#fem!calebxmc

The next morning, some of the bruises on your hips are the same violet as Caleb’s eyes.

You press a finger to one—perfect. The ache blooms under your touch, a tender reminder of yesterday’s hunger. She sees you looking and her face does that thing again, the one where she’s halfway between praying and devouring you.

"I’m sorry," she lies, thumb brushing the mark. Her other hand fists the sheet like she’s holding herself back. From what? You’re almost scared to ask.

You are so sore. But the pain is sweet, a candied Polaroid developed under your skin, and when you shift in the tangled sheets, Caleb’s breath hitches like she’s the one who’s been ruined. Her pupils dilate.

"Liar," you murmur.

Her thumb stills. "What?"

"You’re not sorry." You arch into her touch just to watch her pupils blow wide. "You like it."

For a heartbeat, she looks caught—like you’ve peeled her open and found something feral curled inside her ribs. Then her grip tightens, just shy of bruising, and her voice drops to a rough whisper, "You—you like that I like it."

Then: “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you lie.

A shiver rolls through you. She smirks. Bites her lip.

The morning light slants through the blinds, the blue curtains open, as the light is painting stripes over the wreck of your bed. Your room has takeout containers littering the floor, chopsticks abandoned in half-eaten noodles, Caleb’s shirt hangs off the lamp, your panties are somewhere under the pillow or sheets. It smells like sex and soy sauce, and you never want to leave.

Caleb traces the curve of your hip, her calloused fingers mapping every mark she left. She asks again. "Does this one hurt?" She presses lightly.

You shake your head.

"Liar." Her thumb digs in—not much but just enough. You gasp unintentionally. Whimper, really. Her eyes darken. "That one does."

You kick at her shin, but she catches your ankle, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. "Mean," you mutter.

"You... wanted mean," she counters, nipping at your thigh. "You begged for it yesterday… I was trying to be sweet and soft until you kept going: ‘Harder, Caleb, more, please, bite me harder, fuck Caleb—’" Her raspy voice mocks yours in a higher-pitched lewd tone.

You clap a hand over her mouth, face burning. "Oh my god, stop it! I did not sound like that."

She licks your palm. You jerk back.

"Uh-huh." She grins, all teeth, and suddenly she’s hovering over you, biceps flexing as she cages you in. "Admit it. You love—"

A loud ‘growl’ cuts her off.

Your stomach, at the worst of moments.

Caleb blinks. Then she’s laughing, forehead dropping to your shoulder, her whole body shaking against yours. "Christ, pips. I did feed you last night, you know."

"Maybe… but not more than you distracted me last night," you grumble, but you’re biting back a smile.

She sighs, faux-suffering, and rolls off you. "Fine. Breakfast. Then I’m revisiting this conversation."

You watch her stretch, naked and unselfconscious, the morning light gilding the scars on her back—shrapnel, training accidents, a lifetime of holding back etched into her skin.

And for the first time, you think: She’s mine.

Not jiejie. Not protector. Yours.

The realization terrifies you.

This is easy, in a way that almost makes you sick.

☆☆☆☆☆

The day passes in a haze of tangled limbs and stolen kisses. Caleb, who’s never hesitated a day in her life, keeps stopping. She keeps just pulling back to search your face when you gasp, freezing when your nails dig into her shoulders.

"You’re thinking too much," you tease, nipping at her jaw.

She growls, flipping you onto your back. "You’re sore. You can barely move.”

"So?" You roll your hips against hers, delighting in the way her muscles lock. "You wanna do something about it, need my punishment, jie jie?" It slips out of your mouth like slippery fish. Oh fuck.

She freezes. It's kind of cute. She mumbles something about feeding you real food, rolling out of bed.

☆☆☆☆☆

It’s sunset when you finally say it. You're sitting on the bed with empty dinner plates on your nightstand. You've barely left the room and neither has she.

"Caleb... we... can’t do that anymore," you say, tracing the scar on her shoulder. "The… jie jie/mei mei thing. It’s not fair."

Caleb’s quiet so long you think she might’ve stopped breathing. Then, carefully: "What... do you want to call me, then?"

Yours, you think. Mine.

Instead, you kiss her, slow and deep, until she forgets to ask.

Caleb doesn't let you pull away. Her hand slides into your hair, holding you there, her mouth moving against yours like she's trying to rewrīte the words you just said. Like if she kisses you hard enough, she can make you unsay it.

When she finally breaks away, her breath's ragged. "Dummy. You don't get to drop that on me and then shut me up with your pretty mouth..." She mutters.

You press your forehead to hers. "I don't know what to call you."

"Bullshit." Her thumb brushes your lip. "You’ve always known."

She exhales sharply—too sharply, the way she does before a debrief—and suddenly she’s rolling off the bed, striding to the window with a stiffer version of that authoritative model-like walk of hers. Her shoulders are rigid, her fists flexing at her sides. The sunset paints her in gold, but her silhouette is all tension: a soldier braced for impact.

You follow. Not because she demands it, but because you refuse to let her hide. The wood floor is cool under your bare feet as you step into her space, close enough to see the pulse jump in her throat.

"You’re scared," she says, still staring out the window.

