#keepswingin writes

Your gaze blearily sweeps across the swarm of white coats and scrubs before it lands on his face, lips pulled firm, eyes flicking rapidly across your body, trying to catalogue every single injury from sight alone.

You would laugh, if only you didn't hurt so much.

"Doctor Zayne," you whisper, forcing the words from your chest. It's meant to soften the crinkle between his eyes, the worry he's trying to hide, the iron grip he has on your hand. "I - I did it."

There's a pause as people move around you, so many different faces, voices, sounds. They push you through a set of doors you've never been behind before, and the hospital bed rattles with the force of it, though there are sets of hands keeping you steady, Zayne's steely gaze locked with yours.

"I finally found what - what I was looking for."

You think someone pokes a needle into your left arm, while another reaches over you for something that looks oddly like a mask, see-through and plastic. You only realize it's an oxygen mask when they pass it over to Zayne who takes it from them without looking away from you.

He doesn't let go of your hand, blood smearing against his pale skin.

"Of course you did," Zayne says in return, but his voice wobbles and nearly cracks. Another set of doors, a different set of lights that nearly blind you until he moves to block them, leaning over you. His fingers are featherlight as they brush across your face, gentle as they ease the oxygen mask into place against your skin.

Your chest feels lighter after a few shaky inhales. Zayne smiles when he sees the mask fog up, but it disappears just as quickly. He squeezes your hand hard enough to hurt. "Deep breaths for me, that's it." A pause. More doctors moving around, someone's hand falling on Zayne's shoulder. "You're going to be okay."

He turns to face the older man and for a long moment, you worry that he's going to cause a scene for your sake. You know from all ethical points that he can't be the one to operate on you, even in your pained state, but it doesn't mean that you want him to leave you. Not when so much hurts, not when you're sure you're bleeding more blood than you even have, not when his face is pinched like there's something seriously wrong.

The room is starting to clear out. A kind nurse runs her hand up your arm and squeezes the hand not held by Zayne, offering comfort. The older man gives a short nod to Zayne and moves back, pulling his mask over his chin.

You breathe out. Zayne is closer, hovering over you. When you meet his eyes they're searching yours for something, and you're not sure if the pain is making your vision blurry or if it's his eyes that hold a sheen to them they didn't have before. He leans down and leaves a kiss in your hair, lingering for a long moment before pulling away.

You want to say something, anything. Maybe this is your last chance and you're going to leave without saying anything, all because of a stupid oxygen mask. All because you couldn't move out of the way fast enough.

A tear slips from your eye and something within you thrashes with panic suddenly, your heart rate increasing. You don't remember anyone hooking you up to a heart monitor but apparently they did, and the machine reacts just as wildly, beeping erratically.

Zayne glances over at it before returning his gaze to you. For some reason, you think he understands exactly what you aren't able to say.

"I know," he says, voice steady. "I love you too."

The monitor calms, but your body is still struggling, unable to figure itself out. A different nurse tugs Zayne away from you, another doctor speaking to him in hushed tones. Probably about the facts of it all, of you surviving, of your body not giving up on you quite yet. Zayne likes facts, enjoys the stability of them, the truth of it all. His fellow doctors are offering the best kind of comfort they know, but Zayne simply looks at you and holds onto your hand.

Only when there's enough distance between you does he finally let go, the kind nurse beside you lowering your hand gently to your side before it falls and giving it a reassuring pat.

You hear the doors push open and then close. Faces filter in and out of your vision before it all finally fades away.

(part ii | part iii)

cw: kidnapping, scenes of violence, character death (not of main characters), mentions of past trauma, implied torture, implied medical experimentation

a/n: this has been finished for so long i was just stalling because i didn't feel like editing but then i figured i should post it so that it doesn't end up in the rotting wip pile xD hopefully everyone enjoys!

Ever takes you.

It's less climatic than it should be - an off night, a thundering sky, a wrong turn down an alley you've taken too many times before. Easy to track down, really, because you've gotten comfortable. It's a rule you know above all else, to always be on guard, to never stay in one spot for too long, especially now, when you're poking around in places you shouldn't be, when Caleb is the one you can't quite let go. 

But a storm swirls overhead and you turn down that same alley. You watch your shadow flicker over the bricks, listen to the sound of your footsteps, one after another. You think about how it's odd that the association has been so quiet lately, when it very much seems like it shouldn't be, with everything happening at once, with everyone trying to get their hands on aether cores no one will ever truly understand. 

Lightning flashes, illuminating the world around you. 

You blink. Glance up at the sky. Watch grey clouds move fast above you, promising rain. When you look in front of you, you notice more shadows than before, growing closer. Thick coats bundled around black face masks and leather gloves, eyes that shine under the quickly fading sun. More than you can handle, even as your hand inches towards your waistband, where your gun awaits. 

Panic doesn't push you into action quite yet, but there is a part of you that thinks you should bring your hunter watch to life, that if you ping your location someone would probably be there in minutes to investigate. But was it worth the risk of putting someone else in danger? Was it worth - 

Something sharp pricks at your neck and all at once your world tilts on its side. 

