes it is Mei. It has always been Mei.

After her funeral, Caleb checks his wrist obsessively. Waiting for the sign, for the darkening that would tell him his great love had passed, but both names remained unchanged, clear, vibrant, exactly as they had been since he received them.

He did not understand. How could Mei be dead and his mark remain the same? He convinced himself it was a delay. That fate took time to register death, that eventually, the change would come and he would finally have confirmation that Mei was his great love.

Then, three months after Mei's death and your exile, he wakes one morning and sees it.

Mei's name has changed. It did not darken as he expected, it faded. The characters have turned grey.

Grey. The mark of a companion.

He stares at his wrist, and the world tilts beneath him. No. That cannot be right. 

Mei was his great love. She had to be. He loved her for years, pursued her, mourned her… But the marks do not lie.

If Mei's name is grey and she was his companion. Then that means…

He looks at your name. Still there. Still unchanged. Still shimmering.

The realization crashes over him. You. You were always the great love.

And suddenly, everything that felt wrong about Mei makes sense. The way his longing for her was always tinged with frustration, never peace.  The way she never quite fit into the space in his heart he tried to force her into. The way loving her felt like chasing something perpetually out of reach. Because she was not meant to be caught, she was the companion. The friend. The bridge.

And you.. He remembers the last words he said to you. I wish it had been you.

The memory hits him. He told you he wished you had died instead of Mei. He looked at you, pregnant with his child, grieving your closest friend, accused of murder by the entire court, and he told you he wished you were dead.

He sent you away while heavily pregnant with his child. He had known about your mother's difficult pregnancies. He had known, and he had sent you away regardless.

And Mei died protecting you. Protecting you and the child. That was her last act of love for you, drinking poison meant for you, sacrificing herself to save you both. And he repaid that sacrifice by exiling you. By telling you he wished you were dead. By sending you away when you needed protection most. When Mei would have wanted him to protect you.

"No." The word tears out of him. "No, no, no…"

He is running before he realizes it, shouting for servants, for guards, for horses.

"The summer estate," he gasps. "Ready a retinue. Now. We leave immediately."

"Your Highness, it is barely dawn…"

"Now!"

The ride takes three days. Three days of riding hard, stopping only when the horses must rest. Three days of Caleb checking his wrist obsessively, looking at your name, praying it does not darken. Praying he is not too late.

He will apologize. He will beg for forgiveness. He will tell you he was blind, that he was wrong, that he convinced himself Mei was his great love when you were standing beside him the entire time.

He will make this right. He has to make this right.

When he arrives at the summer estate, he dismounts before his horse has fully stopped. He strides through the entrance, calling your name.

Servants appear, looking confused. The head of the household, a middle-aged woman with stern features, bows low.

"Your Highness. We did not expect…"

"Where is she?" Caleb demands. "Where is my wife?"

The woman's confusion deepens. 

"Your Highness, she is not here."

The world stops.

"What do you mean she is not here? She was sent here several months ago. Where is she?"

"We received no such person, Your Highness. We received word that Her Highness would be coming, yes, but she never arrived."

Caleb's blood runs cold. 

"That is impossible. She was sent here. With guards. With servants. They were to deliver her safely…"

"We have seen no one, Your Highness."

He tears through the estate like a madman. He checks every room, every chamber, every corner. He finds nothing. No belongings. No sign you were ever there. He returns to the capital and summons the servants who escorted you. They kneel before him, trembling.

"Where is she?" His voice is deadly quiet. "Where is my wife?"

"We delivered her to the summer estate, Your Highness," the driver says. "We saw her enter…"

"Liar." Caleb's hand goes to his sword. "The estate says she never arrived. Where did you take her?"

"Your Highness, we…"

"WHERE IS SHE?"

The servants exchange glances. Fear is written on their faces, but beneath it, something else. Defiance. Loyalty to someone who is not him.

"You told us you would come when the child was born," one of the servants he brought from the estate finally speaks up. "You made it clear you did not wish to see her until then. We thought, when she did not arrive at the estate, we thought you had changed your mind. That you had made other arrangements."

"What other arrangements? Where is she?"

Silence.

"ANSWER ME!"

But the servants from the retinue he assigned you do not break. They kneel there, silent and stubborn, protecting your location even under threat of death.

Caleb wants to execute them all. He wants to torture the truth from them, but a part of him, the part that remembers Mei's sacrifice, that understands these servants cared for you more than he did, that part stops him.

"Get out," he says finally. "All of you. Get out of my sight."

They leave, and Caleb is alone.

He sends men to every province, every village, every corner of the empire. He offers rewards for information. He follows every rumor, every possible lead.

Every morning, he checks his wrist. Your name remains unchanged. This gives him hope, irrational, desperate hope. If you were dead, the mark would darken. It has to darken. That is how it works. So you must be alive. Somewhere. Hidden, angry with him, but alive.

He will find you. He will make this right.

Seven years pass. Seven years of searching. Seven years of checking his wrist every morning, seeing your name unchanged, telling himself you are still out there. Seven years of guilt and desperation and the faint, foolish hope that maybe, when he finds you, you will forgive him.

Then he sees her.

A little girl in a market by the countryside, six or seven years old, who looks exactly like you the first time he saw you in the orchards. She has your smile, your features, the way you tilt your head, but her eyes, her eyes are his, that distinctive imperial purple, and standing beside her is a woman who looks like an older Mei.

Caleb stops dead in the middle of the market. People flow around him, annoyed at the obstruction, but he cannot move. 

It is your daughter. Your daughter and his. The child you were carrying when he sent you away.

The woman holding the girl's hand looks up, and her face goes still when she sees him. She knows who he is, everyone knows the third prince by sight.

"You," Caleb says, and his voice is rough. "I need to speak with you."

The woman, Mei's mother, pulls the girl closer. 

"We have nothing to say to you, Your Highness."

"That child…"

"Is not your concern."

"She has my eyes. She is… she is mine." The words break. "Please. Please tell me where her mother is. I have been searching…"

"Her mother is dead." The woman's voice is flat. "She died giving birth."

Seven years. You have been dead for seven years, and his mark never changed. Your name is still there on his wrist, unchanged, as if you are still alive. But you are not alive. 

You have been dead for years, and the marks gave him no sign. No darkening. No confirmation. He checks his wrist again desperately. Your name is still there, still shimmering, still unchanged.

The marks are punishing him. They told him the truth about Mei but they refuse to tell him the truth about you.They leave your name unchanged, eternal uncertainty, no closure, no confirmation that you were his great love even though he knows, he knows you were.

"No," he whispers. "No, she cannot be... The mark is unchanged…" He sobs. "She cannot be…"

"She died in my home, far from you, far from the court that destroyed her and my daughter." The woman's eyes are hard. "She spent her last months in the same room my daughter grew up in. She named her baby after my Mei, and then she died, content that the child would be cared for."

"I tried to find her. Her servants would not tell me where they took her…"

"My daughter paid for them before she died. She made arrangements to keep your wife safe, to bring her here instead of your summer estate." Mei's mother's voice is sharp. "My Mei knew you would not protect her, so she did."

The words are a knife. Caleb stumbles, has to catch himself on a nearby stall.

"I need to see her." He reaches out, desperate. "Our daughter. Please let me…"

"You have no daughter." The woman pulls the girl behind her, shielding her. "You have an heir you never wanted, a wife you drove to death, and a legacy of cruelty. That is all you have."

The child, little Mei, peers around her grandmother's skirts, studying Caleb with curious eyes. 

"Who is he, Grandma?"

"No one important, darling. Come. We need to go home."

"Wait!" Caleb takes a step forward. "Please. I know I have no right to ask…but please. Let me know her. Let me… I can provide for her. I can give her everything. Education, a title, a place at court…"

"She has everything she needs here." The woman's voice is final. "She has a home, a family who loves her, a quiet life away from politics and from the court. Why would I give that up to send her to you?"

"Because I am her father."

"You are the man who got her mother pregnant and then cast her out while she was heavy with child. That is not a father. That is a stranger who shares her blood and nothing more." Mei’s mother softens slightly, pity flickering across her face. "Go home, Your Highness. Go back to your palace. We do not need you. We never needed you."

She takes the child's hand and walks away, disappearing into the market crowd. Caleb stands frozen for a long time. Then he makes his way to the nearest inn and requests a room.

That evening, a messenger arrives. He carries two letters, one from Mei, one from you.

Mei's letter is long, detailed. She explains everything, the marks, the truth about who loved whom and what she hoped would happen after she was gone. She apologizes for not telling him sooner, for letting him believe she might love him someday, for not having the courage to simply say no.

You and my lady were always meant to be together, she wrote. I was merely the bridge. I pray that my death will help you see what was always written on your skin.

Your letter is shorter, simpler. I forgive you. That is all. No recriminations, no anger, no long explanations, just forgiveness, simple and complete.

Caleb reads both letters three times, then he folds them carefully and places them in his robes, over his heart.

That night, he dreams of apple orchards. He sees you as a child, seven years old, stuck in a tree, afraid to come down. He lifts you onto his shoulders. You laugh. He sees Mei, nine years old, fierce and protective, swearing to always guard you. He sees himself, blind and foolish, chasing the wrong person while the right one stood beside him the entire time.

When he wakes, his face is wet with tears.

He sends letters to Mei's family. He sends money, gifts, offers of support. Everything is returned, unopened. He tries three more times to visit. Each time, he is politely but firmly turned away.

He will never see his daughter again. This is his punishment, and he accepts it.

The marks on his wrist remain unchanged, Mei's name in grey, your name still shimmering as if you live. 

He sees them every morning when he wakes, every evening when he undresses. They are a constant reminder of everything he failed to understand.

The absence of darkness on your name torments him more than any blackened mark could. It is a punishment worse than confirmation. It is eternal uncertainty, eternal hope that maybe, somehow, the marks are wrong and you are still alive somewhere. But you are not alive. 

You were his great love, and you are gone.

He never remarries. He never takes another concubine. He lives alone in his household, performing his duties, serving the empire, but never truly living again.

Sometimes, on quiet evenings, he takes out your letter and reads it again. I forgive you.

He does not forgive himself. He will carry that weight until the day he dies.

XII

The orchard is exactly as you remember.

Apple trees heavy with fruit, grass soft beneath your feet, sunlight filtering through the leaves in dappled patterns. The air smells of summer, earth and apple blossoms and something indefinably sweet.

You are wearing a simple robe, the kind you wore as a child. Your feet are bare and your hair is loose, unbound by pins or ornaments. You feel light, as if a great weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

"Hello."

You turn.

Mei is standing beneath an apple tree, smiling at you. She looks exactly as she did at sixteen, before the marks appeared, before the arrangement, before everything went wrong.

"Mei."

"Hello, my love." She holds out her hand. "I have been waiting for you."

You run to her. You do not walk nor do you maintain dignity or decorum. You simply run, and she catches you, and you bury your face in her shoulder and sob.

"I am sorry," you gasp between tears. "I am so sorry. I did not know…"

"Hush." Mei strokes your hair, her touch gentle. "There is nothing to apologize for."

"I asked you to stay with him. I made you..."

"You made me nothing." She pulls back, cupping your face in her hands. "I chose to stay. I chose to drink that poison. I chose everything, knowing what it would cost, because I loved you."

You stare at her, and finally, you let yourself understand.

"You were my great love."

"No." Mei's smile is sad as she shakes her head. "You were mine, but I was not yours."

"The marks…"

"Do not match perfectly. They never had to." Mei traces a finger down your cheek. "My great love was you. My companion was Caleb. Your great love was Caleb. Your companion was me. Each of us loving different people, bound together by fate but not identically."

"He was my great love." You say it aloud, testing the words. "Truly?"

"Yes, and you were his. You were both too busy looking elsewhere to see it."

You look at your wrists. The marks are gone. Your skin is bare.

"They fade after death," Mei explains. "They no longer matter here. What matters is what we carry in our hearts."

You take both her hands.

"I love you, Mei. Maybe not the same way you loved me, but I loved you. I love you still."

"I know." Mei's smile is infinitely tender. "And that is enough. It has always been enough."

You stand there in silence, holding hands beneath the apple tree. The question rises in your throat before you can stop it.

"Do you think we would have been happy? If I had chosen you instead?"

Mei is quiet for a long moment.

"I think we were happy together in this life, in our own way. We loved each other, supported each other, shared moments of joy even in the midst of sorrow." She squeezes your hands. "What we had was real. Messy and painful at times, but real. I would not trade that for some imagined perfect version."

"But I could have loved you better. If I had known…"

"You loved me as well as you could with the understanding you had. That is all anyone can do." Mei guides you to the base of the apple tree. You settle into the grass together, shoulders touching. "We are here now. Together. As we were always meant to be, in some way."

"Will we see Caleb again?"

"Eventually, when his time comes." Mei glances at you. "Do you want to?"

You consider this. 

Part of you wants to see him, to understand what he felt, what he wishes he had done differently, but part of you is afraid it will hurt all over again.

"I do not know," you admit.

"You have time to decide." Mei's voice is gentle. "This place is patient."

You sit in silence for a while, shoulders touching, listening to the wind move through the orchard. You think about Caleb, about the years he spent chasing Mei while you stood beside him, and you wonder if Mei ever resented being caught in the middle as much as you did.

Then Mei speaks, and her voice is different. Smaller and less certain.

"I was not always graceful about it. Loving you."

You turn to look at her.

"There were nights I hated you for not seeing me." She does not meet your eyes. "After he came to your chambers and you let him stay, after the Moon Festival, I lay in my room and thought terrible things. I thought, she knows. She has to know how I feel, and she simply does not care. I told myself you were selfish and blind and that I was a fool for staying."

Her hands are clasped tight in her lap.

"It passed. It always passed. By morning I would see you at breakfast, tired and sad and trying so hard to hold everything together, and the anger would dissolve, and all that remained was the wanting." She exhales. "But the resentment was there. I carried it alongside the love, and some nights, the resentment was louder."