"You’re scared," you retort, and press your palm to the small of her back. The muscle there twitches under your touch.

She whirls, crowding you against the wall, but her hands catch themselves beside your head instead of grabbing you. Her exhale is a controlled burst. "Yeah. Fuck yeah, I am."

"You think... if we stop pretending," she says slowly, "that I'll remember I don't have to stay?"

The words hit like a slap. That's what she thinks this is about? ...Maybe it is? Who's to say?

The silence between you is thick enough to choke on.

Caleb turns her back to you walking around to peace, her silhouette sharp against the dying light. You watch the way her fingers twitch—like she’s itching to grab the control of a fighter jet, or maybe just something solid. Her body is tight like she’s spent an hour battling… you.

“You really think that’s why?” you say, voice softer than you mean it to be.

She doesn’t turn. “Isn’t it?”

You sit up, and the bruises on your hips throb. Proof. She was more shiftless, more chaotic.

“No,” you say. “I just think it’s fucked up to call you jie jie when I want you to kiss me… and like, fuck me… like that.”

Her shoulders shake. There’s a short, silent laugh. Then, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair.”

She still doesn’t look at you.

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “Are you mad?”

“Mad?” She finally turns, and her face is—

Oh.

Oh.

She looks wrecked. Eyes too bright. Jaw clenched like she’s holding back a storm. You’ve seen Caleb angry before. This isn’t anger. This is... terror. Well, terror and... something else.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that. Every fucking day, since we were eleven,” she says, voice rough. “You think I’m mad?”

The air leaves your lungs in a rush.

She crosses the room to you in a few long tall strides, her hands frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. “You wanna know what I’m scared of?”

She murmurs it into your lips. “Not you leaving… Even though… that scares me some. And definitely not me staying.”

You blink at her.

“I'm scared the more you see me the more I'll scare you. With how much I—” she breaks. Was she? Was she going to say…

“With how intense I am…”

You stare at her. Then, because you’ve always known how to ruin her…

“Jie Jie?” you whisper, just to watch her flinch, to see if she will fight you.

Caleb blinks, fingers tightening in your hair.

“Don’t.”

You grin. “Make me.”

She kisses you like it’s a curtain she’s trying to close.

“Caleb. Just Caleb. Your Caleb.”

Her eyes flutter shut.

You trace the scar on Caleb’s shoulder, the one shaped like a crescent moon. Her skin is warm under your fingertips, alive in a way that makes your chest ache.

"Say it again," you murmur.

She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. "Your Caleb," she whispers, but her voice cracks halfway through, like the words are breaking in her throat.

You kiss her—slow, deep—to stop the tremble in her jaw. When you pull back, her eyes are closed, lashes damp.

"We’ll figure it all out," you lie.

Her laugh is sharp. "Yeah? How?"

You don’t have an answer. Skyhaven isn’t far, but the Deepspace tunnels are. Even if she loves it. Is skilled at it. The best. The DAA owns her body, her time, her hands—the same hands currently gripping your waist like you might dissolve.

"You’ll wait," she says finally, and it’s not a question.

Your stomach twists. "I don’t even know what we are, Caleb."

"Does it matter?" Her thumb brushes your hip bone, right over the bruise. "You said no one else could have me. You swore it."

"That was when we were kids—"

"And now?" Her voice drops, dangerous. "You think I’d let anyone else touch you after this? After yesterday?"

The possessiveness should scare you. It doesn’t. It lights something feral in your blood.

"You don’t let me do anything," you snap, flustered by how you want her to double down.

Caleb’s grip tightens. For a heartbeat, her eyes go dark—barely-hidden violence and starving devotion. Your breath shallows. Then she flinches, like she’s startled by her own hunger, and releases you.

"Fuck," she mutters, dragging a hand through her hair. "I didn’t mean—"

"You did," you say, and your voice breaks. "That’s the problem."

The silence is suffocating. The sunset fades into the room, leaving the room in golden shadows. Caleb’s breathing is ragged, like she’s been running.

Then, her eyebrows knot into concern. "Pipsqueak, you’re crying," she says, stunned.

You swipe at your cheeks. "So are you."

She touches her face like she’s surprised to find tears there. When she looks at you again, something shifts. The wildness in her eyes blanks out, replaced by that old, unbearable care—the Caleb you know, the strong girl who carried you home on her back when you sprained your ankle at eight, the one who held your hair back when you puked after your first drink.

"Come here," she murmurs, and opens her arms.

You go. Of course you go.

Her heartbeat is steady under your ear. Strong. A soldier’s rhythm.

"We always circle each other," she says quietly. "You n me we're like entangled particles. Cut one, the other still feels it. If anything happens you're the first to know, and vice versa" Her fingers card through your hair. "You can’t get rid of me, pips. Even if you try."

You huff. "That’s not physics. That’s just you being stubborn."

"Same thing." She kisses your forehead. "Look: you know how fighter jets refuel midair?"

You pull back to glare at her. "Are you really using a DAA metaphor right now?"