A strangled sound escapes you as you stumble forward a step, and then fall, unable to hold yourself upright. Your knees scrape the pavement as your vision wavers and then wanes, your heartbeat thudding hard in your ears. The figures in front of you grow closer and then blur into a mass of darkness and you have no choice but to close your eyes, unable to make a sound, unable to move. 

A cold hand roughly grabs your chin and turns your head, holding it for a long moment before letting go. Thunder rumbles from above. You can barely think. "We've been looking for you," a voice whispers, close to your ear. "Finally found you." 

As everything around you finally begins to fade, you can't help but think about Caleb. 

You wonder if he'll miss you like you'll miss him.

x

Caleb sits in the living room of a house that feels far too big and watches as rain slides down the window. His phone sits abandoned on the coffee table in front of him, silent and dark. He wonders if she had forgotten they had dinner plans, but there's a part of him that thinks she would never forget. 

The storm is bad. The wind is dangerous, and the lightning is deadly. Storms are always worse in Skyhaven, but it's something he's learned to weather, though it was easier still when she was by his side, or tucked under the blankets in a bed that was no longer his. He reaches for the phone and brings up his messages with her, staring at the unread words. 

He types out another message. Clicks send. 

The storm rages on.

x

"Something wrong, Colonel?" 

Caleb startles, looking away from the window. He doesn't remember the last time he hadn't heard someone approach, and the thought itself isn't something he wants to dwell on. He straightens and turns towards the voice, facing an older man with various medals decorating the crest of his suit. Caleb pauses for a moment and stares, brows knitting together. He doesn't remember his man's face, doesn't remember ever seeing him before. It wasn't odd for Ever to throw in new recruits when they felt like it, but he could usually pick them out of a crowd like the sore thumbs they were. Whenever they dared to add researchers to the mix, or people who had been around since Ever's start, Caleb was usually able to pick them out too. 

This man...this man is an oddity. 

"Did you need something?" Caleb asks, voice firm, eyes giving a quick scan to the rest of the room. It's only the two of them, the rest of the control room empty. Today's a training day for most of the Fleet. He doesn't usually need to be here for days like this one, but he didn't have anywhere else to go. 

He had called her earlier. He had called her last night. He had sent more texts than he would like to admit, and still, there was nothing but silence in return. Paranoia was starting to creep in from the edges of his mind. He was minutes away from making his way over to her apartment. 

The older man doesn't bother to stand at attention. It bothers Caleb, makes him think of the man more as an insurgent than a fellow comrade. If he was from Ever, he must've been a newer model, one that didn't have to go through the same rigorous training as the rest. "No," the man drawls, eyes flickering up to Caleb's face. "Just checking in with you, sir."

Caleb bristles and turns back around. "Don't bother me with such trivial matters again." There's another storm brewing on the horizon. It's been days. He doesn't know how much longer he can wait. Anxiety curls at his insides like a snake around his ribcage. What if she's hurt? What if he's failing her by waiting?

"As you wish, Colonel," the man replies, eerily even. 

When Caleb doesn't hear him move, he uses his Evol to throw the door open. Wood splitters as the handle pushes through the wall. He hopes the man flinches. A few seconds later, he listens to the man's fading footsteps. 

Alone again, Caleb releases a shaky exhale. One hand comes up and runs through his hair. 

What if it was his fault she was missing?

x

x

x

x

Caleb stands in the middle of her apartment and looks around at a place stuck in a moment of serenity. 

The door is broken at the hinges and everything is perfectly in place. There are no signs of struggle, no signs that she's been home anytime recently. There is no takeout in the trash, no dishes in the sink, no laundry piled by the washer, no blankets askew on her bed. There is no signs of life, no signs that someone has lived within this apartment, and Caleb feels his shoulders begin to shake, his heart beating faster. 

Nothing is packed away in suitcases. She didn't decide willingly to leave him. But there hasn't been any contact, and his calls go straight to voicemail, and his messages are delivered but unread so someone is looking at her phone, or too sentimental to destroy it. Or maybe that's apart of evidence of her grisly murder and Caleb is already far too late and she's already gone and he's done nothing but waste time because he was trying to better and it didn't get him anywhere - 

Caleb collapses to the floor, chest heaving, vision blurring. He - He needs to calm down. If he doesn't calm down the chip, the chip will make him - he can't forget, not now, not ever, not when he's already wasted so much time. He needs to calm down, he needs...he needs her. He needs her because he doesn't quite have himself anymore. 

His breath catches in his throat. He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't just sit here and let the chip - 

Pain in his chest. Pain in his head, pain shooting through an arm far from human.

It hurts. Everything hurts and the world blurs. 

No, he begs, anything but this, anything but now - 

x

Caleb awakens in the middle of the floor of an apartment he doesn't truly remember. 

Slowly, he pulls himself upright, a dull ache deep in his chest, a headache forming in the crevices of his mind. He looks blearily around the room, takes in the furniture, the color palette that isn't as dark and dreary as his own home. There's a stuffed animal from a claw machine sitting between the couch pillows, just out of reach. 