You reach over and take her hands, uncurling her fingers.

"You are allowed to have been angry with me."

"I know, but I wanted you to hear it from me, not imagine me as someone who never struggled. I struggled. I raged. I wept into my pillow and cursed the marks and wished I had been born loving anyone else." Mei finally looks at you. Her eyes are bright. "And then morning would come, and you would smile at me, and I would think, oh, there you are, and it would start all over again."

You pull her close and hold her, and she lets you, and neither of you speaks for a long time. Then something shifts, a thought that has been circling the edges of your mind for longer than you want to admit finally settles where you can see it clearly.

"I did to you what he did to me."

Mei goes still beside you.

"Caleb kept me close but never truly saw me. He valued my presence but not my heart. He decided what I was to him before he ever asked." Your voice is steady, but your hands are not. "And I did the same thing to you. Every day. For years."

"That is not…”

"It is." You do not let her soften this. "You tried to tell me. In the kitchen with the herbs, you were telling me in the only way you had left, and I walked away. When you asked me for permission to refuse him, I said no, not because it was the right thing, but because it was easier for me. I made you carry his attention so I would not have to watch my marriage fall apart. I used you, Mei. The same way the arrangement used all of us, I used you."

Mei is quiet for a long time.

"You did not mean to."

"Neither did Caleb. He did not mean to overlook me. He was not cruel on purpose. He simply never questioned what he assumed." You turn to face her. "I never questioned either. I decided you were my companion and I stopped looking. I stopped asking what you needed, what you wanted, whether you were happy. I saw what was convenient and I never looked deeper."

"You were suffering too. You were trying to survive."

"So was he. That did not make it hurt less when he looked through me." You take her hands. "I am not asking you to forgive me. I am asking you to let me say this, because you deserve to hear someone name what was done to you instead of dressing it up as fate or duty or sacrifice."

Mei's composure fractures. It is small, a tremor in her jaw, the unshed in her eyes, but it is the most unguarded you have ever seen her.

"I waited a very long time," she whispers, "for someone to say that."

"I know. I am sorry it took me dying to get here."

A sound escapes her that is half laugh, half sob. She presses her forehead against your joined hands.

"You insufferable woman," she breathes. "Even now, you find a way to break my heart."

"I think that is what we do to each other. It seems to be our particular talent."

Mei finally laughs, wet and raw and real. You stay like that for a long time. Long enough for the trembling to stop. Long enough for the orchard to settle around you again.

When you finally pull apart, Mei wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, and the gesture is so ordinary, so human, that it makes your chest ache

"Tell me about my daughter," you say softly.

"She has a wonderful life. Bright and curious and loved. She grows up with her grandmother, learning to sew and tend the garden. She laughs often. She is happy."

Relief floods through you.

"Good. That is good."

"She looks like you, except for the eyes. Those are all Caleb."

You close your eyes. The orchard is peaceful, and safe, you could stay here forever.

"Mei?"

"Yes?"

"I am glad you are here. I am glad we have this."

"So am I.”

"Even when the marks fade?"

"Especially then. Because when the marks are gone, we know the love was never about what was written on our skin. It was about what we chose to give each other, day after day, even when it cost us everything."

Mei leans in and presses her lips to your forehead, soft and lingering.

"Rest now. You have been tired for so long. Rest."

So you do.

You rest in the orchard, in the place where your childhood lived, where your memories are sweetest.

You rest beside the girl who loved you more than you ever knew, who gave everything for you and never asked for anything in return.

And for the first time in forever, you sleep without grief.

The End

⚜ an: writing let the light in part two frustrated me so much because i can't get the angst right that i ended up focusing on this fic instead. this is also my first attempt writing an f/f fic so please be kind to me. as always your likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

⚜ tags: @seraphineash, @loreleis-world,@kingraspberry12-blog

the heat of the mid-noon always makes the wrapper stick to the cheap ice candy you’ve both bought from the corner store since you were kids. it’s a stupidly precise ritual—caleb rips the top off with his teeth, unfazed by the plastic cutting into his lip, and hands the half-melted orange block over to you before taking his own.

the walk back from granny’s nursing home is long enough for the initial heaviness of seeing her frail state to wear off, and it left just the familiar hum of the pavement and caleb’s shoulder occasionally brushing against yours.

“you're still wearing my grey hoodie,” caleb says, dropping his head back to blink up at the sun through the trees. “i almost got late to my class just looking for it.”

“wachu mean? it's mine now,” you take a bite of the ice candy, ignoring the brain freeze. “you left it on my bed months ago. soooo statute of limitations has passed.”

he snorts, shoving his free hand into his pocket. his stride is longer now, with a frame broader than it used to be when you first moved into the house, but the irritating tilt of his head is exactly the same. “that's not how the law works, kiddo. and for the record, it fits you like a fucking tent. it looks ridiculous.”

“it's comfortable.”

“it smells like you now, anyway. probably covered in whatever vanilla lotion you're obsessed with.” caleb stops mid-stride, turning his head to look down at you as a teasing smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “actually, did you shrink it? or did you just borrow it because you ran out of laundry day options again? also, right, i swear to god, if you're wearing my boxers as shorts around the house again, i’m putting a padlock on my dresser.”

you roll your eyes, but your heart does a small trip behind your ribs. “...it was one time. and they were clean! besides, they have a better drawstring than mine.”

“they're men's underwear, you absolute menace,” he laughs, an easy sound that vibrates in the space between you. “what is your future husband even going to say when he finds out you steal your brother's underwear?”

“you aren't my brother.” you make a popping sound on your ice candy.

“hmm, alright, baby sis.”

“and i'll tell my future hubby he has to share his clothes too, if he's half as dramatic as you, i'll just divorce him.”

“nah.” caleb leans in while still walking, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief. “whoever you marry is going to have to deal with me first. i’m going to be the worst brother-in-law in human history. i’ll show up at your house at two in the morning just to tell him all the embarrassing stories from when you were nine.”

“you wouldn't dare.”

“try me,” he suddenly reaches out and plants his thumb right against the corner of your lip, wiping away a stray drop of melting orange ice. his skin is warm, rougher than it used to be, and his thumb lingers for just a beat too long against your skin before he pulls it back. “you've got sticky stuff on your face, as usual.”

you blink, your throat suddenly feeling dry despite the ice candy. you look away first, focusing hard on the cracked pavement ahead. 

as you arrive back at home, the heavy front door clicks shut behind you, sealing out the heat and replacing it with the slightly hollow coolness of the house. without granny there, the air feels different—thicker, somehow, and much too big for just the two of you.

caleb dumps his keys on the entryway bowl with a loud clatter, already peeling off his sneakers with his feet without unlacing them. “god, i'm starving,” he walks straight toward the kitchen island, pulling a cutting board from the rack. “i'm making those wraps from the leftover chicken. you want one?”

”yeah,” you mutter, slumping against the kitchen counter, watching his broad back as he reaches into the fridge. he moves with the effortless familiarity of someone who owns every square inch of the space. he’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his forearms shifting as he grabs a knife and starts chopping lettuce like a husband material.

“hey, you watered the ferns by the window sill today, right? gran said they need a misting every morning or the leaves start turning yellow.” he says casually, not breaking his pace with the knife. 

silence...

your eyes darted toward the living room window where the row of clay pots sits under the harsh sunlight. the soil looks bone-dry. fuck, you completely forgot! again!

caleb pauses his chopping, “so you didn't.”

“i-i was going to!” you blurt out, immediately spinning on your heel to head toward the sink to grab the watering can. “i'm doing it right now, see? i just got distracted by the—”

“uh-uh. too late.” 

before your fingers can even touch the plastic handle of the watering can, a pair of heavy arms wraps around your waist from behind. caleb instantly lifts you clean off your feet! with a grunt of easy effort, he pivots, hoisting you over his shoulder like a literal sack of rice. the sudden rush of gravity sends your head rushing with your stomach pressing into his shoulder.

“you—?! caleb! put me down, you idiot!” 

“how many times do i have to tell you, pips? gran is literally going to haunt us from the nursing home if her pothos dies,” he grumbles, totally unfazed by your squirming as he marches into the living room. “this is the hundredth time this week. you have such a short-term memory.”

“i just forgot, okay?! let go!”

“nope. punishment.”

he dumps you unceremoniously onto the plush cushions of the couch. and before you can even scramble to sit up and escape, caleb instantly drops his weight over you, pinning your thighs down with his knees and digging his fingers straight into your ribs.

“caleb—no! stop! fuck, caleb, i'm sorry!” you shriek, throwing your head back into the pillows while your entire body convulses into a breathless laughter. you twist and writhe beneath him, but he’s too heavy, his hands finding every single ticklish spot along your waist.

“say you're sorry to the plants,” 

“i'm sorry! i'm sorry to them! i'll water them with my tears, just stop!” you gasp, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from laughing so hard. you try to push his chest, your hands sliding against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. but shit isn't he huge.

caleb just laughs, a breathlessly rough sound, and catches your wrists, pinning them over your head into the cushions. he traps you just to lean down so close you can smell the faint scent of the ice candy on his breath. it turns into a messy grunting wrestling match, your legs flailing against his hips as you try to dislodge him.

“aw, you're so weak,” he taunts, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours. “how are you gonna—”

but out of pure survival instinct, you wrench one leg free and drive your knee straight upward, landing a blunt kick into his stomach.

hiya!

“umf—!” a sharp intake of air cuts his laugh off, and his face contorts in genuine pain for a second, his grip tightening instinctively.

“oh my god, are you okay—?”

“you little brat,” out of sheer retaliation and to neutralize your defense, caleb reaches down and grabs your ankle in a vicelike grip. with a heavy shove of his forearm, he pushes your leg wide across the back cushion, effectively pinning your knees completely apart to lock you down.

what the fuck, wait.

the position is suddenly so intimate. 

you are open beneath him, legs spread wide and hips locked under his, and the sheer weight of his frame is utterly undeniable. it's annoying how your heart thumps violently against your ribs now—no, not from laughter, but it's from a dizzying wave of ...heat. 

but caleb is just blinking down at you, his chest still heaving from the exertion. his hand is still wrapped tightly around your ankle, fingers burning hot against your bare skin. he’s looking at your face with a slightly annoyed puff of air escaping his lips while he nurses his stomach with his other hand.

“you seriously fucking kick like a mule,” he mutters, ignoring—or totally oblivious to—the fact that he is holding you in a position that feels too inappropriate for two people who share a last name on an adoption certificate. but he doesn't let go. he just hovers there. “should i leave you like this till lunch is done?”

you force your voice not to tremble, swallowing down the dry lump of panic in your throat. “get the fuck off me, caleb. seriously. you’re being weird.”

caleb raises a brow, his head tilting to the side as he stares down at you. “weird? what's weird about this? the only thing weird here is that you just broke my ribs with your knee and you haven't even apologized.” he lets out a scolding click of his tongue, his hand tightening around your ankle just enough to remind you that you aren't going anywhere. “matter of fact, you need a punishment for that. you gotta learn your place, you little girl.”

“caleb, don't—”

before you can even finish the sentence, caleb leans down. without a hint of hesitation, he sinks his teeth straight into the soft flesh just below the hem of your shorts. 

your breath hitches sharply, the sudden sting of his teeth sending a jolt straight down your spine. and he bites down even harder! the pressure of his jaw leaving a deep, burning ache against your skin.

“okay! okay, fuck i'm sorry!” you whimper, hands clawing futilely at the couch cushions. “i'm sorry, caleb,”

he finally releases your skin, but the playful retort you're expecting doesn't come. 

he's strangely quiet. 

and for a second, it feels like there is something complicated inside his head. his eyes are unreadable as they track the red imprint of his teeth on your leg.

“caleb...?”

he leans in even closer, his shadow completely engulfing you. your eyes widen as he buries his face right into the crook of your neck while his nose brush against your collarbone.

what the hell is he doing? what is he pulling right now?

how can he be so comfortable doing this? how can he just occupy your space so ruthlessly while you're paralyzed like this beneath him?

you feel the warm puff of his breath against your bare skin as he takes an inhale. his nose slides lower, brushing past your jaw, trailing a path of goosebumps down to the heat of your chest before he takes another long sniff. you can feel the exact weight of his chest pressing into yours, the hard line of his thighs pinning you open.

but the sudden groan coming from him wakes you up. 

“knew it. you used my body wash again,” he finally pulls back, sitting up on his knees but still hovering over you. there's that familiar scowl returning to his face. “i knew i wasn't crazy. ugh you're really annoying, pipsss.”

ah. oh. alright.

that was it.

the suffocating knot in your chest uncoils, a wave of dizzying relief—and a bitter sting of disappointment—washing over you. it was just because of a body wash. not because he was looking at you differently. not because he felt the same pull that you did. it was just caleb being caleb.

“it smells better than mine,” you manage to choke out, forcing your voice back into its usual defensive cadence even as your heart refuses to slow down.