She grins, all sharp edges. "Hear me out. The receiver jet has to stay perfectly aligned, right? Even when the tanker’s bouncing through turbulence. One wrong move, and the hose snaps. But if you can hold course…" She laces her fingers with yours. "You make it."

Your throat burns. "What if the turbulence is too much?"

"Then I crash." She says it like a vow. "But I’d rather go down with you than land safe somewhere else."

The words unravel you. You press your face into her neck, breathing her in. She's your favorite scent now. Lavender and musk and sweat and home.

"What happened to the lighthouse?" you mumble.

Caleb goes still. Then, slowly, she pulls back to cup your face.

"You are the lighthouse," she says. "In what world could I ever lose sight of you?"

Something in your chest cracks open. You kiss her, desperate, and she meets you with the same hunger. Her hands slide under your thighs, lifting you onto the dresser. The wood is cold against your bare skin, but Caleb is heat—her mouth on your throat, her teeth on your collarbone, her voice in your ear:

"Tell me to stay."

You gasp. "Caleb. You can’t."

"I will." She nips your earlobe. "Say the word, and I’ll desert. I’ll burn my uniform. Run anywhere you wanna. Fuck, I’ll—"

You clap a hand over her mouth. Her eyes gleam, defiant.

"Don’t," you whisper. "Don’t make it harder."

She licks your palm. You yank away.

"Fine," she growls. "Then here’s the deal: You wait. I call. You answer. I come back. And every time I land—" She pulls you to her again, presses your hand over her heart. "—you remind me who I belong to, yeah?"

The pulse under your fingertips is frantic. Or maybe that’s yours.

"Deal.” How could you disagree? Your heart both sinks and soars.

"Just—don't pretend it won't always take me building myself every time you leave and it destroys me."

she looks at you like you reached into her chest to take a bite from her heart. Like she knew, but you're finally saying so.

"Since we were kids, Caleb. I—I need you even when you go. Even when you have to." Need isn't the right word. But the right one won't leave your throat.

She looks like she knows though, because her eyes soften and her face melts into a desperate caricature.

She opens her mouth. Closes it.

A final nod is her only response, her lips pursed like the tied end of a balloon before a sigh tumbles out of her, sadness and heart, relief and hope. Surrender?

Caleb kisses you like she’s sealing a pact. Like she’s memorizing the shape of your lips for the long nights ahead. Like she’s already gone. Like you're coming with her.

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📖>>next: Pt 7

The bed is empty when you wake, but the scent of soy sauce and sizzling garlic tells you exactly where she’s gone. You follow it like a trail, padding barefoot into the kitchen where Caleb stands at the stove—muscle tee riding up her waist, chopsticks skillfully flipping mushrooms in the pan.

"Cayyy," you whine, slinging your arms around her from behind, pressing your cheek between her shoulder blades. "We talked about this. No disappearing before I wake up," you mutter into her.

You feel her laugh before you hear it, a rumble under you. A mushroom appears over her shoulder, held between chopsticks.

"Open," she orders, and you do, moaning around the bite.

“Mm… yummy…” you moan before you can stop yourself, rubbing your face into her shoulder blade. 

“You're so clingy, baby… How can I feed you breakfast and cuddle at the same time, hm?”

You flush. You don't think a time will come when you get used to her calling you baby. The way it slips out from her mouth so casually, like she doesn't even have to think or try. 

You bite her shoulder just a little out of playful rebellion. “You order it off the internet, dork. Modern day delivery is for lazy cuddles to combine with a full tummy at last.”

She laughs, not even flinching at your love nibble. “Just for you to say that I make it better anyway? Mm'no, I don't think so, pips.” Another bite of veggies is fed to you over your shoulder, and you hum in approval against your own wishes. 

You cling to her like a koala as she moves around the kitchen, grabbing a couple of bowls and filling them with rice, veggies, eggs, and sauce.

"Hop up," she says, bending slightly. "One free ride to any eating location—bed, couch, or…"

"The clouds," you sigh, dramatic.

She snorts, adjusting the tray balanced in one hand.

"One day. For now…" Her other arm hooks under your thighs, lifting you onto her back like you weigh nothing with not even a grunt. "The bed’s got better cushions."

You bury your face in her ponytail as she carries you, laughing when she fake-stumbles over nothing. The tray wobbles. The eggs don’t spill. Of course they don’t. This is Caleb.

As you eat, in the soft landing of your bed, tangled in each other, happy noises coming from you with every bite, Caleb’s phone buzzes. She glances at it, but ignores it. Flipping her phone over on the nightstand.

You tease, a floppy feeling in your stomach that's ages old. You're a little jealous as if you have any reason to be. "Admirer #12?" 

She rolls her eyes, suddenly wearing a lopsided smirk.

"Hey." Her knuckle tilts your chin up.

"You know there’s no one else, right? Just you. Always you."

It’s the always that undoes you. Like it’s a law of physics. Like she’d orbit you even if the universe begged her not to. 

She takes another bite. "No, it’s just Gideon. He’s in town."

Your eyes widen. "Wait, THE Gideon? From the academy? I haven't seen him since your graduation! You should invite him over!”

She stops chewing just long enough—just long enough for you to clock the way her jaw flexes—before she goes back to normal. It happens in an instant, you almost think you imagined it when she smiles at you.