Caleb carefully climbs to his feet and makes his way over to the stuffed animal, picking it up and holding it close. It looks like it's supposed to be a fluffy white dog, but it's missing the right fluff. A stray thought enters his head, that it would look cuter with a colored collar around its neck, and then he freezes. 

I got a collar with a bell. I put it on the cat.

His fingers curl tighter around the plushie.

If I had that kind of bell right now, I should make you wear it, right?

"Fuck," he whispers, bits and pieces coming back to him. It slips through his fingers like sand, even as he desperately tries to hold onto something. He could forget everything else, but he could never forget her. He was...he was wasting time, wasn't he? He was...in her apartment and here for a reason. He needed to - 

He walks towards her bedroom, stuffed dog still clutched in hand and places it carefully on top of her pillows. Then he bends down and reaches under her bed, fingers gazing across the box he's looking for. He tugs it out and pops it open, digging carefully through old and new memories alike. When he reaches the bottom, he finds what he's looking for and pulls it free. 

She would never leave without it. Even if she hated him to the ends of the world, he knows she still wouldn't leave it. It's a small ring fit for a child, crafted out of fraying string and beads. He had given it to her before they were old enough to know what promise rings meant, and he thinks that's what it was always meant to be.

Tucking the ring away and pushing the box back under the bed, next he moves to her closet, picking through the clothes hanging there. Every outfit is in place besides her hunter uniform, and a quick glance at her dresser tells him she was in a hurry to leave last time she was here, makeup sprawled across the desk. 

This...it's a start. He can do something with a start. 

"I'm going to find you," he whispers, a promise to himself and the empty home around him. 

x

x

The Hunters Association is only helpful after he threatens further action through the Fleet. 

He thinks he would feel bad about it any other time but he doesn't, not when it's nearing a week and he still has no trace of her. They offer him everything they know and it gives him her last mission, and her possible last location. Her last mission had something to do with abandoned research labs out on the outskirts of Linkon, though it didn't turn up anything new and she had returned to the base empty handed. 

She was dismissed by six o'clock that night. Security cameras show her walking out the front doors of the association five minutes after. She decides to walk home and takes a left down the street. One of her co-workers tells him that's the path she usually takes. Caleb rewatches the footage three times, trying to find anything abnormal but there's nothing and he is still left with more questions than answers. 

He thanks them for the cooperation and tells them to call him - not the Fleet, him - if they hear anything about her or from her. He feels the distrusting eyes of her Captain burn into his back as he leaves, but he doesn't really care about that either. All he cares about is finding her. 

x

x

He retraces her steps, forwards, backwards, until his feet hurt and his body aches. 

When he finds no evidence the hard way, he returns to the Fleet and checks the cameras. The Fleet has access to nearly all the public cameras in Linkon, though not everyone in the city needs to know that. He's able to find her on one camera after she leaves the association, closer to her apartment, but he loses her when she ducks into an alleyway off the beaten path. 

The cameras on either end of the alley have no footage, disabled from within. 

Caleb digs deeper, searching the access files. If cameras are shut down it's usually for construction or security of a political figure, not for some random hunter choosing to walk down an alley. It's suspicious and makes him uneasy, the further he searches, the less files he finds. It's like the system has been wiped from the inside out. He stares at an empty file screen, where logs of usernames are supposed to be, and finds only his name staring back at him. 

He deletes himself from the system and makes a copy of the footage to a spare flash drive before deleting that too. 

Not for the first time, he wonders if she was taken because of him, because he dragged her too close to the sun. He tried to keep her out of it, tried to make her keep her distance, but she was stubborn and he was helpless to stop her when she made up her mind, unless he took extreme measures. 

Maybe they weren't extreme enough. 

He tucks the flash drive in his pocket and turns to leave, only to be met by the face of the older man from earlier in the week standing in the doorway. He's missing some medals, ones Caleb saw pinned to his suit last time, and his suit isn't as prim and proper as it should be. There's something dark in his eyes that Caleb can see even from across the room.

"Colonel," the man says happily, taking a step forward. "I've been looking for you." 

"Have you?" Caleb asks, crossing his arms. "Because I haven't seen you anywhere."

The man laughs, raspy echoes bouncing off the walls around them. "I think we both know why," he responds, shooting Caleb a crooked smile. "Missions come and go."

He shifts, and his uniform moves with him. Caleb's eyes catch the symbol sitting branded against the cusp of his collarbone. Things begin to fall into place as soon as he starts lining things up. He had tried to protect her and all he did was put her right in the line of fire. There was no telling if she was even still alive if...if they were the ones who took her, finally, after all this time. 

"Were you sent to keep an eye on me?" Caleb asks, and it's hard to keep his voice steady when so many different emotions are shooting through him all at once. It's hard to keep focused when he's worried about her, the chip, the deceiving man in front of him, the organization responsible for plucking him for death and giving him a second chance as something much different. "You've done a shit job," he continues, meeting the man's eyes defiantly. 

"But I've done my job," the man whispers. "She's long gone by now - " 

The man chokes. He reaches up to his throat, scratching his fingernails against his skin desperately. 