“buy your own.” he finally lets go of your ankle and pulls his weight off you. 

that was your life with caleb.

the house, once bursting at the seams with granny’s presence and the sweet smell of her liniment, suddenly feels too big for just the two of you. it's a stage built for a larger cast, yet only you and caleb remain to play house in the quiet.

every saturday morning is the same. you both pack her favorite soft biscuits into a tin container, ride the bumpy bus down to the bright walls of the nursing home, and sit by her bed. and then caleb would play the part of the dutiful grandson—smiling wide, kissing her paper-thin cheek, laughing at jokes she’s told a hundred times before. but then sunday night rolls around, and the silence settles back into the floorboards like dust.

then come the weekdays when college classes split your schedules into mismatched pieces. there are quiet mornings where you wake up to the smell of burnt toast and find a messy note scribbled on a napkin: leftover rice is mine, touch it and die. there are rainy afternoons where you sit alone in the living room, listening to the water hit the glass and wondering if his lecture ran late or if he’s simply loitering somewhere else.

then, your life with caleb became a collection of tiny petty wars fought in the shadows of granny’s absence. you steal his oversized socks because yours are all lost in the dryer. he retaliation-hides your favorite hair clips in the freezer. you scream at him for leaving his damp towel on the bathroom floor; he barks back at you for leaving the milk carton empty inside the fridge. it's the noisy camouflage you both wear so nobody looks too closely at the spaces where your skins accidentally linger, or the way his eyes track your movements when he thinks you aren't paying attention.

until the afternoon it breaks.

it happens on a tuesday, right in the crowded heat of the university's cafeteria hall. you're sitting across a guy from your major block, sharing a plate of fries and talking about a group project. it's entirely innocent, entirely mundane... but then a shadow falls over the plastic table, and you look up to find caleb standing there.

sliding into the seat right next to you, uninvited, he slung a heavy arm over the back of your chair and grinned a bright smile at your terrified classmate.

“so, who's the friend, (name)?” caleb had asked, and for the rest of the day, and all through the walk home, he had relentlessly poked at you. 

is he your boyfriend? 

does he know you still wet your bed? 

should i invite him over for tea so i can interrogate him?

he laughed and nudged your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief, but beneath the playful banter, there was... something else?

which brings you to friday night.

the old grandfather clock in the living room ticks with a rhythmic thud that echoes through the empty house. 

11:03 pm.

you're curled up on the edge of the sofa, the screen of your phone casting a blue glow across your face. you’ve already sent seven texts to him. you’ve called three times, each one going straight to voicemail, the robotic operator telling you what you already know: he isn't answering.

where the hell is he?

caleb never stays out this late without a word? he's the dependable one, the good boy who always sends a quick text to let you know if he's grabbing drinks with his friends or staying late at the library. but tonight, there is nothing. just the empty house and the sickeningly dark windows staring back at you. your chest feels tight, a heavy knot of anxiety twisting in your gut. is he with someone? did he finally decide to try his luck with one of the girls who always leave comments on his photos?

screech! 

you almost jumped out of your skin when the front gates sounded with a sudden noise, which means... caleb is finally home. 

seconds later, the main door unlocks with a clumsy, fumbling click. and when it swings open, caleb is standing in the threshold, the cool night air rolling in behind him. he looks like a complete mess with his varsity jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder, uniform shirt half-untucked, wrinkling out from beneath a dark hoodie.

you don’t even give him a chance to step fully inside before you cross the living room, your bare feet slapping angrily against the cold floorboards. “where the hell have you been? why didn't you text me back? i called you several times!”

caleb doesn't shoot back with his usual retort. instead, he just stands there, blinking down at you through slightly unfocused eyes. a slow, crooked smile creeps onto his face, looking incredibly stupid and entirely too relaxed. as he steps closer, the sweet-and-sour sting of alcohol hits your nose.

so he’s drunk.

“hey,” he mumbles, his voice thick and dropping an octave lower than usual. “you're still awake.”

“obviously i'm still awake! i was worried sick, you absolute—”

you couldn't even finish yourself before he suddenly tilts forward, his entire upper body collapsing right against your shoulder. your breath instantly gets knocked out of you as your arms instinctively fly up to catch him, fingers digging into the thick fabric of his hoodie. damn, he is heavy. the broad weight of his chest presses completely into yours, burying his face right into the crook of your neck as he lets out a long, hot sigh against your skin.

“did you drink? caleb, are you fucking serious?” you strain against his weight, your heart doing a panicked dance behind your ribs. “get off me! where did you even go?”

“just... a house party, some guys invited me. didn't check my phone.” he muttered into your shoulder. 

a sharp spike of jealousy and irritation then flares up in your gut. the thought of him surrounded by crowded rooms, flashing lights, and girls trying to get his attention makes you lose your temper. with a frustrated grunt, you plant both hands against his chest and shove him away with all the strength you have left, throwing him straight backward onto the couch cushions.

caleb hits the plush sofa with a heavy thud, his limbs sprawling out awkwardly. “fuck—!” he winces, a sharp groan slipping past his lips as he rubs his shoulder, glaring up at you through his messy hair. “what the hell? that actually hurt.”

“good! you deserve it!” you snap, crossing your arms tightly over your chest to stop your hands from shaking. “just because you’re in college and granny isn't here to monitor you doesn't mean you can just run around doing whatever you want! going to parties, drinking until you can barely walk... did you kiss someone? did you do something stupid? are you trying to get yourself kicked out?”

caleb just stares up at you from the cushions, his irritated expression suddenly melting away into an amused chortle. the sound rumbles deep in his throat, dark and dripping with that infuriatingly lazy charm.

“look at you,” he giggles, a breathlessly drunken sound as he throws his head back against the sofa. “you’re acting exactly like a mother. it’s hilarious.”

“i'm trying to look out for you, you idiot.”

“why do you even care so much?” caleb asks, his laughter suddenly cutting off. he rolls his head to the side, eyes locking onto yours. “it’s not like we're actually blood-related, pipsqueak. you don't have to keep tabs on me like i'm your real brother.”

the living room goes dead silent. 

the grandfather clock ticks loudly in the background, but the sound feels miles away. you freeze in place, your tongue suddenly turning to lead, your eyes wide as you blink down at him. not blood-related. well, it’s the absolute truth, the reality you both dance around every single day, yet hearing him say it out loud feels like a line has been... crossed. 

you swallow down the bitter taste of hurt and confusion, forcing your expression into a blank mask. “fine, do whatever you want. drink yourself to death for all i care.”

without waiting for a response, you spin on your heel and walk away. you march down the hallway, slip into your bedroom, and shut the door firmly behind you, clicking the lock into place before leaning your back against the wood. 

back in the living room, caleb stays exactly where you left him, staring up at the shadow-drenched ceiling.

the stupid smile completely vanishes from his face, replaced by a bitter twist of his lips. “ahah...” he runs a frustrated hand over his face, fingers dragging through his hair as he lets out a sharp exhale into the quiet house.

god, he hates it. he absolutely loathes the sibling label the two of you have used as a shield for the last ten years. he hates that the only way he can get you to look at him with that much intensity, the only way he can pull those reactions out of you, is by pretending to be the very thing he wishes he wasn't.

—

by the following week, the threads holding your carefully constructed reality together begin to fray and knot in ways you can't control. 

the afternoon sun is heavy and suffocating when you finally push the front gate of your house open after a brutal three-hour lecture block. your feet ache and your shoulders are stiff from carrying a backpack loaded with textbooks, and on top of that, your stomach is letting out an aggressive growl. the only thing keeping you moving up the driveway was the thought of caleb’s cooking. for all his agonizing flaws, the boy knew how to handle a kitchen and you were ready to swallow your pride if it meant getting a plate of his garlic rice.

you twist the doorknob, stepping into the familiar coolness of the entryway. “caleb, i'm starving, did you leave any—”

the words die in your throat.

the living room, usually your shared sanctuary of quiet television static and stolen snacks, is suddenly alive with noise. the tv screen flashes with the chaotic colors of a multiplayer racing game with the volume cranked up high. and there, sitting cross-legged right on the carpet across the floor, are two people.

caleb is leaning forward, jaw tight with mock seriousness as his thumbs fly across the controller, and right next to him... is hyeran.

you know exactly who she is. she’s in the same year and department as caleb’s, one of those effortlessly pretty girls who always seem to be at the center of caleb’s university friend group, laughing a little too loudly at his jokes by the campus benches. right now, she’s screaming in frustration, her shoulder bumping solidly into caleb’s as her car spins out on the screen. in response, caleb throws his head back, letting out a boisterous laugh that you rarely hear him share with anyone outside these walls.

the sudden clatter of your keys hitting the entryway bowl cuts through the noise like a knife.

caleb and hyeran pauses mid-game, turning their heads simultaneously to look at you standing there in your wrinkled uniform. 

shit. this is fucking awkward.

“oh! hey, pips!” caleb doesn't scramble up or look guilty; he just offers a lazy wave of his controller. “you're home early. lecture got cut short?”

“uh, yeah,” you force out, your throat feeling suddenly tight as you grip the straps of your backpack. you adjust your expression, plastering on a polite smile that feels completely hollow against your cheeks. “hi, hyeran.”

“hi, (name)! oh my gosh, sorry for the noise,” hyeran chimes in, offering a warm smile that makes your stomach do a bitter flip. she looks so perfectly at home sitting on your living room rug, her canvas bag spilled open near granny’s favorite armchair. “your big bro told me i could borrow his notes, and then trapped me into playing this stupid game.”

you blink.

he isn't my fucking big bro.

“don't lie, you wanted the rematch,” caleb jests, nudging her with his elbow. 

“i'm just going to... grab a snack.” you mutter, desperately needing a barrier between yourself and the display on the floor.

you walk past them, your eyes locked firmly ahead as you retreat behind the kitchen island counter. the kitchen layout is an open-concept, completely overseeing the living room, meaning there is nowhere to hide. you can see everything. to keep your hands busy and stop them from shaking, you pull a bowl of apples and a small paring knife toward you.

you begin peeling the fruit, the sharp blade slicing through the red skin in one continuous ribbon.

“caleb mentioned you're still a freshman, right?” hyeran asks, twisting her torso around to lean against the edge of the sofa, looking up at you over the counter with curiosity. “how is it? 'cause when i was in your shoes, i can baaaarely handle the workload.”

“it's fine. just a lot of memorization,” you cut a slice of the apple, popping it into your mouth and chewing. “you just have to manage your time. which some people in this house clearly don't know how to do.”

“hey, i heard that. (name) loves to pretend she's the responsible one, hyeran. don't let the uniform fool you. she literally forgot to water granny's plants thrice last week.” caleb interjects, not looking back as he unpauses the game.

“it was only once, you liar.” 

“whatever helps you sleep at night, sis.” 

hyeran giggles, turning back to the screen as the countdown for the next round starts. “you two really argue like real siblings, it's so cute. my brothers just ignore me.”

siblings. there it is again. that stupid, suffocating word.

you stand behind the counter, a half-peeled apple in one hand and the paring knife in the other, then you look at caleb. 

he’s doing this on purpose, is he? you know him too well not to see the edge beneath his playful demeanor. he’s showing you what life looks like when he plays by the rules you both set—the rules that say he is just a brother, and that he is perfectly free to bring other girls into the house you share.

caleb and hyeran continue to play the last few rounds of the game, their voices rising in cheerful bursts of laughter that fill the empty space where granny used to be. and you can only stand there, chewing on your tasteless fruit, staring at the back of caleb’s head with a sarcastic scowl.

this little bitch.

if this is the game, then you're going to be a better player.

if caleb wants to play a game of boundaries, you are going to show him exactly how it feels to have the board flipped. two can play the petty game of bringing people into a space where they don’t belong. if he can bring his shiny giggling friend into the living room, then you are going to give a certain someone else the time of day.

the very next morning, you seek out valko.

valko is the kind of blockmate who has spent the last semester treating your existence like a personal challenge. he’s loud, entirely too confident, and has spent months throwing flirty remarks your way—advances you’ve always shot down with a sharp roll of your eyes or a cold shoulder. so when you walk straight up to his desk before the morning lecture, leaning against the wood and offering a small smile, the confusion on his face was almost comical.

“you're... talking to me? no biting remarks? no telling me to get lost?” valko's eyebrows shot up as he stops shuffling through his tablet. 

“maybe i'm just tired of being mean,” you say smoothly, tilting your head in a way you know looks casual, though your pulse is racing for an entirely different reason. “can't a blockmate just be friendly?”

valko isn’t a fool, but he’s certainly not going to complain about a sudden miracle. by the time the final bell rings at four in the afternoon, he’s already dangling his car keys between his fingers, blocking your path out of the lecture hall with a triumphant grin. “hey, since we're being friendly now, (name), let me give you a ride home. the clouds look heavy anyway. don't want you catching a cold.”

you hesitate for a fraction of a second, thinking of the dusty pavement and the walk you usually take, but then you picture caleb’s stupidly smug face from yesterday. “sure!” you say clearly, loud enough for a few surrounding classmates to hear. “thanks, valko.”

the walk to the student parking lot earns you exactly what you wanted: stares. a lot of them. whispers ripple through the department cliques as you slide into the passenger seat of valko’s surprisingly clean sedan. word travels fast on campus, and you know for a fact that caleb’s friends hang around the same smoking area right outside the parking exit.

the drive to your house is filled with the low hum of the air conditioner and valko’s easy chatter. but as the car finally pulls up along the familiar front gates of your house, the atmosphere inside the vehicle turns... awkward. 

valko cuts the engine, his hands lingering on the steering wheel as he looks at the closed facade of the house. “so,” valko clears his throat, his eyes darting toward the front door. “your, uh... your big brother. caleb. is he home?”

you blink, “probably. why?”

valko lets out a short laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “nnnothing, it's just... that guy is terrifyingly annoying. i saw that hunk staring at me in the cafeteria last week like he wanted to fuckin' dissect me. i don’t really fancy getting my head bitten off just because i drove his little sister home.”

you let out a breathless chuckle, the word sister grating against your nerves like sandpaper. you reach for the door handle, turning back to look at valko. “you don't have to worry about him, valko. and for the record... caleb and i aren't real siblings. we're not blood-related at all. his granny just took me in.”

valko’s eyebrows twitch upward, a sudden glint of renewed interest lighting up his eyes. “oh. seriously? huh. i didn't know that.”

“yep! well. thanks for the ride,” you say, pushing the car door open and stepping out into the humid afternoon air.

but valko doesn't just let you leave. he rolls down the passenger side window immediately, leaning over the console to keep the thread of the conversation tightly pulled. “hey, (name), wait—so if he's not your actual brother, does that mean i don't need his permission to take you out for real next time?”

valko cheekily smiles.

you idle right outside his side of the window, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag, keeping your expression light and teasing even as your eyes instinctively drift toward the glass of the living room window. “maybe, haha, you'll just have to ask nicely...”