"You just want to hear him make fun of me," she says with an impossibly easy, charming grin.

"Mhmm, and he has more Caleb stories! Pilot Caleb~ C’mon it'll be fun, you miss him don't you?" You poke her cheek. 

Caleb’s hand slides to your thigh, her thumb tracing circles, bowls empty and forgotten now. "I miss this," she murmurs, leaning in…

Your breath catches. “Caleb… c’mon… not fair…” you whine as she kisses up your neck, playfully pushing her away. "You do miss him. Admit it." you poke her in the side making her yelp with that sparkle in her eye she only looks at you with. "He’s the only one who knows what a dork you were at the academy." 

She laughs with you, finally.

"I don't miss rooming with him, that's for sure. The guy is a slob." The annoyance in her words doesn't quite match the affection in her tone.  "But fine... Just don't expect anything heroic, my time as a pilot has been very uneventful."

She looks so pretty, you think. Red in the face, hair a mess from your roughhousing. You pull her into you by the band of her sweats, grinning as she levels herself above you, those godly biceps tensing next to you. You're breathless for a moment. Then you pull her into you, her hips flush against yours, just to kiss her softly on her chapped lips.

“As if, you weren’t valedictorian because you were boring. You’re the best pilot in Skyhaven, Caleb.” 

She stiffens for a half-second, then smirks. She laughs in a puff of air, looking at you with adoration and a hint of something you’d call guilt if you didn’t know any better. 

"Had to be, for you." Her voice is light, but her fingers dig into your hip like she’s bracing for impact. Her thumb brushes your lip, smearing soy sauce. "Worth every G-force."

"You’re staring," she says, your compliment rolling off of her like nothing. But she’s staring too—like she’s memorizing the slope of your nose, the way your lips part. Like she’s afraid she’ll forget. "See something you like, pips?"

You do. The purple shadows under her eyes, half-hidden by the morning light. The way her fingers twitch when she thinks you’re not looking. The way she looks at you like the whole universe zeroes in, collapsing into your face when she’s with you. Like you're more incredible than space, the clouds, dreams and everything in between. Your face grows red and your confidence falters. She smiles at that, rolling onto her back next to you and grabbing her phone off the dresser.

After a few moments she puts her phone back down and plants a kiss onto your shoulder and then you temple. “Three. That’s when he’ll be here… so you better shower, stinky.”

You gasp, pulling the pillow from under her head and smacking her with it. Making her burst into laughter.

“Hey!! It’s not my fault!” but she doesn’t do anything to stop you cotton padded smacks.

“How dare you!” you giggle. She laughs like she’s won the lottery ten times over. Maniacal joy.

☆☆☆☆☆

The doorbell rings at 2:58 PM. Caleb’s already there, wiping her palms on her sweats like she’s scrubbing off evidence.

You beat her to the door, swinging it open to a man drowning in a leather jacket three sizes too big, smelling like cheap aftershave and jet fuel. His grin is all teeth. He's cute, though, you suppose. If you're into that kind of guy. Gideon smells like the academy’s hangar bay—oil, sweat, and the ozone crackle of an engine pushed too hard. Caleb used to come home smelling like that.

“Well, fuck me sideways,” Gideon drawls, shoving a six-pack into your arms. “You’re even prettier these days than she whined about. Prettier than I remember.”

Caleb materializes behind you, a low growl in her throat. “Gideon.”

“Xia!” He slings an arm around her neck, knuckles digging into her scalp like they’re still cadets roughhousing in the dorms. 

"Wait, you talked about me?" you ask realizing what Gideon implied a moment before.

Caleb’s flustered, "Only to shut him up" makes Gideon laugh.

"Sure, Xia. 3AM drunk rants surely equals ‘shutting me up. Miss me, you emotionally constipated disaster?”

You watch Caleb’s jaw lock—the same way it did when you praised her piloting earlier. But she shoves him off with a half-smile. “Like a migraine.”

Gideon’s eyes dart to the bruise peeking under Caleb’s collar, then to your flushed cheeks. His smirk sharpens. “Damn, you weren’t kidding about the ‘extended leave.’ More like extended getting laid~”

“Oh my God, dude you just walked in,” Caleb groans and you feel how hot your face is. 

You see the beers in Gideon’s hand and praise the gods for the chance to change the subject.

“Sooo are those for us, too?” you feel awkward as you nod your head towards the other 6-pack in his hands, but Gideon doesn’t seem to notice, easygoing as ever.

Things settle pretty quickly, and the energy grows smooth, your eyes darting between the two of them in the living room as they drink and riff off of each other. Gideon shoves Caleb’s shoulder playfully.

“Hey.” He nods at you smiling and a little tipsy, “You’d better be proud of this stubborn mother fucker knowing everything she can come back from. Tunnel nearly killed her and now she’s playin’ house? Crazy bitch.” He says the last part with affection that would make you jealous if you weren’t caught so off-guard by everything else.

You blurt out, “Died?” before you notice the way Caleb has frozen, with her hand gripped around her bottle so tight her knuckles are pale. Your face has wrinkled with confusion, brow furrowed.