Caleb doesn't release him. He only steps forward, and with each step he takes, the harder it is for the man to breathe. "Where. Is. She?" Caleb demands, squeezing tighter and tighter. The man's lips are nearly blue by the time he reaches him, eyes holding a deadly intent. "I have no problem killing you," he spits dangerously. "It's up to you if you want to ever breathe again." 

He watches as the man's widen and a horrible sound escapes him, as if he's trying to speak. Caleb scoffs and releases him, taking pleasure in the way the man's body crumples pathetically to the floor, He struggles to breathe in as much oxygen as his body will allow. Caleb crouches down and waits a moment before using his Evol again, grabbing the man by the chin and jerking his head so that he faces him. 

"Where is she?"

"I - I don't know!" he rasps, still struggling to breathe. "They - They didn't tell me!" 

Caleb chuckles darkly. "Don't lie to me." His Evol tightens. The man cries out in pain. Bloodied marks begin to peel at his chin.

"Wait, wait, wait! I'm - I swear I'm not lying, I'm not lying! They - They sent me here to keep an eye on you, to - to make sure you wouldn't do anything they didn't account for! They were afraid of - " 

"Afraid of what?" he whispers, sick of the man's blubbering already. He tightens his grip even more, sick of the games. He'll kill him even without getting the answers he's looking for, he doesn't mind, not when he has a feeling this man is omitting more than he needs to be, especially with his life on the line. 

The man reaches out and grabs at Caleb's wrist, fingernails digging into the seam of his suit. Caleb goes to shake him off, disgust rolling in his gut, but before he can a strangled sob spilts from the man's battered throat. He pauses, arm hovering in the air. A tear slips from the man's eye. He doubts it's because he's suddenly grown a conscious, especially not if he's part of their - 

"You," he cries, pain straining the tone of his voice. "They're afraid of you." 

Caleb leans back and releases him. 

The man falls to the floor once more, curling around himself, gasping. The noises he makes are unfitting of one from Ever, and he can't help but wonder if they've stopped paying attention to the newer ones because they finally have her. Guilt begins to claw its way up his throat, nearly weighing him down. He tried to protect her, he told them she wasn't worth the time, that he was better, that he would always be better. He tried to stop them, to keep them from ever being able to reach her.

And now they were sending unfinished soldiers out to the frontline. 

Maybe they were right to be scared of him. 

"Did they say anything else?" Caleb's voice is deceptively calm. He returns to his full height and readjusts his glove, straightening out the wrinkles. The man coughs and sniffles, barely turning his head in the other's direction. 

"No, nothing. Nothing, I swear on my life."

Caleb is still and silent for a long moment. "That's not much to swear on." 

The man doesn't have time to react as the bullet is lodged between his eyes, and smoke swirls from the end of Caleb's pistol as he returns it back to his side. He reaches into his pocket, fingers brushing against the flash drive, answers just out of reach.

x

It's a bad idea.

A horrible idea, if Caleb stops and actually thinks about it, but it's the best way for him to get answers, even if he has to play dumb to get them. The door ahead of him tugs open, revealing a face he knows all too well. Something close to fear shivers down his spine. 

The Professor stares back at him, eyes crinkling at the corners once he realizes who it is standing in front of him. "Caleb," he says, sounding surprised. "What are you doing here at this hour?" Caleb keeps his hands locked behind his back, a picture of posture, even if his insides say otherwise. It takes everything within in to keep a steady, uncaring tone to his voice. 

"I was curious about when the next round of testing was going to start." 

The Professor regards Caleb with a cautious stare, shifting. "Is there a reason why you're so eager to begin?" he asks carefully, eyes flicking across Caleb as though they're trying to find something strange or out of place. 

Caleb plays the part well as he flexes his arm slowly, rolling his wrist. "My arm has been a bit slow on the uptake. I was hoping we could make some adjustments alongside everything else." 

It's the right thing to say. Immediately, Caleb can see the Professor relax, like he's provided a suitable enough reason to be poking around about future Ever projects, especially when this isn't a place Caleb enjoys visiting. The Professor allows his lips to almost twitch into a small smile. 

"Unfortunately, the next round has been momentarily delayed. A few of our scientists have been redirected to a different project." 

"Oh?" Caleb hums, acting clueless. "Did they finally figure out a better resource?" 

There's a gleam in the Professor's eye that Caleb doesn't like. "Something like that. I'll let you know as soon as we're able to begin the next stages. For now, just keep things running smoothly, Caleb." 

Caleb gives a short nod and a quick duck of his head as the Professor bids him goodnight, the door shutting quietly behind him. Caleb can't get out of the place fast enough, heart thumping hard as he makes it across the street and down the first alley he sees. He stops and allows himself to lean his forehead against the cold brick, forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

At the very least, he confirmed what he thought. 

Ever did have her and they were already pushing other projects back because they knew she was the key to the lock that they were looking for. At least the Professor told him what he needed to know, even if he didn't realize it. 

He talked specifically about the scientists that worked with Caleb, which meant he knew which places to check. 

x

Four weeks. 

Four weeks since he's last seen her face, heard her voice, held her close. 