“pipsqueak!”

the familiar shout cuts through the air. you immediately turn your head toward the source, only to see caleb jogging down the sidewalk toward the driveway with a bright smile splitting his face. before you can even process what he's up to, he closes the distance, throws his heavy arms around your waist, and lifts you clean off the asphalt.

he spins you around in a breathlessly joyful circle, his laughter vibrating hard against your chest.

“caleb! what's up? put me down!” you frown in utter confusion, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. inside the sedan, valko’s eyebrows knit together, his frown deepening by the second.

“you know what's up?” caleb sets you back down but doesn't let go. his large hands stay clamped firmly onto your upper arms, his eyes wide and gleaming with pure excitement. “we won, pips! our team won the interschool championship game!”

and because of that, the bitterness from the past week evaporates. your eyes light up, a wide smile breaking across your face. “oh my god, seriously? that’s amazing!”

“i know!” he laughs, pulling you back into an another tightly crushing hug. like he's using you as a lightning rod for all his manic energy, burying his face in your hair and all that. 

thwack!

the car door behind caleb suddenly flies open, the heavy edge of the metal panel smacking squarely into his lower back.

“ah—” caleb winces, a sharp groan escaping him as he stumbles forward, forced to break his hold on you. he wheels around, eyes instantly hardening into something cold when valko steps out of the sedan.

“oops, sorry about that, mate,” valko grins, pulling his lips into an awkward one. “i didn't see you standing right in the swing of the door. anyway-uh, i'm valko, (name)'s blockmate.”

caleb straightens up to his full height, his broad shoulders squaring as he looks at the guy. the warm, golden-boy smile he gives valko is entirely rigid. “right, valko. i've heard. what brings you to our driveway?”

“just driving (name) home from campus,” valko replies, matching caleb’s forced courtesy. “and making sure she got back safe. well... you must be the big brother she mentioned.”

“something like that,” 

“uhm, valko was just—” you stepped between them to clear up the mounting friction, but valko cuts you off completely.

he looks caleb straight in the eye, tilting his chin up. “actually, since you're here, i think it's only fair to tell you directly. i've decided i'm going to start courting (name).”

“cough, what?”

what?

both you and caleb widen your eyes, the world going dead silent.

“and honestly, man,” valko adds, crossing his arms and offering a smug tilt of his chin before either of you can even draw breath, “you probably shouldn't be hugging her too easily like that anymore. since, you know, i’m going to start dating her.”

you internally facepalm so hard your brain rattles. oh my god. what did you just get yourself into? valko had completely, catastrophically misread the entire situation. he thought he was playing the part of the chivalrous alpha suitor, oblivious to the fact that he was currently standing in a radioactive strike zone.

but then, a part of your brain clicks into gear. you wanted a reaction out of caleb, didn't you? you wanted to wipe that infuriatingly smug, "i-can-bring-girls-to-the-house" look off his face. maybe this trainwreck of a misunderstanding was exactly what you needed.

you let out a sigh, turning away from caleb to face valko with a perfectly practiced look. “it's fine, valko. caleb is just... a guy i grew up with. really. nothing else. just two kids who happened to live under the same roof.”

valko blinks, processing this, his chest puffing out a little more. “so... like childhood friends?”

“yeah!” you nod quickly, your tone a little too casual and a little too dismissive. “yeah, exactly. childhood friends. that's the perfect way to describe us.”

from the corner of your eye, you feel the exact moment caleb’s gaze burns into the side of your face. you glance up at him, and sure enough, he is staring down at you with a sarcastic scowl—the exact, burning, “this-little-bitch” look you had given him behind the kitchen counter yesterday. the silent, petty warfare is screaming between you two.

valko, blind to the silent daggers being thrown over his head, scoffs and shakes his head. “right. childhood friends. uh, honestly, i don't really buy that whole thing. there’s no way a guy and a girl can just be friends without something else going on. it’s usually just an excuse to keep someone within arm's reach.”

your heart does a nervous, jittery little skip. you quickly scramble to patch up the defense before valko digs too deep into the truth. “no, it's not like that at all! caleb is... he's like a brother to me. we're basically siblings.”

“but we... aren't siblings though.”

caleb’s voice cuts through your sentence like a blunt blade.

you freeze, your tongue going dry as you slowly pause and look up at him.

“i'm not your brother, (name).” 

what the actual hell is he talking about?

your hands go hot and sweaty against your side. this is the exact same guy who, just a few days ago while dead drunk, threw the “not blood-related” card in your face to push you away and tell you to mind your own business. he was the one reinforcing the stupid label, using it as a shield to bring other girls around—and now, right in front of the guy who just announced he wants to court you, he’s arguing the exact opposite?

you stand there completely wordless, the nervous jittery tension tight enough to snap. valko shifts his weight across caleb, looking suddenly confused by the sudden shift in the air, but caleb doesn't even glance back at him.

he keeps his eyes entirely on you.

valko clicks his tongue.

“right,” he blurted out, deliberately stepping sideways to cut off caleb’s line of sight and forcing his way back into your field of vision. “anyway! you look kind of... tight right now, (name), like your shoulders are up to your ears. there's that street-food stall down the block that sells those pork dumplings. why don't we go grab a plate? my treat. it'll help you unwind.”

your brain, currently fried from caleb, scrambles for a normal human response. “oh—uh, dumplings? i mean, i guess i could—i mean, sure, that sounds—”

“‘oh—uh, dumplings? i mean, i guess i could-’” caleb instantly parroted, his voice pitching into a ridiculous falsetto that sounded absolutely nothing like you. he slouched his shoulders, batting his eyelashes in a grotesque mimicry of modesty that made your fist twitch. “‘i guess i could eat a little dumpling, valko!’”

valko raised a brow.

“caleb, shut up!” 

“i'm just saying,” caleb hummed at you, casually sliding his hand into his pocket to pull out his phone. his thumb swiped across the screen with a smirk. “i should probably just dial up gran's unit real quick. let the nursing staff hold the receiver up to her ear so i can tell her that her precious adopted granddaughter is already out here in the driveway, ignoring her chores, just to eat cheap meat down the street with random guys from the university.”

he tilted his head, giving you a look of fabricated pity. 

“man, she’s going to get reeaaally upset, pips. you know how her blood pressure gets when she finds out you're being irresponsible.”

“you wouldn't dare!” you gasped, your lungs seizing up. granny loved you, but she was a traditional woman who would absolutely launch a long-distance lecture about decorum through the phone lines if caleb fed her some twisted version of reality. “give me that!”

you lunged forward, throwing your weight against his side as you reached wildly for the device. but caleb had been anticipating the movement since the moment you took a breath. with a delighted chuckle, he simply straightened his spine, extending his long arm straight up into the air. because he had grown nearly a foot taller than you over the last three years, the phone might as well have been on the roof of the house.

“come on, grab it, pipsqueak,” he was solid as a brick wall! his chest vibrating against your forehead as he laughed down at your frustration. “you’re too short it's embarrassing.”

“caleb, i swear to god, drop your arm right now or i will kick you again!”

“hey, (name).”

you paused, breathless and flushed, looking back over your shoulder. valko had stepped closer, his expression a mix of irritation at being ignored and a tryhard desire to look like the savior of the narrative. before you could scramble away from caleb's side, valko reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around your right wrist.

“don't worry about him,” valko said, giving your wrist a soft, encouraging tug toward the open street. “come on, let's just go get the food. ignore the noise.”

the physical touch sent a strange jolt of awkwardness through you, and you instinctively took a step forward, your shoes clicking against the pavement while valko started walking you down the street.

snap.

a second basket of heat clamped down around your left wrist.

you blinked in utter surprise, your head whipping back around so fast your neck cracked.

caleb had also... wrapped his fingers around your opposite wrist. your right arm was pulled toward valko; your left arm was locked tight by caleb. you were literally being pulled in two different directions like a wishbone.

you stared at caleb, your heart doing a series of unpredictable thuds against your ribs. “what is up with you today, caleb...?”

“what?” he murmured, giving your arm a tiny, playful yank back toward his chest. “i want to eat dumplings too.”

—

and then, there you were. 

the plastic stool beneath you wobbles every time someone passes the cramped table, but that's the least of your concerns. the air inside the tiny stall feels thick with the steam of boiling pork broth and the sting of chili oil. meanwhile, you're squeezed into the center of a very narrow wooden bench, a literal buffer zone between two opposite poles.

to your right is valko, leaning his elbow on the table and entirely absorbed in trying to keep your attention locked on him. then, to your left is caleb. he hasn't uttered a single syllable since you all sat down, choosing instead to stare ahead like a brooding gargoyle while a single plate of steaming dumplings sits between the three of you.

“no, seriously, (name),” valko shakes his head with a wide grin while he dips a dumpling into a small saucer of soy sauce. “professor actually looked me dead in the eye during the anatomy practical. i swear the man has a personal vendetta against me.”

you let out a breathless laugh. “maybe if you didn't sketch caricatures of him, he’d give you some grace.”

valko chuckles back, his shoulder nudging yours beneath the cramped table space. “hey, that was art. it showed appreciation for his eyebrows.”

slurrrrrp. smack. clack.

the sudden loud sound of chopsticks scraping against a plastic bowl cuts right through your shared laughter.

you blink, your head snapping toward the left side of the bench. caleb has his face nearly buried in his bowl as he takes a dripping piece of garlic-chili cabbage, shoves it into his mouth, and smacks his lips together with an obnoxious noise.

valko's grin falters slightly, his eyes darting over your head toward caleb. but caleb doesn't even look back. he just reaches across the small table, his long arm deliberately cutting off valko's view of you, and stabs another dumpling with such unnecessary force that the wrapper splits open with a wet pop.

“anyway,” you say quickly, your cheeks turning a frantic shade of pink as you try to steer the conversation back before caleb derails the establishment. “so... did you fail the practical or what?”

“uh, no, i managed a passing grade," valko says, clearing his throat and trying to ignore the absolute menace sitting next to you. “but after that, i had to spend two hours in the library just trying to—”

crunch. crunch. crunch.

caleb has now unearthed a bag of fried pork rinds from his pocket, snapping them between his teeth with a crunch. he leans back against the wooden bench, long legs splayed wide under the tiny table—his knee bumping solidly against yours with an insistence that makes you grind your teeth.

you glare at him, this little bitch is doing this on purpose.

caleb finally rolls his head over to look down at you. he takes another obnoxious bite of a pork rind, chewing it open-mouthed while raising a mocking eyebrow at you, like he was daring you to say something about it in front of your new suitor.

valko clears his throat, determined to plow through caleb's warfare like a true soldier of romance. he leans in a little closer, voice dropping into what he clearly thinks is an intimate tone. “so, anyway... since the weather's supposed to be nice this weekend, i was thinking maybe we could head down to that new cafe by the harbor? the one with the outdoor seating? we could—”

shrrrrrk!

caleb hooks his shoe around the bottom rung of your stool and, with one casual yank of his leg, slides your entire body a whole foot to the left. you instantly collide with his side, your shoulder smacking right against his solid bicep.

“what the...” you gasp, your hands flying out to grip the edge of the greasy table so you don't tip over.

but caleb doesn't even look up from his plate. he casually scoops up the last dumpling, pops it into his mouth, and speaks around it with unbothered calm. “hurry up and finish eating. we have to get back. we still have to feed our pet.“

you blink, your eyebrows nearly disappearing into your hairline. “since when do you care about the turtle?”

“i've always cared about him,” caleb turns his head to look down at you. “he's a vital member of the household.”

“i'm the only one who ever feeds him? you haven't touched his pellet container since 2024.”

“people change, sis. i've formed a bond with him over the last twenty-four hours,” caleb hums, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as his knee bumps against yours under the table again. “and right now, he's starving. we're being bad parents. so eat.”

meanwhile, valko sits on the right side of the table, his mouth slightly open. he looks at your stool, which is now physically closer to caleb than it is to him, and lets out a long defeated breath through his nose. he clearly wants to argue, but trying to debate the nutritional schedule of a reptile with a guy who looks like he could bench-press the entire dumpling stall seems like a losing battle.

so the poor guy chooses to remain quiet. 

—

the very second the lock of the house clicked shut, your polite “public” face melted completely away, and you turned into a breathing volcano. “you are an actual child, caleb!” you started prattling instantly, tossing your heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. your words tumbled out in a rush as you kicked off your shoes. “seriously, what was that? pulling my stool? making those obnoxious caveman noises? you were being a weirdo and an annoying prick for absolutely no reason. i feel so bad for...”

you spun around to give him a piece of your mind, but you paused.

there caleb was, leaning lazily against the doorway with his big arms crossed over his chest. he was staring down at you with a massive sarcastic scowl. ugh! he even had the nerve to look at you like youwere the one who had just ruined a perfectly good dumpling date over the turtle! 

you mirrored his posture, locking your arms tight and tilting your chin up. “don't look at me like that. what is your actual problem today?”

instead of snapping back, a slow little smirk began to crawl onto caleb's face. oh, he was loving this. this was his absolute favorite game in the world, and you had just walked right into his trap. wordlessly, he unclipped himself from the doorframe and took a deliberate step toward you. and then another.

you instinctively took a step back, but clack—your hips hit the hard edge of the open kitchen counter. 

you were cornered.

“my problem?“ now, caleb loomed over you, placing one palm on the counter right next to your waist to trap you in his shadow. “i don’t have a problem, pipsqueak. i was just being a protective big bro to you. isn’t that the label we chose?”

“protective? you looked like a lunatic!” you fired back, your face turning a furious shade of pink. “you were intentionally trying to ruin my conversation! for your information, you don't own me, caleb. if i want to go out and get dumplings with valko, i am allowed to.”