“Wow. Cool story, Gideon. Got any more exaggerated tales for her? Shut it, please,” Caleb sounds like she’s trying to sound soft, but it has the edge you’ve known since you were little. The moment before the switch fully flips. Warning lights. Gideon just looks between the two of you a few times before a lightbulb of realization finally goes off.

“Oh. Oh, shit. You still haven’t told her about that, have you?”

You eyes look at Caleb as she expertly avoids both your and Gideon’s gaze.

“Told me…? About what?” something in your chest tights, wringing itself out into the toss of your stomach.

She shakes her head, sips her bear, and leans back.

“Don’t worry about it, pips. It’s silly, Gideon just exaggerates for show.”

Gideon scoffs at that.

“Silly, Xia? You were MIA in a deepspace tunnels for a week, found on a random island hundreds of miles from sky haven’s main isle. You had four broken ribs, a spinal fracture and miraculously made a near-full recovery in a month.”

Your jaw hangs open.

“W-what—Caleb? Is that… is that true?”

She bites her lip her free hand curling into the classic Caleb fist. She’s holding back, debating how much to tell you, you can tell.

"Caleb?" Your voice is small, the kind you haven’t used since you were kids. "You… you lied to me?"

She won’t look at you. That’s answer enough.

"It was classified," she grits out, but the excuse withers under your stare. 

Gideon’s scoff cuts the silence. "Bullshit. You begged the docs not to call her or your Grandmother."

The room tilts. All those "uneventful" missions, the "just a scratch" smiles—how many were "classified"?

Gideon pushes more. “It was amazing, though. Even with the failed psych eval before the crash. ‘Miraculous.’ That’s the word they used, when she recovered. It was like a month and a half before graduation when she walked outta that hospital.”

Suddenly you’re doing mental math, flipping through snapshots of memories from that time.

“W-wait, Caleb… were you in the fucking hospital when you called me about your graduation? From the crash??” Your mind races recalling the heart dropping feeling of derailing the plan to see her a few days after that phone call. “Is that why you pushed out my visit? I… I was so upset, I thought you didn’t want to see me…”

"I didn’t want you to—" Her voice breaks. "You had your hunter exams. You didn’t need my shit too."

“To what? Worry?? I have the fucking right to worry about you! No one even knows you like—”

“You weren’t there for a reason, okay? This is exactly it!! Look at your stupid fucking face! I was fine.” Her yell echoes in the room and suddenly everything is too quiet.

She gasps at her own outburst, hands shaking. The fridge hums. Gideon pales, realizing he’s ripped open a wound.

“I… I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have—” he shakes his head, exhaling slowly. “I should go…” 

He reaches to muss your hair but pulls back, turning to an obviously panicked Caleb. “I’ll call or text if you don’t hunt me for sport, alright?”

She just keeps staring at the flooring hands shaking in front of her like the ceiling is about to fall in. 

“Bye.”

That’s it.

You don’t have anything to say… you can’t, the shock still hums through every vein, a headache blooming behind our eyes from the tension. 

Gideon leaves with one last nod and wave, head ducked like a bad dog as he walks through the door, shutting it too softly behind him.

Caleb stares at the floor, her fists clenched like she’s holding the sky up alone.

“I… need to leave for a bit.”

“What?”

“Not.. Not for long I just… I’ll come back. I just can’t be in this room right now.”

“Caleb. What are you saying…? Can we talk? You promised me no secrets, please…” Your voice is cracked and tears are finally springing from your eyes, streaming down your fce, fast, wet, and warm. But it’s like you’re not even speaking. She can’t hear you.

“I can’t… I can’t be here, I’m not… I’m really sorry, mei mei, I— fuck.” She’s pacing and shaking before you stand and reach for her wrist without thinking.

“Caleb, are you okay?”

She freezes before yanking you off.

“Please stop.” she whispers, “I’ll come back, I just can’t be here right now. Please listen to me.”

The desperation in her voice is different than you’ve ever heard, and it wounds you.

All this time, hiding and hiding… How did she handle any of that alone? Was she really fine without you there? The Caleb who carried you to bed, who folded your laundry in thirds—she’d been rebuilt from wreckage you never knew existed. And she paces like a caged animal, like the room is going to explode.

You don’t recognize her like this and it’s the first time in your lives you’ve ever felt that way about her. Like she could be a stranger and it’d barely make a difference.

You can’t stop the sob that catches in your throat as you barely manage, “Okay.”

She grabs her jacket off the rack and stops in front of the door, hand hovering over the handle.

“I’m sorry—” Her voice cracks. "I’ll come back. I always do. We’ll talk then, I swear.”

And... she just... leaves you there.

You collapse onto the floor. You don’t know how long you sit there, folded into yourself sobbing like a lonely child. Thirty minutes, an hour... Your head spins with the nuke of information Gideon dropped into your living room. You want to crawl out of your skin. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

“Caleb?” you gasp, wiping your eyes with your sleeve only to see what the text actually reads.

Gideon (Academy): Hey. I’m sorry for dropping that on u, I didnt know she still didnt tell u.

Then: 

She’s not mad at u. She can’t handle feeling out of control.