He craved her touch like a man would water in a desert, and he didn't know how to combat that feeling. Instead, he resorts to the one thing he knows he can do. He hits the research labs he knows best, and when those turn up empty, he begins going for the ones Ever tries to hide. When he runs out of those that he knows, he interrogates the next scientist he comes across. 

Blood sticking to his palms, he heads for the next round of labs. 

Night bleeds into the horizon. 

He's so close. He knows he is.

x

He didn't know this lab existed. 

The building is small and tucked behind some other abandoned buildings, nearly trespassing into the N109 Zone, windows broken and brick decaying into dust. It was the last lab on the list and so far Caleb was doubtful there was anything inside besides the hollow remains of what used to be, but he makes his way into the building anyway, using the force of his weight to push through the front door. 

It cracks and falls apart as he steps over the threshold. The room before him is bare and covered in discarded papers, weathered with age, some shredded into tiny pieces. Plaster peels from the walls and there's a hallway tucked behind a fallen bookshelf towards the back of the room that he steps over. 

Following the hallway brings him to a second room, this one smaller than the first. Furniture sits askew, wood splintering and cushions thrown to the corner, ripped in two. Thick layers of dust cover empty picture frames barely hanging onto their hooks. There's no signs of life, no signs of anyone having touched this house in years and Caleb's hopes fall deep into the pit of his stomach. 

Did the scientist lie to him? Broken and bleeding and alie slips from between his split lips?

Anger is a close second to the disappointment, the cocktail of emotions beginning to stir deep within him. He's failed again. He can't do anything worthwhile, he never has, and now she's probably dead and gone and he couldn't even protect her when it mattered the most. What was the point of him coming back if nothing changed? If he was still just as useless as he was all those years ago, ignored and thrown aside as they reached for her every single time - 

Caleb's eyes abruptly catch on the far wall. 

There's dust everywhere. There is not dust on the corner of a larger picture frame that sits awkwardly towards the bottom of the wall, just enough to be out of place. 

He walks over to the frame and stares at it for a long moment, and it's then that he sees the traces of fingerprints, sticking to the remains of the frame. There's a small indent within the wood. 

Ever was smart. Caleb always tried to be smarter.

x

The smell of antiseptic burns his nose the further into the lab he gets, the sound of his boots echoing throughout the empty rooms ahead of him. It's too bright, and the sounds of different machines whirring and clicking sets him on edge. He hasn't seen a single person in this place that grows larger and larger after every step he takes, and yet his heart tells him he's in the right place.

She's here. He knows she's here.

There's tables with restraints in most of the rooms. Equipment, clipboards, computers. Needles awaiting their hosts in one, scalpels and hard cloth in another. He quickens his pace, heart pounding. If he thinks too much about this, about where he is and where he has been, the chip will take control. He can't allow that to happen, not now, and he tries his best to keep his breathing steady as he finally makes it to the end of the hallway, only to be met by an eye reader beside the door. 

It's barely a sound decision to break it, bits of metal and glass shattering to the ground but the door opens as he does, spitting broken error codes in an calm voice as he pushes his way through. Several shocked eyes turn to face him as he sees the massive room before him, wires curling from the ceiling down to troves of different devices, to empty tables awaiting test subjects, to -

To her, lying on a lone table in the middle of the room. 

Caleb's world freezes once he sees her. He thinks his heart stops. 

She's restrained by metal around her wrists, ankles, and forehead, keeping her from looking around. Her chest heaves with frantic breaths and a scientist stands above her with a scalpel in hand, blood dripping from the blade. There's needle marks trailing alongside her neck, cuts across her arm, a gash along the curve of muscle in her leg, poorly healing, wrapped in bruising of purple and yellow. She's still in her hunter outfit, though it barely hangs onto her body, already so malnourished and small and if Caleb didn't know her like another side to his heart, he wouldn't know who he was looking at. 

There's six scientists in room. The one standing above her goes to speak but Caleb throws him back with his Evol before he can get any words out, his back hitting the far wall with a loud crack of bone. He doesn't have a chance to scream but one of the other scientists does, scrambling to run, the others attempting to follow. 

Caleb pulls out his pistol and takes aim, exhaling. 

He blinks away what he thinks might be tears before holding the far door they all run to in place with his Evol, listening to the growing sound of their distraught cries as they look back at him. 

Before everything, before this, maybe he would have felt something. Guilt, horror, disgust. But he is what they all fear, and this is clear in a way it has never been before as he sees the way they pull at the door like they can make it move, like they can change the outcome that's already been foretold. As they look at him like a monster, Caleb knows there was never a chance that he wasn't, not when it came to those he loved. 

He shoots them one by one in quick succession before lowering his gun. Their bodies are piled on top of each other, motionless and silent, a scene out of a horror movie neither of them could ever finish when they were younger.

He pockets his weapon and turns back to where she's been abandoned, running over to her side.

It's worse up close. An Evol suppressor sits locked around her neck, skin underneath rubbed raw from struggling. Her chest is a mess of open wounds, some festering and others still bleeding, her skin mangled and messy. Caleb struggles to keep the chip from taking him away right then and there, heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears. His eyes drag back up to meet her own, taking in her sunken cheeks, her pained eyes, the small cut below her lip. 