“with him?” caleb let out a chuckle, leaning down an inch closer until you could feel the warmth of his body. he was utterly enjoying how flustered and mad he was making you. “come on, the guy looks like he struggles with basic math. his hair looks like a bird nested in it. you seriously have zero taste.”

“huh, at least he doesn't bring random girls into our living room to scream at video games all afternoon! you had hyeran over here yesterday behaving like she owns the couch. if you can do stuff like that, why can't i?”

caleb’s smirk grew even wider, a quiet triumph gleaming in his eyes. ah, his face seemed to say, so that’s what this is really about.

“oh, so you were watching us from behind the counter,” he nudged his knee playfully against yours, anchoring you against the wood. “were you jealous, pips? is that why you let the car guy drive you home? because if you wanted to play video games with me that badly, all you had to do was ask nicely, you know?”

ah.

you had reached your absolute limit with caleb’s bottomless well of confidence. you were sick and tired of always being the one pressed against the woodwork, left all breathless and flushed while he got to stand there looking like the smartest boy in the whole wide world. you wanted the tables to turn so desperately that you could taste it, even if it meant playing a very dangerous game with your own silly little heart.

so, with a sudden narrowing of your eyes, you did something unpredictable.

yank!

your fingers reached out like little lightning bolts, wrapping tight around the fabric of caleb’s collar and pulling him downward with all your might.

oh, you should have seen his face. the teasing fool was caught off guard. his grand smirk evaporated into thin air, and a ragged little breath hitched right in the back of his throat. for the first time in a while, his polished exterior cracked into a million tiny pieces. 

you didn't dare break eye contact. you leaned in just a millimeter closer, your voice dropping into a mocking whisper. “what's the matter, caleb? not so talkative now? where did all that big, brave mouth go?”

poor caleb’s brain had gone into emergency mode. inside his broad chest, his heart was drumming a frantic—thump-thump, thump-thump—so loud and violent that you could practically feel the vibration through his shirt. his large hand, still planted on the kitchen counter beside your waist, gripped the polished wood so tightly that his knuckles turned so white, as if he were holding onto the edge of a cliff to stop himself from falling over—or worse, from reaching out and grabbing you back.

seeing your victory, you decided to push your luck just a little bit further. your hand slowly traveled up from his collar, your fingertips tracing an agonizing path up the side of his warm neck, before your thumb gently tapped the very edge of his earlobe.

“look at that. for someone who acts so cool, your ears are so bright red.”

caleb swallowed hard, his throat bobbing up and down as he gulped down the dry air. 

“you're such a hypocrite,” you mocked him one last time, giving his collar a playful shake. “always talking so much shit, but the second someone plays back, you freeze right up.”

and just as quickly as you had caught him, you planted both of your hands squarely against his hard chest and gave him a mighty shove.

whoosh!

caleb actually stumbled backward a couple of steps, his long legs flailing for a second before his feet caught the floorboards. he quickly cleared his throat—ahem, ahem—and rubbed the back of his neck.

“uh—wow,” he tries to forcefully laugh it off and turn the tension back into a silly joke. “okay, crazy lady. i- you nearly bit my nose off—”

“shut up and go jerk off to your notes, caleb.” you shot back over your shoulder.

caleb instantly went wide-eyed, letting out a dramatic cough—gack!—as he choked on his own saliva at the sheer obscenity of your remark.

you spun on your heel and marched happily down the hallway, slipping into your bedroom and clicking the lock shut with a very satisfied smile on your face, leaving the poor boy all alone in the quiet kitchen to figure out exactly what the hell had just happened to him.

serves him right.

—

and so, the great war officially began.

if you were going to be shameless about using valko as your personal human shield against your own confusing feelings, then caleb was going to be a thousand times more shameless about turning your life into a living cartoon. he became an absolute ghost in the machine, a walking disaster zone that magically appeared whenever valko so much as breathed in your direction.

on wednesday, you and valko were sitting on the low stone wall by the university quad, sharing a bag of salty chips. valko was leaning in close, his voice dropping into that tryhard smooth register again while he reached for a chip. thwack! out of absolutely nowhere, a round and suspiciously aerodynamic pebble shot through the leaves of the old oak tree, striking valko squarely in the middle of his forehead.

“ow! what the—” valko hissed, rubbing his brow as he looked around wildly.

far across the grass, standing by the sports locker rooms, caleb was casually tossing a basketball up and down in the air. he wasn't even looking at you. he was whistling a cheerful little tune, entirely innocent, though his vertical aim had been precise enough to deserve a gold medal.

on thursday, valko tried to walk you to your lab, proudly carrying your heavy medical dictionary like a true knight in shining armor. but as you rounded the corner of the science building, caleb suddenly materialized from the shadow of the vending machines. he didn't say a word to valko though. he just walked straight between the two of you like a giant solid wall, his broad shoulder subtly but violently checking valko to the side.

“oh, sorry, mate,” caleb hummed, reached down, and snagged the heavy book right out of valko’s hands before the guy could even blink. “my (name)'s got a weak spine, you know. family history. i always carry her books. thanks for holding it, though!” and just like that, he marched off, flipping through the pages of your textbook without a single care in the world.

it was a relentlessly ridiculous game of tag, a noisy circus meant to keep the terrifying gravity of that kitchen counter argument from swallowing you both whole. as long as caleb was throwing rocks and stealing books, he didn't have to think about his bright red ears, and you didn't have to think about his racing heartbeat.

until friday afternoon arrived, and the playful music finally... stopped.

the sky was the color of bruised slate when valko’s sedan pulled up along the front gates of your house. the engine let out an idling purr against the quiet pavement. you stepped out of the passenger side, but you didn't immediately walk toward the door. instead, you lingered by the open window, your shoulders slouched and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth in a rare display of genuine defeat.

today, you had failed the major quiz. 

you had studied until three in the morning, your eyes burning under the harsh blue light of your phone, only to see an ugly red circle at the top of your paper. the exhaustion and the disappointment were sitting heavy on your chest, and it felt so fucking awful. 

“hey,” valko seemed to catch on it, pushing his car door open and stepping out onto the asphalt beside you. he looked at your downcast face, his usual arrogant confidence softening into something genuinely concerned. “come on, (name). don't look like that. it's just one quiz. prof is a sadist anyway, everyone struggled.”

“i didn't just struggle, valko. i choked,” you muttered, staring down at the tips of your dirty shoes. “i'm supposed to be the responsible one. granny’s paying for these blocks, and i can’t even remember the difference between cellular necrosis and apoptosis when the timer's ticking.” 

saying that now, it kind of makes you laugh a bit.

but little did you know, behind the glass of the living room window, a pair of eyes was watching.

caleb stood in the shadows of the house, his arms hanging loose at his sides as he looked through the pane. he had been waiting for you. he had already cleared the kitchen counter, ready to cook whatever ridiculous comfort food you wanted to cheer yourself up after a long week. but now, he was frozen. he watched the way your lower lip trembled, the way your fingers nervously twisted the strap of your bag. he knew that exact look on your face. he knew the precise flavor of your sadness because he had been the one to hold your hand through every failed exam and scraped knee since you were seven years old. every protective instinct in his body screamed at him to open the front door, to run down the driveway, to scoop you up and carry you inside where it was safe.

but he didn't move, because he didn't have the right to.

“hey,” valko murmured again, stepping closer. “hey, look at me.”

and you looked up, your eyes wide and vulnerable. before your brain could even process the movement, valko reached out. his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling your smaller frame firmly against his chest in a sudden hug meant to chase the cold away.

your body went stiff as a board against his jacket, hands dangling awkwardly at your sides. you hadn't expected it, maybe because... you hadn't wanted him to do it.

inside the house, behind the glass, caleb saw it. of course he did.

the sight of another man's arms holding you—the sight of you standing perfectly still in the driveway while someone else tried to soothe your tears—rubbed bitterly against him.

it was one of those moments again, those moments when caleb couldn't summon a single sarcastic remark. couldn't pull out a smirk. couldn't even pretend to be angry. it was just a thick and suffocating wave of unadulterated possessiveness and grief washing over him.

his jaw tightened, throat bobbing heavily as he gulped down a painful breath. his hand, which had been resting lightly against the edge of the curtain, suddenly convulsed, his fingers tearing into the fabric. he couldn't look at it. he physically and mentally could not bear to see another second of you belonging to someone else, even for a fleeting moment of comfort.

with a jerk of his arm, caleb yanked the heavy curtains shut, sealing out the afternoon light and plunging the living room into darkness.

caleb blinked several times, trying to catch his breath, trying to keep himself calm, trying to stay where he's at and remove the ugly thoughts of doing something to that red-haired guy. 

the living room was supposed to be a hiding place, but the walls inside granny's house had grown far too narrow to hold himself. his chest heaved, and his feet simply refused to stay glued to the floorboards. and the rationality he always wore like a freshly ironed uniform eventually disintegrated, leaving nothing but an itch that dragged him back toward the door.

it swung open with a bang that cut right through the hum of valko’s idling engine.

immediately, your head whipped around at the noise, your eyes still wide and startled from the sudden weight of valko's arms around you. but before you could even draw enough breath to call his name, caleb was already down the concrete steps. 

with a sudden jerk of his forearm, caleb reached out and grabbed the shoulder of valko’s jacket, yanking the guy backward with enough force to break his hold on you. 

“did she say yes to you?” caleb asked, “are the two of you officially dating right now?”

valko blinked, thoroughly bewildered and rattled by this guy's audacity. “no, we aren't, but i'm—”

“then you don't have any right to touch her like that,” caleb cut him off, his voice flat and freezing cold. “you don’t get to wrap your arms around her if she hasn't given you permission to be there. it's rude. it’s completely out of line.”

valko let out an incredulous scoff, the sheer persistence of caleb’s interference finally pushing past him. he took a step forward, tilting his chin up until he was staring directly into caleb’s face. he finally found the courage to say what he’d been thinking for weeks. “are you serious right now? what is your actual problem, caleb? what are you even to her?”

you blinked and looked up at valko. 

“you’re always... hovering. you’re always throwing things, always splitting us up, always acting like you own the ground she walks on. you said you aren't her brother. she said you aren't siblings. so what exactly is your deal? what are you to her?” 

caleb’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. 

so valko saw the break in the armor, and he drove the blade right through the crack. “do you like her?” 

at that, your heart did a leap behind your ribs, the blood rushing to your ears so loudly it drowned out the noise of everything else. you desperately and subconsciously wanted to hear the syllables leave his lips, to know if the pull you’d been drowning in was something he was drowning in too. 

what is he going to say? why isn't he saying anything?

but caleb couldn't answer.

he knew you were staring at him. he could probably feel the exact weight of your eyes tracking the rigid line of his jaw and the frantic rise and fall of his chest. but for the first time in his life, he couldn't meet your gaze back. his eyes darted nervously across valko, his throat bobbing in a gulp as he tried to find a lie big enough to save him.

until finally, slowly, caleb’s head tilted downward. his hair fell forward over his brow, before he hesitantly rolled his gaze down until his eyes locked directly onto yours.

gulp.

that look in his eyes...

it was something you had always disliked since you were kids. everytime the either of you brought up the subject of parents, of having a mother and a father, he did that face. except now it isn't because of that.

now... 

“i'm her guardian.” 

caleb answered.

“what?” your head tilted to the side, that familiar sarcastic scowl crawling right back onto your face.

“i am her legal guardian,” caleb repeated, nodding with a completely straight face. “since  our gran is currently being held back at the nursing home facility for medical observation, the responsibility of maintaining the household and ensuring the safety of it falls entirely on me. i am the primary caretaker of this residence.”

this little bitch.

valko just stood there, his mouth hanging open so wide a family of birds could have moved in. “what?” 

before you or valko could even open your mouths to scream at him for being an absolute fool, caleb’s heavy hand snapped down around your wrist.

“anyway, it's getting very close to six o'clock, which is the official cutoff time for driveway visitations,” caleb said, his voice dripping with an agonizingly tryhard politeness as he began walking backward, dragging you along like a sack of potatoes. he offered valko a little wave with his free hand. “thank you so much for the transportation, valko! drive home safely! watch out for the speed bumps on the main avenue, they’re quite treacherous this season!”

“caleb, you fucking—” you lunged backward, but caleb’s grip was absolute. you were forced to do a clumsy little sideways shuffle up the concrete steps, your free arm flailing in the air as you tried to offer valko at least a goodbye. “bye, valko! sorry! i’ll text you about the anatomy slides!”

but valko didn't even wave back. he just stood by his open car door, probably wondering if this whole situation was secretly a psychological experiment.

slam! click-clack!

the wooden door finally shut.

the very second the threshold was secure, caleb dropped your wrist like it was a hot potato. the authoritative guardian persona vanished into thin air, and he turned into a quiet giant. without saying a single word, without even looking at you, he spun on his heel and marched straight toward the safety of the open-concept kitchen.

you stood alone in the center of the living room.

this little brat is seriously getting on my nerves!

one second he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing left in the world, and the next second he’s inventing fake household rules just to avoid answering a simple question!

but you were not going to let him see how much he had rattled you. oh, absolutely not. you needed to get the upper hand back, even if you had to fake it.

you let out a dramatic cough to clear your throat, smoothing down the front of your wrinkled shirt before you marched over to the kitchen island. instead of hiding in your room like a coward, you hopped right onto one of the tall barstools, planting your elbows on the counter so you could watch him like a hawk.

“you are insane, you know that? a guardian? seriously? that is the dumbest thing that has ever come out of your mouth.”

caleb didn't answer you. he was currently busy staring down at the kitchen counter with an expression of concentration. for a guy who was usually a wizard with a skillet, he looked lost. he had a carton of heavy cream in one hand, a bottle of soy sauce in the other, and a tub of margarine sitting between them like a puzzle he couldn't solve.

“you were being so aggressive out there! valko was just trying to be nice because i was having a bad day—hey i'm speaking to you!” you huffed, your eyes narrowing as you watched him confusedly pick up a bulb of garlic, stare at it like it was an alien spacecraft, and then drop it back onto the wood. “are you even listening to me, you brat?”