Then: 

She loves u. She’s just rocked. Ask her about the meds.  + the letters. Especially the letters. If she storms off, give her a bit. She looked like she was freaked out but she loves u too much to do anything stupid.

It’s too much.

Caleb’s duffel stares at you from across the room when you look up from the screen. An invitation you shouldn’t take.

You stand up slowly, your legs shaky as you walk over. You stand above it, looking at it like it’ll shock you if you touch it. You exhale and kneel in front of it before your fingers make it to the zipper and you unzip the bag.

Inside it? 

Normal stuff. Toiletries, books. Then: Pictures of the two of you in a little book, a notebook, clothes, a few pairs of your undies, a prescription medication bottle for a drug with a strange name is buried underneath it all.

The label: 

Take Once Nightly. For Suppression of Deepspace Tunnel’s Negative Effects. Including: Confusion, Night Terrors, Tremors, Chronic Pain… 

It lists on and on. You put it back with a stone in your stomach.

The last thing that you pull out, clinkering and metal, cool to the touch, is the apple pendant necklace you gave her when she headed off to the academy, except now, it’s got her dog tags on the chain. 

You hold the necklace to your chest, choked sobs bursting from your throat and tear ducts, as you thumb through her notebook. It’s nearly full with every. single. entry… addressed to you. 

Some of them are just daily entries. What she ate, what she did. Others are clearly written before missions. Letters she wrote in case the worst ever happened. Some after the crash, addressed to you still.

‘The pain is so fucking bad today… the meds aren’t cutting it today. I keep having these nightmares that I can’t save you—’ 

A choked sound spills out of you again. You flip the page.

‘If you’re reading this, I didn’t make it home on time. But I need you to know: every second was worth it for you. Here’s the recipe for my apple jam, with practice you’ll get it. Please don’t stop living just because I’m gone. I—’

You feel guilt clawing at your chest as you shut the notebook and shove it back into the bag, but it’s eclipsed 10x over by the pain of her dealing with the pressure alone. The entries after her accident are the worst. It’s clear she’d never intended for you to read them, not really.

You fall asleep at some point, slumped with your back at the side of the couch, facing the door. Waiting, her necklace clutched to your chest, bag closed like it was never even touched.

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The first sensation you feel this morning isn't your hangover, but Caleb's absence. For the second day in a row. You don't like it. No arm across your stomach, no soft breath on your back, no warm body next to yours. The light comes filtered through your sheer blue curtains, pale bright stripes leaking through the blinds. White and cruel to your eyes.

Your head hurts. Your mouth is dry. Your body feels ghostly.

Your phone sits still on your nightstand. When you reach for it, your wrist twinges, sore from the way you must’ve slept. You click on the screen. Your brow furrows. You squint at it, as if it will reveal something you've missed, but there's nothing. No notifications. Just the time.

11:08 AM.

You’re alone in the bed. Alone in your inbox. Caleb hasn’t texted you.

Not

good morning, pipsqueak

Not

your hair’s a mess, mei mei, I'll brush it

Not

u okay?

No

Does ur head hurt?

No

come drink water.

Not even a sticker. An emoticon. Nothing.

Your chest sinks before your brain catches up. Not because she owes you anything. Not because she promised. Just because… between the time and the date, it hits you.

It's been a month. A month, just like that—gone out of her four month-long leave. A whole month of her in your bed—passed. Her on your couch. Her at your stove and in your phone and under your skin.

And today… quiet.

You close your eyes. You remember the restaurant.

The way she looked at you like she was starving and didn’t know how to ask for a bite. The way she curled around you in the booth, hand firm on your thigh, voice low and worried. The words she used before leaving you alone with yourself: good girl.

You remember stumbling into the apartment. Her helping you. Tucking you in. The warm press of her hand on your forehead. The scent of her hair. The ache in your chest.

You remember what you did mere hours after she left.

Your face burns.

Did she know?

She couldn’t have.

Right?

Your stomach flips. Not from the hangover. From something else. Something sharp and splintery blooming up behind your ribs, and a pit inside the lowest parts of your stomach. You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling.

‘This is unbearable.’

You throw the covers over your face, over your eyes like you can hide from yourself. But the memories don’t stop.

You didn’t dream it. You wanted her. You want her now. The only difference is that last night, you let yourself feel it. You didn’t even cry.

You came, curled around a toy she picked for you, thinking about her voice. Her mouth. Her hands. Then you just… went to sleep.

Like a pussy.

Your phone is still in your hand. Still blank. You flip to your texts, tucked under blankets.

The last thing from her is hours old. Yesterday. Something silly. Something cute from while you were working.

drink more water today or i’ll cry

i can smell your thirst from here (｀_´メ) (・_・?)

It doesn't make you smile when you read it. You want to say something. She usually texts first, but you need... something. Always needing from her.

You could say: Are you mad?

You could say: Did you hear me?

You could say: Do you still want to be here, even now?

‘Only three more months?’

You're dizzy.

Your thumb moves slowly. Careful. You type:

pls come here?

Then:

2 the bed?