With a shaking hand he reaches down and wipes his thumb across the cut, wiping the blood away. She flinches with the motion, even as her eyes stay locked with his, and he freezes, unsure what to do next. He wants nothing more than to hold her and never let go, to take all her pain and make it his, to stitch up the wounds and drag the needle along his own skin instead - anything to make it so that she doesn't look how she does now, like the life's been drained out of her, frail and scared and tiny even though she's always been anything but. 

His lips almost tremble. He tries to say her name, to whisper it like a prayer that was never answered, but he finds that nothing comes out, that he is stuck standing over her with his hands half raised and useless when she needs him most. He couldn't protect her then, so how could he protect her now? Offer her comfort when his touch was something she couldn't even bear, broken and bleeding and all his fault?

He keeps his gaze on her as he uses his Evol to carefully dislodge the restraints before leaning over and removing them one by one. She flinches with every movement, each clatter of the metal as he throws it aside, fingers shaking by the time he reaches the suppressor. He's overly careful to keep space between them as he leans in further, not wanting to box her in,  unable to get a good enough look and wanting to be sure of the angle before he gently pulls it from around her neck, the device beeping as it's deactivated. 

It drops the floor unceremoniously. A part of him wants to use his Evol to snap it to pieces and another part of him wants to rip everything in this lab apart, to take whatever data they've gathered and destroy it once and for all, but no part of him wants to leave her. 

He swallows and inches closer to her, one hand gingerly slipping under the curve of her back. He tries not to react to her flinch, but he's sure his face doesn't hide the emotions he feels well. "You're safe now," he whispers, nearly desperate. "I'm going to help you sit up. One, two - " 

He pulls her up as gently as possible, other hand coming to a rest on the side of her waist, one of the only uninjured parts of her. His touch lingers as she cries out and squeezes her eyes shut from what he's sure is pure agony on her wounds, and wants nothing more than to take the sound away and replace it with something else. 

He knows he should let go of her. He knows he should. But he can't. 

He's so lost in thought that he doesn't notice as she slowly lifts her hand up and then rests it on his cheek. He grows still, eyes flickering back to her own. A tear slips down her cheek. And then another. "Caleb?" she whispers, and he - he remembers the last time she sounded like this, broken and tiny and crying and nothing but a failed experiment to everyone around them and - and - 

Caleb nearly breaks himself when her other hand grapples for him, fingers tangling around the chain of his necklace. She looks down at the necklace and then back up at him, squeezing the pendant in a tightly closed fist full of new scars, and Caleb can't take it any longer. 

He surges forward, arms wrapping around her, closing the distance between them until they're breathing the same air, feeling the beat of each other's heartbeats. A sob rattles deep in Caleb's chest when she starts to cry, and he squeezes her tighter, her arms sliding around him, his fingers knotting in her hair.

"This is my fault," she whispers unbidden, words muffled into the cusp of his shoulder. Caleb tucks himself closer, pressing soft kisses to the skin he can reach, shaking his head.

"No," Caleb murmurs, voice choking on another sob. "Not your fault." He's barely able to form sentences, let alone words, body shuddering with the force of emotions he struggles to keep under control. "Never your fault." A tear breaks free, slipping against her skin. "I'm sorry." 

She hiccups, sniffles. He thinks maybe it could've been a laugh, if only they were somewhere else. 

"You found me, Caleb," she says. "You found me."

"Always," he breathes, kissing her again. Her fingers dig into the cloth of his jacket, desperate to find skin and hold on tight. Caleb shifts slightly, nearly pulling her off of the table and into his arms but stopping when her breath hitches. Another kiss and he's tugging at her again, waiting until he feels her hold grow tighter before attempting to pick her up, her arms wrapped around him like it's where she's always belonged. He slides a careful hand down her back before settling his hold on her waist, the other under her knees, tight, secure. Safe. "Let's go home," he says, voice nearly catching and breaking. 

He feels her nod against him.

And he finally takes her home. 

x

You find that you like sleeping with the lights on, after. 

You know it's stupid, really, when there's so many worse things than the dark, but it scares you in a way it never did before, fear curling around your insides until it was the only emotion you knew. You hated it, hated feeling so weak, hated feeling so stupid walking over to the light on the far side of the living room and flicking it on like clockwork every night at six o'clock sharp, always before the sun disappeared under the horizon. 

Tonight is the same as any other, your finger pressing against the light switch before you breathe a small sigh of relief and return to the couch, watching idly as the weatherman tells you that it's going to storm all week, another thing you didn't fare too well with anymore. 

It made it hard to be in Skyhaven, the storms. They were so, so loud up there, closer to the clouds. It reminded you of that lab, of the echo every single instrument made, of the way some machines made you scream and others made you beg. It's all just too much and for a long moment, you're back there, and there's thunder outside and you are trapped on a table with a scalpel above you and no way out - 

The front door opens and closes.