“what am i to you, then?” caleb finally spoke.

oh, now, do you feel that? the air in granny’s kitchen just became so thick you could probably slice it with the very paring knife you used for those apples last week. you thought you were safe sitting on that high barstool, tucked neatly behind the counter like a judge delivering a very righteous verdict. 

but you forgot one very important rule when it comes to your big bro: he always knows when you’re hiding behind a loud mouth.

you should have just gone to your room. you should have just locked the door, eaten a stale cracker, and minded your own business instead of sitting out here pretending to be brave.

but it was already too late to run.

caleb finally abandoned his study of the soy sauce bottle and turned around. and then, he took a few strides over to your side of the counter. before your brain could even coordinate a retreat—shrrrrk!—caleb reached down to hook his hands around the metal legs of your stool, and pulled you a whole foot closer to him.

the proximity was so sudden your cheeks erupted into a furiously bright blush, while he just stood towering right over you. 

“tell me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before lifting back to your eyes. “what is valko to you?”

“he's my... suitor?”

“and what am i to you?” 

“y-you're just—i mean, we've always been—”

with a slow lean, he brought his entire upper body down, planting his palms firmly on the seat of your stool right on either side of your thighs. 

“do you want me to stop playing the sibling part then? do you want me to become something else?” caleb tilted his head, his voice dropping into a soft whisper.

“what do you mean... something else?”

a faint little smile touched the corner of caleb’s lips. “you know, like... a guy. a guy to you.”

thump. thump. thump.

your heart was no longer just beating; it was a damn throbbing thing inside your chest. your hands went completely numb against the stool, your eyes wide and your mouth slightly ajar in a look of such ridiculous shock.

caleb tracked every single ounce of your panic. he saw the terror, the blush, the absolute deer-in-the-headlights look paralyzing your face.

and then, just as the tension reached the absolute breaking point... caleb suddenly let out a boisterous laugh.

phew!

he pulled his upper body back, releasing your stool from his cage. before you could even register the sudden rush of cool air between you, caleb reached out and playfully pinched the tip of your bright red nose, shaking your head gently from side to side.

“gotcha,” he chuckled and turned back to the kitchen counter. “man, you should see your face right now, you look like a terrified little bird. i'm obviously just teasing you.”

you couldn't even bring yourself to manufacture a witty comeback. you just sat there on that stool, staring blankly into the empty space between the salt shaker and the soy sauce bottle.

caleb, however, appeared to have moved on, back to being the domestic king of the kitchen, the heavy iron skillet letting out a cheerful sizzle-hiss while he tossed the chopped garlic into the oil.

“we need to head out early tomorrow to visit gran, by the way,” caleb hummed casually over the sound of the spitting grease. “like, seven in the morning early. so don't stay up late scrolling through your phone.”

the mention of your grandmother finally poked a hole through your daze. you blinked, shaking your head slightly to clear the cobwebs as you focused on the back of his neck. “...why so early? the nursing home visiting hours don't even get busy until noon.”

“i have to be back on campus by ten. coach called a basketball practice for the championship preparations, and i can't miss it.”

“ah.” you nodded to the back of his head.

you managed to survive the rest of the evening by acting like a very polite, very quiet ghost, eventually slipping into your bedroom to endure a night of toss-and-turn sleep where caleb's whispering voice kept echoing in your dreams.

until the next morning arrived and caleb decided that the boy from yesterday was officially dead and buried.

bang! bang! bang!

“wake up, monkey! rise and shine!”

your bedroom door then flew back against the wall with a violent clack as caleb marched inside like a fucking drill sergeant. before your sleep-deprived eyes could even adjust to the morning light, caleb reached the edge of your mattress.

whoosh!

with one yank of his hand, he ripped your cozy duvet clean off your body, leaving you curled up in a shivering little ball on your sheets.

“fuck, why are you so damn loud early in the fucking morning?” you shrieked.

“ten minutes, and if you're not in up, i'm leaving you behind and telling gran you love sleeping more than you love her!” 

minutes later, you successfully managed to wash the sleep from your eyes and throw on a decent pair of clothes, though the inner grump was still very much awake.

you stood at the kitchen island, furiously snapping the plastic lids onto a neat little tower of tupperware containers. caleb had actually outdone himself this time—the savory aroma of freshly stewed chicken broth and garlic rice was already locked tight inside the plastic, ready to be delivered to granny's bedside.

the downstairs bathroom door swung open, and out stepped the grand tormentor himself.

you instinctively lifted your head, only for your brain to immediately scream abort mission! abort mission! because caleb had a fluffy white towel draped lazily over his damp hair, but that was the only thing he was wearing from the waist up. his broad shoulders, the sharp line of his collarbones, and the ridiculous expanse of his chest were completely on display, glistening faintly with a few stray droplets of water.

you whipped your head back toward the tupperware so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash, your cheeks instantly sparking with a familiar warmth. 

“hey,” he stopped right on the other side of the counter, smelling faintly of mint and soap. “did we run out of the extra toothpaste? i can’t find the tubes under the sink.”

“cabinet. it's behind the extra bars of soap on the top shelf. go look there.”

“right. thanks,” he mumbled, turning on his heel and thankfully retreating back into the bathroom.

you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. honestly, the nerve of this guy.

not long after, caleb finally emerged looking like a civilized human being again, with his heavy sports duffel bag slung carelessly over one arm. 

“you ready to go?”

“yep,” you quickly gathered the paper bag full of food and stepped toward the front door. 

but as caleb walked past the living room window sill, his eyes narrowed at the row of small terracotta pots sitting in the morning sun. he stopped, casually extending one long finger and poking it straight into the dark soil.

he paused. 

he wiggled his finger, then, he turned his head to look at you, a knowing eyebrow crawling up his forehead. “brat. did you water the ferns today?”

you froze right with your hand on the doorknob, your lips twitching, and you turned around to offer him the most innocent cheeky smile you could possibly muster. 

caleb let out a roll of his eyes. 

“come here,” he pointed a finger at the floor in front of him.

“no.” you shook your head violently. “we have to leave early, remember? for gran, and your super important basketball practice!”

with a delighted laugh, caleb let his heavy sports duffel bag slide right off his shoulder, letting it hit the floorboards with a loud thud. and before you could even turn the doorknob to escape, he closed the distance between you in two strides.

“caleb, wait—ah!”

you shrieked when his large hands clamped firmly around your waist. with zero effort, he lifted your feet clean off the ground, turning you around while you flailed uselessly in the air. he marched two steps back into the living room and dropped you right against the plush cushions of the sofa.

“punishment time!” caleb laughed, instantly hovering over you and planting his knees on either side of your hips so you couldn't wiggle away.

“no, stop! caleb, i swear—!”

but your threats were instantly drowned out by your own hysterical laughter as his long fingers began mercilessly digging into your ribs. you squirmed and twisted beneath him, hands frantically trying to swat his wrists away, but he was too big, too heavy, and entirely too good at finding your most ticklish spots!

eventually, what started as a simple tickle punishment quickly spiraled into a full-blown war of the cushions.

the moment caleb’s fingers paused to let you catch your breath, your inner competitive spirit woke up. you weren't just going to sit there and take the defeat! with a heave, you planted your socks against the back of the sofa and launched your entire body forward, aiming a messy tackle straight at his broad chest.

“oh, so we're wrestling now?” caleb laughed, his deep voice booming right against your ear before he effortlessly caught you by the waist.

the rules of the house were completely thrown out the window as the two of you flipped, twisted, and rolled across the plush cushions, trying every single fake martial arts move you had ever seen on television. heck, you were pulling out all the stops—trying to hook your arm around his neck, aiming sharp elbows at his ribs, and trying to pull off a dramatic headlock.

you were starting to sweat, and you were putting 110% of your soul into making this giant human being tap out.

caleb, on the other hand? he was putting in absolutely zero effort. he was literally lying back against the pillows, letting out a loud, breathless laugh at every single one of your frantic maneuvers. to him, you probably felt like an angry flailing puppy. every time you thought you had a solid grip on his arm, he would casually just flex his bicep and pop right out of it. 

“come on, pipsqueak!” he taunted, easily batting your hands away as you tried to pin his shoulders. “is that all you got? my teammates hit harder than this during warmups!”

“shut up and die, caleb!” 

you threw your weight into one final grapple. but alas, pride can be a very dangerous thing when you're fighting a varsity athlete.

caleb decided the game had gone on long enough. and in one quick motion, he caught both of your wrists in a single hand, threw his heavy leg over your torso, and completely flipped you over.

oomph!

suddenly, you were now slammed chest-first against the back cushions of the sofa. caleb slid right up behind you, his body pressing heavily against your back to completely pin you down. he wrapped one massive arm securely around your upper chest like a seatbelt, while his other hand kept your wrists locked together near your chin.

you were utterly trapped in a textbook rear-naked choke hold.

“all right, game over,” he gave you a playful squeeze, anchoring you even tighter against him. “tap out and acknowledge me as your supreme ruler, and i'll let you go.”

“never! i will literally bite you before i tap out!”

“stubborn little girl.” caleb chuckled softly, his chest rumbling right against your back. “you can't move. just tap the couch and save your dignity.”

oh, he thought he had won because he was bigger and stronger? he forgot that you were smaller, faster, and willing to play dirty.

the competitive fog in your brain is a blinding thing, so heavy that your survival instincts completely take the wheel before your common sense can even map out anything else. you don't even know what possessed you. you aren't thinking about the dangerous lines you almost crossed together over the past few days; only thinking about the iron band of his arm across your chest, and the humiliating prospect of defeat.

so, you use the only lever you have left.

with a subtle shift of your weight, you arch your spine slightly and press back, slowly grinding your bum right against the heat of his crotch.

!

behind your back, caleb’s entire frame goes stiff as a stone wall. the boisterous laughter bubbling in his chest dies mid-breath, cutting off into nothing but a ragged hitch. it takes him three agonizing seconds to realize what tactic you’ve just deployed, and when it finally clicks...

“(name),” he groans, his voice no longer the cocky older brother but something rough, uncovered, and deeply rattled. “what... what are you doing?”

but instead of releasing you, his massive arm tightens around your upper torso, locking you so hard against his chest that you can feel the frantic hammering of his heart against your back. he tries to laugh it off, tries to maintain the upper hand, but the words come out strained and frayed at the edges. “nice try, though, pips. dirty tactics don't work on... nh... varsity players.”

the tiny stifled sound that slips from his throat was all the fuel you needed. it’s working. he sounds so tense, his breath coming in shallow puffs against the sensitive nape of your neck.

your own face is a burning mess of a tomato, but the taste of victory is too close. you want to remind him that he doesn't hold a monopoly on audacity in this house. you have it too.

you move again, harder this time, abandoning any pretense of subtlety. you press your ass firmly into his crotch, rolling your hips back against him in such an explicit way. 

“hey, stop, seriously—” caleb chokes out, a helpless moan breaking past his lips before he can catch it. his fingers, still holding your wrists, lose their grip, beginning to tremble against your skin.

subconsciously, his own hips begin to tilt forward, meeting your shameless grinding with a press of his own. “this... this isn't working, you should try something else. or just tap out. because i'm still not... ah... letting you go.” he swallows hard, his thumb twitching against your wrist, his long legs tangling with yours on the cushions as he tries to find an exit from the trap you both built. “so just... tap out and stop, yeah?”

“s-shouldn't you... shouldn't you be the one tapping out, huh?” your heart is doing frantic and erratic loops behind your ribs, but you push through the panic. “isn't it... isn't it weird that someone you see as a sister is doing such a thing to you? you're the older one, caleb... you should tap out. be the responsible one.”

to prove that you aren't the one who is going to break first under the weight of this, you roll your hips back against him again harder, dragging your bum across the expanse of his crotch. 

caleb doesn't answer you with words. he can't. all that leaves his throat is a series of thick, breathless moans—nh... ah—each one a helpless sound that shatters the last remaining illusion of the “sibling” shield you both spent years constructing. 

and then, slowly, you feel a very hard thing pressing solidly through the fabric of his bottoms. it felt heavy and hot enough to burn through your clothes. your movements instantly slow down, your entire body going rigid as a fresh wave of red flushes from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears. is that his...? no, no, no. you don't want to point it out. you don't want to say a single word. if you say it out loud, the universe will split wide open and there will be absolutely no going back to the way things were before.

but while you are trapped inside the spinning dizzyness of your own thoughts, you were too slow to realize that caleb's palms had snapped down around your wrists, separating them from your chin. with a surge of his upper body, he pins both of your arms flush against the cushions on either side of your head. 

and then, without a single shred of his usual teasing hesitation, caleb pulls his hips back—and drives them forward, dryhumping you roughly from behind.

“ah—!”

“don't move,” caleb humps you again, a rhythmic thrust that slides his heat perfectly between your thighs. “tap out now, (name).”

no, there is no way you're going to easily tap out like this. if you do, that's just going to show him how easily he can just go to his way with you. so without much of a choice, you bite your lip. 

“fuck, nh...” 

why is he moaning? does this feel good for him?

“just... tap out, pips,” he pants heavily, hips rolling into you in another rough stride that makes your toes curl inside your socks. “tap the couch and tell me to stop... otherwise, i'm just gonna keep going.”

“i-i hate you,” you tighten your fingers against the cushions beneath his palms, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “caleb, ngh—i swear to god, i...”

caleb lets out a chuckle, “yeah? how much?”

he doesn't let you answer and instead slides his hands down from your wrists to grip the very edges of your hip bones. with one forceful heave of his strong arms, he hoists your hips up high off the sofa cushions, tilting your pelvis back and locking you into a perfectly angled incline—before slamming his hips forward again, driving his hard erection deep into the curve of your ass. 

“not tapping out yet?” 