Immediately, you see three dots appear then disappear multiple times. Then simply:

okay. ×

There are no petnames, no cute emoticons, no cutesy jokes. Just ‘okay’. You scowl at it before leaving the space beneath your covers. Placing your phone on your chest face down.

The moments stretch as you wait for her to come. She is usually much faster than this. Your room is as stuffy as it is quiet, like it is holding all the things you can't in the air. You hear the fridge open and close. Her footsteps come closer and you sit up in the sheets.

The door opens slowly, and there she is. Her hair is still wet, her tank top clinging to her. Her sweats are loose and she's not wearing a bra.

She looks so tired when she looks at you from the doorway, holding a glass of water.

“Come here, Caleb, please?” You sound like you're on the verge of tears. You swallow.

Caleb abides, her walk careful. She places the water on your nightstand and sits at the end of your bed, away from you, legs spread apart, hands together, head down. She looks… guilty. Blue in the light coming through your closed curtains. She won't look at you.

“I'm sorry I didn't check on you this morning,” she starts, her voice is a bit raspy. Soft. “the time got away from me… I didn't… I wasn't sure what I would say.”

“You left me alone,” you say it more like a query and less like an accusation. It's kind of both though. She keeps staring into her hands and she seems too far away. Even though you're mere feet apart. You could crawl into her skin if she'd let you, just to close the distance.

She's silent for a moment, the sounds of birds outside your window mocking you in her silence.

“I know, I had to,” she says.

“Had to?” You scoff. You're not as gentle as you wanted to be with this.

“I… I didn't trust my hands. So I said I'd sleep on the couch. You weren't sober.”

She pauses, her hand balls into a fist like it does anytime she's nervous, as if she could knock her nerves out with a lucky punch.

“I didn’t trust myself,” she rephrases, and the words hit like a pin dropped in a silent room.

You blink. She doesn’t look at you.

“Last night,” she continues. “When I helped you into bed. When I touched your face. You were so warm. You looked at me like… like you didn’t want me to go.”

“I didn’t,” you whisper.

Her breath hitches. But she doesn’t stop.

“I went to the couch because I couldn’t—if I stayed, I wouldn’t have stopped myself.”

You stare at her.

“Caleb…”

She finally meets your eyes.

“I made a mistake. I… I was sitting outside your door. I thought that you would call for me, say you felt sick, ask me to cuddle you. And then I'd prove myself wrong, I'd be good, and I'd make you feel okay again…” she looks away, her face visibly hot.

Your heart practically stops.

“You were outside my door?”

She nods.

“How long?”

“I should've left. I was going to, I swear. But then I… I heard you moving around, and I thought… that you'd say my name, see if I was awake, anything… and then…”

Oh... my god…

“Y-you heard me,” you whisper it, reeling around 10 different emotions as you realize what she was saying. The vibrations, your sounds, the way you—

“You said my name, pips. Twice. While you were—”

“I didn't know you were there.”

“I know, I'm sorry,” her voice breaks

“You weren't supposed to hear—”

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have stayed… I couldn't move… I felt frozen.” She says it like she’s confessing to something worse than a crime. Like she touched you. Like she meant to.

You sit up straighter, the sheets sliding off your shoulders.

You should be furious. You should be mortified. But instead, something else cracks inside you. Something melting and something hungry. Anger from somewhere else. Sticky frustration.

“Why didn’t you come in?” you whisper, “I wasn't drunk anymore.”

Caleb’s head lifts just slightly, and it’s like you’ve ripped off a bandage. Her expression is unreadable for a moment. You see the change in her posture, the beat that her jaw tenses. “Because if I did, I wouldn’t have stopped.”

Your breath catches. The room stretches around you more, thick and too quiet.

“I didn’t trust my hands,” she says again. “Even before I heard you. At the restaurant, the way you looked at me. When you leaned in close. When you licked sake off your thumb. When you told me you used to think about kissing me. I was already—”

She cuts herself off, breathing hard through her nose.

“I didn’t come in because I’m not clean,” she says.

“I’m not safe. I'm not the Caleb you used to know. I wanted to put my hands on you so bad it scared me. I wanted to ruin you for anything that wasn’t me. I wanted to swallow you whole, crawl under your skin, break you open, and pour myself inside. I wanted every smile you ever make after that to be mine. I wanted to belong to you, and I wanted to make you need me. Like oxygen. Like blood. Even now… I'm full of this… this feeling… that I want to coil around your spine and not stop until it curves into want for me. That's not cute, pips, it's... twisted. If you let me I'd never stop. ”

You can’t look away from her. Her hands are shaking now. Fists again. Tears are peeking from the corners of her eyes. She looks like a false prophet.

“You scare me,” you say softly.

Her face crumples. Just a little.

You add, “But not because of any of that… You scare me because I think I’m just like you. I want what you want. I want to keep you in my memory, perfect and just for me. And even if you don't believe me, I wanted it first. Whole portions of my life were spent learning how to beg for you to be closer to me, Caleb.”

Silence. Confused stare.

Your voice cracks on the next line:

“You hold it all in like I can’t feel it anyway. Like I can’t hear it humming off your skin. Don’t you think it hurts me too? That you leave? Everytime it means something? That you pretend I’m not… that I don’t—” You choke. She's looking at you now.