Footsteps echo, growing closer and closer to you. You barely notice, trying to bring yourself back from a place you never want to revisit, and then there's a hand sliding across your back, squeezing tightly at your shoulder. Warm breath ghosts across your ear. "Missed you, pipsqueak," Caleb whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek and lingering for a long second before pulling away, ruffling your hair as he goes. "I'll start dinner." 

You wait for his footsteps to fade before turning and watching as he starts opening cabinets and pulling out ingredients, stacking them in a neat pile on the counter, followed by pans and lids. He fills a pot with water and places it on the farthest burner, flicking on the stove. When he turns again, his eyes catch your own and he slows to a stop, watching you. 

He's still in uniform. His hat is pristine and perfectly in place. He's preparing to make you dinner, as though he knows that your head isn't in the right place tonight. He looks at you like he already knows everything you could say. He's hard lines to soft edges that never quite disappeared, and you find yourself moving off the couch and towards him. 

He waits until you're close enough before opening his arms and wrapping you into a hug, reading your mind once more. You exhale and the sound shudders through you. The twisting of your gut and shadows of your mind go with it. 

Caleb presses a kiss to your hair. He waits for you to speak first and for a long moment you simply follow the rise and fall of his chest. Words swell in your chest before they finally decide to spill from you, whispering across the silence between you. 

"I think I love you." 

The water in the pot begins to boil, soft pops echoing from the stove. A soft chuckle rumbles through Caleb's chest. One of his hands intertwines with your own. "Popping the question so soon, pipsqueak?" he jokes quietly, and you can't help but roll your eyes, gently shoving him with your shoulder. He holds onto you tighter in retaliation. 

"I'm serious," you say. 

"So am I," he returns, and when you turn your head to look at him, he's smiling down at you like you're the sun. "I've always wanted to spend the rest of my life with you." A pause. His eyes, staring right through you. "I love you too." 

You feel something inside you start to mend with his words. The sounds of the past are eased away with the sound of his voice, the bitter cold biting at you washed away by warmth. His words settle deep in your chest and easily make a home where you thought only an empty chasm remained.

You close the distance between you, your lips meeting his. He sinks into you, smiling, and you pull him closer, kiss him deeper. You think this is what love must feel like, what it must taste like, what it must look like. You think this is what devotion is, what your hopes and dreams are, what you've been missing for what feels like your entire life.

You think this is home, and that it's never once been a place, because it's always been a person. 

If it had been anyone else, she would've been done for, but he was safe. He had always been safe.

"No," she breathes.

He hums and she sinks into his hold, trusting him to keep her upright. She didn't know what to start with, what he knew, if he even knew at all. Everything she wants to say builds in her chest, and then she finds that a part of her doesn't want to say anything at all, because this is the most peace she's felt all week. No secret glances or fleeting touches. Just them and the cave hiding them away from the rest of the world.

"I missed you," Victor tells her, like it's the simplest thing in the world. She wishes it was, wishes that there wasn't so much keeping them apart.

"We saw each other this morning," she says, squeezing her eyes shut when she feels his face tuck against her neck.

"You know that's not the same," he dismisses quietly, pressing a kiss against her skin. "I missed you, Nova," another kiss, this one lingering longer, a tighter tug around her waist before everything falls away. "Aren't you tired of hiding?"

She turns around and reaches for him before he fades back into the shadows of the cave, a creature shoved back where he belongs. Except, he's never belonged, not like the rest. Not when it comes to her, or the way any of them think now, eager to draw a line in the sand and never turn back.

"Of course I am," she says, pale fingers pulling at his wrist. She catches the shine of his eyes as they flicker to her bracelet, to the lightstone that rests within. "But I also know what would happen if we told - "

"You've seen the new outsiders, haven't you?" Victor interrupts carefully, and there's something hiding in his gaze that makes her heart beat faster. "They're different and they seem to work just fine. Why can't we?"

"And what do you think they had to go through to get there?" she asks him, voice coming out louder than she means it to be. He simply looks at her, silent. Nova sighs, shaking her head. "I want everything you want. I'm just scared," she admits, and she hates this, laying her heart bare for anyone to come along and pick at it as they please, but this is Victor. He's never hurt her, has always been kind touches and simple smiles, and she refuses to believe everything she's been told when someone like him exists and continues to prove them wrong.

He's more than some scary folktale.

She glances behind her, back out the entrance of the cave, takes in the way the waves lap at the sand of the beach. She remembers playing in that sand growing up, remembers her mother telling her never to run where the sun couldn't reach her. She wonders if he ever played in the same sand under the touch of moonlight.

"We'll get our chance," Victor whispers, bringing her attention back. "Someday."

Nova chuckles at that, fingers slipping between his. "Someone's been hanging out with the outsiders more than he lets on." He squeezes her hand in return, pulling her back to him. Her arms slip around his neck.

"Jealous?" he asks her, teasing.

You're too tired to really care to put things back properly like you usually do, and you give the kitchen a quick glance as you pass, unable to hold back a soft laugh at the small mess that sits strewed across the counters - a half eaten plate of what you think is some sort of egg and potato concoction, an empty glass, and an assortment of silverware.