“i-i'm not tapping—!”

you cut yourself off when caleb's hips against your bum suddenly stutters. he drives into you one last time—hard and entirely too desperate—and then his entire body goes completely rigid.

“(name)—ah, fuck—!”

caleb lets out an unvarnished moan, his voice breaking into a breathless whine as his chest shudders violently against your back. he freezes, fingers digging bruisingly hard into your hip bones before a wave of heat blooms right through his shorts, dampening the fabric of your pants. 

your brain, despite having zero knowledge about how men's bodies work or what exactly happens when they hit their limit, registers the sudden wet warmth and his sudden loss of strength.

oh. he messed up.

“a-are you kidding me? did you just—”

“shut up,” caleb wheezes, his head dropping onto your shoulder. “don't... don't say it.”

“oh, i am absolutely saying it!”

being an opportunistic woman, you take advantage of his jelly-like limbs and twist your torso. caleb is usually a solid brick wall, but right now, his body is too sensitive. you wrench your hips out of his slack grip, plant your hands on his broad shoulders, and shove him backward with all your might.

thud!

caleb falls flat onto his back against the sofa cushions, and before he can even think about recovering, you launch yourself over his lap, straddling his thighs and planting your hands squarely on either side of his neck, pinning his arms down.

strangely, he doesn't even fight you. caleb is easily strong enough to bench-press you off him with one hand, but instead of resisting, he just lets out a pathetic grunt and lets his arms go limp beneath your palms. 

“look at the so-called supreme ruler now,” you mock him instantly, a breathless smirk breaking across your face. “what happened, caleb? you were talking so much shit about tapping out, and you couldn't even last three minutes? you came too fast that was pathetic!”

“(name), please,” caleb groans, his face turning a shade of pink as he tries to turn his head away from your gaze. “you don't even know what you're saying.”

“well, i know you're a loser.”

“you... you started it!” caleb defends himself weakly, his voice was an embarrassed whisper while his fingers nervously twitch against the couch cushion. he finally rolls his eyes back to meet yours. “what is wrong with your head? you were the one grinding your ass against me like a p-pervert... what did you think was going to happen?”

“i was trying to make you tap out!” you argue back, your face heating up again but your grip on his arms tightening.

“by making me cum...?“ caleb whines, his jaw clenching when he lets out a shaky breath. “that's a pretty lame strategy don't you think?”

“you're just making excuses because you lost,” you say, your voice trembling slightly despite the thick layer of bravado you're pouring over it. you look down at the front of his joggers where a distinct darkening patch of wetness is spreading against the fabric. “look at that. the great caleb, taken down by a simple strategy. i should take a picture and send it to your coach.”

“y-you brat, i swear to god, shut up,” caleb groans with a laugh. “you don't know what you're doing. just get off me.”

“no, i think this needs a proper inspection.” 

your brain is screaming at you to stop, telling you that you are sprinting across a line you can never cross back over, but the sheer adrenaline of having caleb completely at your mercy prevents you from backing down. if you stop now, if you get off him and let him look at you with that smug smirk again, the awkwardness will literally suffocate you. you have to finish this. you have to prove he's the loser.

with a suddenly decisive movement, you reach down and grab the waistband of his joggers.

“wait—(name), hold on—” caleb gasps, his eyes going wide with panic as you pull the fabric down. 

even through the cotton fabric of his dark grey boxers, his dick is thick, massive, and still remarkably heavy and hard despite having just come. it stretches the front of his underwear to its limit, a rigid outline that looks terrifying up close. holy shit. he's... he's huge.

your face is burning so hot you're pretty sure you're going to spontaneously combust. your hands are shaking, your ears ringing, but you force your fingers to move forward. you place your palm flat against the center of his boxers, wrapping your fingers directly around the pulsing length of his dick.

“ah—nh!” caleb's head flies back against the sofa cushions, fingers clawing into your waist so hard it almost hurts. “fuck, stop... i told you i'm too sensitive—”

“what's the matter?” you stammer, your voice cracking as you squeeze him slightly through the cotton, your thumb tracing the hard ridge of his shaft. “thought you said it didn't work? you're twitching so much under my hand, caleb. who's the weak one now?”

“you're... you're a psycho,” caleb pants, a strained chuckle breaking through his ruined voice. he looks up at you through his long eyelashes, jaw clenched and sweat beading at his hairline. “what about you? you're blushing like a tomato and your hands are shaking. you're terrified right now, aren't you?”

“i'm not terrified of a loser,” you lie through your teeth, sliding your hand up and down his length, the friction through his boxers causing another wet drop of pre-cum to seep through the fabric against your palm.

“fuck... ah, please,” he looks so devastatingly undone beneath you it's funny, his chest heaving while he whines against the cushions. “you're... you're cheating. this is a foul. i'm gonna tell gran you're being so...”

“granny would just laugh at you for being so weak,” 

the boy who used to help you look for snails in the backyard after a heavy rain—the same boy who once gave you a piggyback ride for three blocks because you scraped your knee on the pavement—was currently pinned beneath you on granny’s floral-print sofa, stripped down to his underwear and trembling like a leaf.

it was a sacrilegious image, because for ten whole years, caleb had been the towering fixture of your childhood, the annoying older-brother figure who stole your food and made fun of your haircuts. but now, the fabric of his boxers was the only thing standing between you and a completely different world.

“you’re still shaking.” your voice was a little breathy, though you kept your eyes locked on his face to hide how fast your own heart was knocking against your ribs. 

caleb let out a ragged laugh, his head tilting back against the cushions. “you aren't going to make me tap out if that's what you're planning, you silly.”

“oh, you think you're so smart?”

before he could even muster another cocky comeback, your fingers hooked directly into the elastic waistband of his boxers and dragged the fabric down past his hips.

and just like that, the angry length of caleb's dick sprang free, twitching madly in the warm morning light.

oh my god. 

he was fucking huge. the thick, veins-veined shaft was throbbing with a pulse, the heavy weight of it slapping against his lower belly when the fabric set it free. 

caleb’s eyes went wide as the cool air hit his bare skin, a genuine spike of panic breaking through his composure. “hey, wait, hold on, what are you planning to do?” 

you stared down at the very tip of him, where a shiny drop of clear pre-cum was slowly leaking out, glistening against the skin. the sight of it made a strange spark right in the pit of your stomach.

“i'm finishing the wrestling match,” you whispered, your hand moving forward until your fingers wrapped completely around his thick shaft.

“fuck—nnggh!“ caleb gasped out loud, his entire upper body arching off the sofa as your palm made direct contact with his heat. his knuckles turned white as he grabbed the edge of the armrest. “(name)... seriously, you don't know what you're doing, stop it.”

“shut up and take your punishment.”

“you don't know shit about—oh, fuck—please... i'm gonna come again, i swear to god...”

but you weren't done pushing his limits, you wanted to erase every single ounce of that cocky exterior until there was nothing left but the vulnerable boy beneath you.

leaning down until your chest was nearly brushing his lap, you let your hand slide away from his tip—and replaced it with your tongue.

you swiped your warm and wet tongue directly over the crown of his dick, licking up the excess pre-cum and the sticky remnants of his earlier climax from the sensitive skin.

“ah-!”

at that, caleb lets out an undignified shriek that was instantly swallowed by a deep groan. his hands flew to the sides of your head, fingers tangling frantically into your hair as his dick twitched against your lips, throbbing so hard it felt like a living thing. he was whining openly now, his chest heaving as he stared up at the ceiling with blown-out eyes.

you wrapped your lips around the very top of his shaft, sucking him gently. “(name)... i hate you... i hate you so much...”

“how much, caleb?” you mumbled against his hard skin, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your hand gripping the base of his giant length to keep him locked right where you wanted him.

“i'm not gonna last, (name). seriously, i'm gonna come in your mouth if you don't stop,”

but you don't stop. your tongue swipes over the sensitive ridge again, determined to drive the final nail into his coffin. truth be told, you have absolutely no idea what you're doing. your teeth graze his skin awkwardly, your suction is uneven, and your movements are incredibly clumsy, lacking any real rhythm. but caleb is just as clueless and inexperienced as you are, and to a boy whose body is already primed and hyper-sensitive from a first climax, the messy, wet warmth of your mouth feels like absolute heaven.

you keep going, your hand stroking his base while you lick the sticky tip. you just want to make him blow his top again. you need to see him completely break, just so you can hold it over his head for the rest of his life. 

...or is that really all it is? because your heart is hammering so loud it's practically echoing in your throat, and a strange heat is pooling deep in your stomach as you taste him.

“fuck... i'm coming, i'm literally—ah, nh...” caleb whines out loud, his head thrashing against the cushions, his entire lower body trembling while his hips lift off the sofa, twitching directly into your mouth.

you tighten your grip, getting ready for the final victory—and then, the world violently flips upside down.

whoosh!

caleb’s hands leave your hair and snap down around your armpits. your mouth slips off his dick with a wet pop when he completely sat up before he hoists your entire body into the air like you weigh absolutely nothing.

“ah! what do you think you're—!” 

and with one ruthless motion, caleb pivots your torso and bends you straight over the widely padded backrest of the sofa. your chest is pressed flat against the top cushion, your head dangling over the back of the couch toward the floor, while your hips are lifted high and trapped beneath his massive weight as he slides up behind you.

and then, you hear it. a breathless and absolutely insufferable chuckle bouncing right against your ears.

“you are such a gullible girl,” caleb pants heavily, his chest heaving against your shoulder blades as he lets out a triumphant laugh. he isn't coming at all. “did you really think i was gonna let you win that easily? you thought you could just suck me off and make me cry?”

“you literal piece of trash!” you yell, trying to push yourself up off the backrest and kicking your legs blindly behind you. “let me go, caleb, i swear to god—”

caleb's hips slide right back against your ass, his hard length pressing explicitly into your lower back to remind you who has the upper hand. he grips your waist with both hands, locking your pelvis into place so you can't wiggle an inch. “save all the shouting, okay?” he gives your hip a playful, firm squeeze. “we're right back where we started. you're pinned, you're cornered, and you're out of moves. so what's it gonna be, huh? are you finally gonna tap out or do i have to keep you bent over here all morning? 'cause i don't mind being late, you know.”

“shut up,” you choke out, your forehead digging hard into the plush fabric of the backrest. “i'm not... i'm not listening to a liar who fakes a climax just to cheat his way out of his loss.“

“it's called strategy, sweetheart. you should look it up sometime,” he chuckles, an arrogant little sound that rubs directly against your neck. “but you know... since you were so incredibly bold with me just now... since you decided you could just put your hands wherever you wanted... i think it's only fair that it's my turn now, right? that's how the game works.”

for all his cocky bravado, you feel a sudden tremor pass through his palms. his fingers twitch against your skin. he’s hesitating, isn't he? the heavy reality of what you've both done sinks into the quiet spaces of the room, but he doesn't pull back.

slowly, his fingertips hook into the waistband of your shorts. you let out a quiet whimper when he slides the fabric down over your thighs, exposing the bare expanse of your bum to the morning air.

and then, the teasing stops.

the living room goes dead silent, save for the uneven rhythm of caleb's breathing. he stares down at you, his throat bobbing in a gulp. even without turning around, you know exactly what he’s looking at. the thin fabric of your panties is kind of ruined and darkened, clinging, and utterly soaked through with a wetness from your own mounting frustration. 

“...you're wet, (name). what am i supposed to do with you like this?” caleb whispers, his voice suddenly stripped of its malice.

“don't look at it, you brat.” you whimper, trying to hide your face in the sofa. “caleb, don't—just let me up, please—”

“no way, you started this. you don't get to run away just because you're embarrassed?” caleb chuckled.

then wordlessly, his fingers hook the side of your underwear, pulling the fabric upward to stretch it tight against your skin, using the soaked material to press firmly up into your sensitive folds.

“ah—” 

“look at how you're reacting,” caleb murmurs, leaning his weight harder into you. “but you've been a really bad girl today, breaking all the rules... so i think you need to wait a little.”

he slowly lets go of the fabric, but his hand doesn't leave. instead, his long fingers begin to lightly trace the very edge of your soaked panties, feeling the slick heat of your wetness seeping through the cloth onto his fingertips. he hovers right over your center, brushing against you but not quite, giving you just enough phantom friction to make your toes curl, but entirely denying you the actual release you're starting to crave.

your body was now squirming helplessly beneath his palms as you try to force yourself against his hand to get more pressure, but he ruthlessly keeps his fingers just a millimeter away. “fuck you, either touch me or let me go, don't be a jerk—”

“oh i'm not being a jerk yet, (name).” caleb pants, another rough chuckle breaking through his serious expression while he watches you twist and writhe under his touch. his own erection is throbbing madly against your back, but he keeps his hips still. “will you admit defeat and tap out if i be a jerk to you, then?” he punctuates that sentence with a tentative press of his index finger into your hole through the panty. 

your fingers are practically tearing into the fabric of the sofa cushion already, the adrenaline from earlier turning into a suffocating dread that makes your throat dry. 

with a quiet tug, caleb’s fingers hook into the edge of your damp underwear, sliding the cotton fabric to the side.

“caleb...” your voice is a tiny squeak against the dark velvet of the couch. your hips instinctively try to lift, a sudden panic flaring in your chest. “what... what are you doing?”

but he doesn't stop. the cool air hits your bare folds for a fraction of a second before the tip of his finger presses directly against your entrance. you let out a ragged hitch of air as he slowly pushes past the tight ring of your muscles and sinking into your slick warmth.

“this... this doesn't count as anything, right?”

caleb’s broad chest is heaving violently against your shoulder blades, his entire frame shuddering as he buries his finger deeper inside you. “it’s just... it’s just a finger, (name). we're just playing the game. all of this... it's just about making each other tap out. it's not... whatever else it could be?”

you can feel the desperate lie he's spinning, his own mind scrambling to build a bridge back to sanity even while he’s stretching you open.