“Why do you hold back?” you ask, voice small. “Doesn’t it hurt you too?”

She stares at you, like you’ve said something sacrilegious. Like you backhanded her, mouth slightly agape.

“It’s awful,” she says quietly. “Being near you like this. Feeling all of it. Wanting all of you, but trying to be good.”

“Stop being so fucking good, Caleb,” you whisper. “Come here.”

She flinches. “I told you, pips, I don’t trust myself.”

You shake your head. “But I do. I trust your hands. I trust your eyes. I trust your voice. I trust your want.. I trust your care… I—I trust you more than me.”

You reach out, palm trembling. She sees it.

“I’m not scared,” you lie, your hand still shaking. “Not of you.” That part’s true.

She exhales like she’s been drowning. Like she doesn’t know what to do with the gift of your fear, your aching, your permission. She doesn't move.

“Please, Caleb,” you whisper, before pulling out the same words that worked on her every single time.

“I need you.”

The years coalesce. She finally snaps.

She grips your hand and practically crawls over to you, hair framing the side of her face, falling over her eyes. She looks like a scared animal. She sits next to you, finally close. She lets go of your hand, and both of hers hover by your face. She's searching through your eyes, looking at your lips. Your heart races. You can smell her shampoo, her deodorant, and her sweat. Her face is only centimeters away. Shaking, you take her hovering hand and press it to your cheek. Her breath shudders.

“Tell me no,” she whispers, barely audible.

“I'm not doing that,” you whisper back. “Please, Caleb.”

She leans closer, lingering for just a moment before her lips meet yours. Soft, just once, then desperate, then deeper. You kiss her back, your hand fluttering to the neckline of her white tank top, pulling her closer to you. She clumsily moves to straddle you, hovering over you with one hand on the side of your face and the other on your waist. Her hands are shaking but they still feel so strong to you.

She pulls back, a thread of saliva between your mouths. You're both breathing hard, her eyes are wild as they look at you, and you're sure yours are full of the same kind of crazy.

Her eyelids fall heavy as she looks at your mouth again, “This still okay?

You nod vehemently, hungry for the feeling of her lips on yours again.

“Not enough,” you whisper. Your lips clash back together until she pulls back again, barely.

“I want to do more than kiss you,” she mutters, putting her forehead to yours. “Tell me no. Tell me to stop,” she says again.

“I don't want you to stop,” you reply. Her shirt's still gripped tight in your hand.

“I'm going to tear you apart... I'll go slow. I'll—”

“Just don't go away.”

Her hand is slow as it moves, and yours does too. Mouth on yours, tongue snaked messily into your mouth. She moves her fingers from your face, tracing your jaw. Then her finger traces slowly down your neck down your sternum.

With the way she touches you, if she said she could taste you through your clothes, through the pads of her fingers, you'd believe her. Her touch lingers there before so gently sliding over to your breast through your shirt, her thumb wiping across your nipple. She lets a choked sound out from her lips when she feels you arch from the feeling.

You gasp, your hand quick and disorderly, sliding down her chest and to her stomach, then under her shirt. You pause it there, palm pressed against her abs, and another little whimper flies out of her lips against yours after you do.

Her mouth leaves yours but your lips brush as she whispers, “I think I'm dreaming.”

You taste salt. You can't tell which one of you is crying. You shake your head. Words fail when you feel just the same.

“What can I do… to make you say my name… like you did last night?” She breathes the words so vulnerably, as gently as she's fondling you. But at the same time, she sounds like a woman on the verge of devouring the world.

You feel unnerved, but not afraid. Seen. Like the curtains opened on you and there's an audience watching and you're scriptless. You look at her looking at you and your breathing stops for a second.

You've never seen the gaze she's hovering over you with before. She looks so... starving.

“If… If I said I wanted you to… touch me, would you?” You can't get the words out without pulling them from your chest like a sword she's fated to wield, covered in red of you, in need. You've wanted to say it for days.

There's a pause.

Then, “Is that what you're saying?”

“Yes.”

“Show me where I am allowed to touch you, then. I... can't mess up...”

She takes your free hand and slides the back of her hand into your palm. Your hand is so much smaller than hers when she does it. You move your hand to take her wrist. You're so dizzy.

You guide her and press her fingers below your belly button. You can feel her holding her breath.

“Please,” you breathe out the plea before you can even stop yourself, but gently, you say it again. “Please touch me, Caleb…”

It terrifies and fills you now, the way you can finally name what you want. Her hand slides into the band of your underwear, stopping before she reaches your needy core. Her head is against the headboard, eyes closed.

She opens them to look at you, looking drunk with wanting.

"Are... you sure..." she whispers, wild purple eyes darting across your face for signs of discomfort, silent protest.

Even though it feels inappropriate for the moment, you struggle to hold back a laugh.

"Yes, I'm sure. Are you?"

She exhales, and there's ten years in the way she kisses you then, her fingers reaching for the place that's been aching for them for days on end.

This is going to consume you both. It already has.

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series lmk in comments or reblogs! (Must have age in bio)

📖>> Part 5