“it doesn't count,” he pants, his thumb pressing hard against your hypersensitive clit, making your toes curl inside your socks. “it doesn't count as long as i'm... as long as i'm not using my cock, right? we're still just us. we haven't crossed anything.”

you gulp, because a part of your brain screams at you to twist around and slap him, to scream what the actual fuck is wrong with you? but the guilt is a leaden weight sitting right on your chest. you were the one who started it. you were the one who put his dick in your mouth just to prove a point. you are just as dirty, just as guilty as he is.

“yeah,” you whisper, your voice thick with a dirty shame as you shut your eyes tight. “yeah... that makes sense. it's just... it's just a game.”

caleb then slides a second finger right alongside the first, the sudden invasion stretching your tight walls as he begins to slowly and deeply thrust inside you.

squelch. squelch.

the wet sounds of his fingers sliding through your excess moisture fills the quiet living room, explicit and loud enough to make your face burn a shade of red. 

“(name)...” caleb murmurs, and it's the exact same tone he uses when he's giving you advice on your chores or asking about your classes, but his fingers are currently buried inside your vagina, driving you insane. “have you ever put your own finger in it?”

your lips press together so hard they turn white. you want to lie, you want to bite your tongue, but the mind-numbing pleasure of his thrusts is making your defenses completely crumble. “y-yeah, a... a few times only. when you weren't home.”

caleb picks up the pace slightly, the wet squelching sound getting faster, deeper, his knuckles rubbing against your bare skin.

“did it... did it feel like this?” he asks quietly, his voice shy, almost innocent, like a boy asking for help with his homework, even as his hips heavy-press against your backside. “does it feel better when i do it?”

the duality of this guy is completely ridiculous. it’s terrifying. one second he's caging you like a predator, and the next he’s whispering sweet clumsy questions like he's still the boy from your childhood. you can't even answer him anymore; you're just a flushed panting mess.

pop.

but caleb hooks his fingers out of your heat, making an involuntary whine escape your throat before you can even think to choke it down. your hips instinctively jerk backward, chasing the feeling of his fingers, but your hands only find the empty velvet of the backrest. why the hell did he stop? 

behind you, the rustle of heavy fabric is loud. the weight on your lower back vanishes as caleb steps backward onto the wooden floorboards. “no need to tap out anymore, 'cause oh my goodness i'm going to be late,”

by the time you manage to push yourself up on your trembling elbows, your limbs feeling like melted wax, caleb is already completely upright. his joggers are pulled back up, the dark grey waistband of his boxers now neatly hidden away. 

he looks down at you, and an infuriatingly soft smile touches his lips—the exact look he gives you when he’s being the responsible one.

“we should really get going, pipsqueak,” caleb says softly, as if his fingers hadn't just been swirling over your pussy. he reaches down, casually picking up his heavy sports duffel bag from the floor and slinging it over his broad shoulder. “i'm going to be horribly late for practice if we don't move right now. go adjust your clothes.”

you just stare up at him from the sofa, your mouth slightly open. you looked dumbfounded, your brain becoming incapable of processing how a guy can go from driving two thick fingers into your soaking womanhood to checking his watch like a middle-aged accountant. 

—

the afternoon does not care about your identity crisis. 

you had ended up having to visit granny all by yourself in the halls of the nursing home. the very second the two of you had stepped out to the car, caleb’s phone had erupted into a series of vibrations—his coach's caller id flashing like a warning flare. the muffled shouting through the receiver about missing the championship preparations had left caleb looking genuinely stressed, his fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel. he had dropped you off at the facility with an apologetic squeeze of your shoulder, leaving you to sit by granny’s bedside alone, nodding blankly while the old woman prattled on about the hospital soup and how caleb was such a good, responsible boy for taking care of you.

if only you knew, granny. if only you knew.

by the time you finally drag your feet onto the university campus for your late-day lectures, your mind is a useless swamp of static. you sit in the rows of the amphitheater, the professor's voice about cellular pathology washing right over your head like white noise. 

every time the professor speaks, all your brain can register is the memory of caleb's deep and ruined moans echoing against the walls of your shared home. your fingers keep absentmindedly tracing the edge of your desk, your lower body still feeling a ghostly throb from the wet squelch of caleb's fingers stretching you open. 

and by the time six o'clock arrives, the heavy tropical heat of the campus grounds is finally beginning to cool down.

usually, this is the hour where caleb’s long shadow appears beside yours at the main gates, his heavy arm slinging over your shoulder to drag you toward the terminal while he complains about how hungry he is. the habit of him is a deeply rooted thing in your bones. instead of turning right toward the exit to head straight home to an empty house, your feet lazily, almost sub-consciously, steer you left toward the concrete structure of the university gymnasium.

as you slip inside, taking a quiet seat on the very edge of the lowest wooden bleacher, the vast space is alive with a scattering of echoing noises. on the far brightly lit side of the court, a bunch of cheerleaders are practicing their stunts, and a few stray students are still lingering on the higher bleachers. 

but your eyes immediately drift to the opposite free side of the court.

there, sitting in a circle directly on the polished wood, is the university's basketball team. their coach is standing over them with a clipboard, his sharp whistle tucked between his lips as he gestures aggressively toward a diagram. and right in the center of the huddle, his long legs splayed out in front of him, is caleb. he’s wearing his dark blue practice jersey, broad shoulders glistening with a fresh coat of sweat, a giant water bottle gripped in his large hand as he listens intently to the lecture.

he looks so regular like that, so athletic. so completely like the golden boy the entire school admires. you pull your knees up to your chest, wondering how on earth you're supposed to walk home with him after what he did to you this morning.

caleb is nodding along, his hand idly spinning the basketball between his palms on the floor, looking every bit the disciplined athlete. then, his eyes wander. he’s just scanning the empty spaces of the court, a subconscious habit of checking his surroundings, when his gaze drifts up toward the lower bleachers.

and lands squarely on you.

for a long second, neither of you knew how to react. the teasing grin he usually flashes when he spots you in a crowd doesn't happen. he just takes you in, his fingers freezing against the leather of the basketball. you just stare at each other, the secret weight of the morning—the wet sounds, the moaning, the taste of his dick—crashing into the space between you like a physical wall.

caleb looks away quickly, his throat bobbing as he downs a huge gulp from his water bottle, his broad shoulders tensing up as he tries to focus back on the clipboard. 

five minutes later, the coach blows his whistle twice. “all right, pack it up! managers, get the training cones back in the locker. caleb, you're on equipment duty tonight since you were late this morning. secure the loose balls and the extra jerseys from the bench.”

“got it, coach,” caleb grunts, pushing himself up from the floor.

the team starts dispersing, heading toward the showers in an echoing wave of laughter and low chatter. caleb begins gathering the stray basketballs into a mesh sack, and as he nears the bleachers where you're sitting, he just stops a few feet away, slinging the heavy sack over his shoulder.

“hey,” caleb's shadow falls over your sneakers. “(name). stop being lazy and help me carry these jerseys to the storage room. coach wants a head count before the after-party tomorrow, and i'm not doing it alone.”

you blink. “can't your co-captain do it?”

“he's already in the showers,” caleb says, finally cutting his eyes toward you, a subtle, desperate intensity flickering in his gaze that makes your stomach flip. “come on. the quicker we finish, the quicker we go home. go grab the bin.”

you purse your lips, but you slide off the bleacher anyway. you grab the plastic bin filled with damp jerseys, your heart already starting to throb a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you follow his massive back toward the dark hallway at the rear of the gym.

the storage room door is heavy iron, creaking loudly as caleb pushes it open. the inside smells like old rubber, canvas bags, and dust, lit only by the faint orange glow of the twilight filtering through a barred window. you step inside, the plastic bin heavy in your arms.

“where do you want these—”

slam!

the door cuts your voice off completely as caleb shoves it shut behind you. within a snap, his large hands snap around your waist and lifts you off your feet, pinning your back directly against the solid wood of the door.

“caleb, what the—”

and your mouth is instantly smothered.

caleb drives his lips against yours with an aggressive hunger, his head tilting sharply to lock his mouth over yours. it’s a messy, bruising kiss, completely devoid of the hesitation he had this morning. he lets out a desperate whine against your lips—nhhh—his fingers digging like iron claws into your hips, pulling your lower body flush against his jersey.

“fuck,” caleb groans directly into your mouth, his tongue forcing its way past your lips. he tastes like the cool mint from earlier and the salty heat of his sweat, his jaw working against yours as if he's been starving for this for the last seven hours. “i couldn't... i couldn't even think during our practice, you know. coach wouldn't stop screaming at me but all i could see was you bent over the couch.”

“caleb—stop, someone's gonna—mmph—” you try to speak, your hands frantically coming up to push against his broad chest, but the sheer mass of him traps you. 

“let them hear,” his hips slam forward instinctively, driving his hard erection—already straining madly through his gym shorts—directly into your thigh. “i don't care. i don't care about it. you can't just... nh... fuck, you were all i could think about today—”

“you were the one who stopped,” you gasp out, your fingers subconsciously tangling into the damp hair at the back of his neck. “you acted like... like nothing happened, and then you left me alone... you idiot.”

“i was scared...” caleb cries out softly, his voice a ruined whisper before he brings his mouth back up to cover yours, thumbs tracing the bare skin of your waist beneath your shirt “i'm supposed to protect you, but all i want to do is rip these clothes off you right now and pound inside you until you can't even stand up.“ a guilty laugh slips past his lips. “shit, am i allowed to say that?...”

your heart is a wild thing, hammering so hard against your ribs it feels like it might burst through your skin. “caleb—”

the rest of your breath is completely stolen when his calloused hands hook into the waistband of your underwear. there is no gentle hesitation this time, no restraint left to save either of you. with one downward tug, the fabric is stripped away, bundling around your sneakers along with your shorts. 

he doesn't even take his jersey off. his dark blue varsity uniform is damp with sweat, the rough material scraping against your bare chest as he uses his body weight to pin you flat against the wood. with a trembling hand, caleb reaches down between your laps, his long fingers finding your soaking, swollen entrance. he doesn't need to prep you; you are already dripping, ruined from hours of thinking about his touch.

he aligns the angry head of his cock right against your opening. he is so incredibly huge—a terrifyingly solid length that makes your stomach drop in a mixture of fear and desperate longing.

“(name)... look at me. just look at me,” caleb whimpers, his voice completely cracked and ruined. “i can't... i can't hold back anymore. i'm going to cross this line now.”

before you can even utter a sound, caleb grips your hips like iron vices and drives his hips forward.

“ahhh!”

a high-pitched gasp is ripped from your lungs as the stretching length of his dick forces its way inside you in one thrust. it's a tight, bruising fit, your walls screaming at the sudden fullness of him while he buries himself all the way to his hilt, his lower belly slamming hard against your pelvis. 

caleb lets out a shattering groan that sounds like a sob, his head instantly dropping forward into the crook of your neck. his hot breath scalds your skin, and you can feel the wet smudge of tears mixing with the sweat on his face. he is crying into your shoulder, panting like a dying man, his entire broad frame shuddering violently against you.

“ffckk... nhhh... you're so tight, it's so hot,” caleb opens your thighs wider just so he can pound into you much, much faster. “i've... i've thought about this every single night.... every time you smiled at me... every time you fell asleep.... i've wanted to do this so fucking bad...”

caleb grips your thighs, hoisting your leg up until it was wrapped tightly around his broad waist, and begins to fuck you desperately against the iron door.

thud. thud. thud.

the heavy wood rattles on its hinges with every brutal stride of his lower body. caleb drives into you as if he is angry—furious at you for making him wait this long, furious at himself for breaking the rules, and desperate to mark every single inch of your inside. he doesn't give you time to adjust to his size; he just plunges deep, his thick shaft sliding through your tight squelching wetness.

“caleb—ah!—stop, it's too deep—nhhh!” you moan out loud, your head thrashing against the door behind you. your hands leave his shoulders and wrap around his damp hair, trying to pull him closer, trying to find some anchor as his massive cock relentlessly reorganizes your insides. you can't even think straight anymore, his dick is leaving you with nothing but the raw urge to take his size and beg for more.

“not stopping,” caleb grunts against your ear, it makes your thigh squeeze tighter around his waist. he tilts his head upward, jaw clenched so hard the tendons in his neck look like wires under his skin. his eyelashes flutter, his eyes half-closed and ghost-blinking as he loses himself entirely to the pleasure. “fuck, why didn't we d-do this sooner?”

he thrusts into you even deeper, his hips rolling with a newfound precision that hits a sensitive spot deep within your womb. 

“hnggh, caleb, deeper, deeper...!” 

“what was that, huh?” caleb suddenly pulls out, bringing your legs down. 

“what are you... a-are you going to leave me again?” 

he smirks, pressing a kiss against your forehead while you felt the wamrth of his hands grabbing your right leg to hoist it up high - up, up, and up - until you're now sideways, leg stretched open and high enough that your ankle was an inch away from caleb's face. “deeper, right?” in a second, he drives his cock back into your hole, this time making sure that every thrust he gave you was a slap on the womb. 

“ahngh, caleb!—”

the orange twilight through the barred window slowly deepens into a thick midnight blue, but the desperate rhythm inside the storage room doesn't stop.

for the next few hours, the university gymnasium becomes completely empty, the lights on the court turning off one by one until the only sound left in the entire concrete structure is the repetitive rattle of the iron storage door. caleb completely loses his composure, his body moving on pure instinct while he continues to drive his length into your soaking heat over and over again.

the dynamic between you never truly changes, even as the skin of your hips turns a deep, flushed pink from the iron grip of his palms. every time he tries to pull that annoying tone to tell you to take his size, his voice shatters into a pathetically high-pitched whine the second your tight walls squeeze him. you don't let him have the satisfaction of total victory either; even when your legs are trembling so hard you can barely keep them still, you still find the breath to mock his stuttering moans, driving your fingers into his damp hair to yank him down into bruising, messy kisses.