You weren't the only one tired tonight, you suppose, shaking your head as you head for the hallway and the soft noise that emits from your bedroom.

He's slumped against your pillows, one hand curled loosely around the creased sheet, blanket barely covering his body. His own hunter gear sits askew beneath the window, trailing all the way to the bed. The television's volume is low, but the light is enough to bathe the room is soft hues of blue, flickering across the soft curves of his face.

It's the only time Xavier ever looks truly at peace, you think as you approach, one hand reaching across the bed to gently run your fingers down his cheek. He's always so calm, always so good at keeping the bad away from you, a mask of better days, and yet whenever he falls asleep, you find yourself entranced by the way his features slacken, the gentle push and pull of his chest, the way his hand always finds something to hold onto.

Afraid you'll disappear, even if you've already promised your return.

You pull away from him so that you can turn and swap your clothes out for something more comfortable, tugging your shirt over your shoulders. The extra steps to the dresser feel like a million more than they should, but you make it and grab the first things you see, shivering under the chill of the room.

You head back towards the bed as soon as you're ready, grabbing the remote and switching off the television as you carefully climb under the covers, trying your best not to disturb Xavier. He slept like a rock more often than not, but you were always worried about disturbing him.

Sliding as close as you can without shifting his body any, you readjust on your pillows, and tug the blanket up to your chin, shivering. As soon as the chilly air of your bedroom hit you, you knew it would be over, but you did try sleeping in your hunter clothes once or twice before and knew better to try again.

You release a gentle exhale and shuffle closer, the warmth of Xavier's body closer, and closer still. A small part of you nearly reaches out to grab his arm -

Xavier makes a small sound and turns his head, shuffling closer to you, not bothering to open his eyes. When that’s not good enough for him he raises his arm and wraps it around you, tugging you closer, your cheek coming to rest on the curve of his shoulder.

A final shiver slips through your body as his fingers settle on the cusp of your hip bone. The warmth is welcomed, and you curl closer, eyelids fluttering shut.

“Sorry,” Xavier murmurs drowsily, warm breath ghosting across your face as he dips down and leaves a poorly aimed kiss on the corner of your lips. “Wanted to wait up for you.”

“It’s okay,” you breathe, curling your own hand around the dip in his side, lips pulling into a smile. “You’re tired too.”

He hums, the sound low in his throat. You settle against him, allowing the darkness around you and the safety of his arms to lull you closer to the depths of sleep.

You’re nearly there, but then his sleepy voice pulls you back, lips pressing against your messy hair.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, a promise made, and a promise kept as he holds you close and you finally drift away.

(It’s only after you’re sleeping soundly does he whisper another promise, three little words that he says every night he’s with you.

Maybe one day you’ll be able to repeat them back.)

Lightning illuminates the bedroom, pushing past the curtains. There's another sound from Caleb, louder this time. You're not sure if it's a cry or the start of something worse as you turn to face him, sweat beading across his forehead, the bare planes of his back.

The blanket has been pushed away from him, hanging loosely off his legs. His eyelids flicker, fighting against whatever it is that's troubling him. His fingers tremble, muscles in his arms jumping as if he's trying to grab something.

Another sound escapes from his lips - a heart wrenching thing that claws at your insides, nothing more than a pitiful whimper. Once you had said you liked him in pain if that pain kept him tethered to you. You never meant pain he could never escape, keeping him trapped and helpless, a puppet in someone else's making.

Your heart aches.

You don't remember the last time he's had a fit like this. He had told you one time that he was used to the nightmares that plagued him, that he would be silent and stiff as he awoke and would eventually doze back off, even if it took a moment. You had scolded him then, because he wouldn't bother waking you.

You wanted him to wake you, for you to be there for him, so you could remind him exactly where he was and who he was with, so that he didn't have to suffer in silence.

Caleb had chuckled, and promised from then on that he would wake you if he needed you.

You never hoped for it to be like this, for him to be so terrified that he wasn't in control of his own body even in sleep. It's a twisted thought to have, to understand that it feels like he can never truly find peace, even with you by his side.

You exhale and sit up before reaching over to him and gently running your fingers through his hair. "Caleb," you say. "It's just a dream. You're okay."

His body flinches at the sound of your voice. Another whimper slips from him, carving out the inside of your chest. You brush your fingers by his cheek, down his trembling chin. He's burning up and becoming more restless, fingers clenching at open air.

"Caleb," you say again, a bit louder. You don't want to startle him but you don't want him to be like this any longer, terrified deep down that maybe you won't be able to help him, to save him like you feel like you can. "Wake up."

His eyes snap open.

Everything is silent for a long moment, his eyes wildly darting around the room, chest heaving as though he's just run a marathon, panic clear in the way his hand reflexively moves down to his waist, as if reaching for the weapon that always sits there, hidden from view, ready to fight an invisible enemy.

Finally, his eyes find your own. Another moment of silence, and then there's another rumble of thunder, followed by a loud strike of lightning somewhere close. The light flashes across his face and the next moment he's moving, leaving you behind.

By the time you stand up, the bathroom door clicks shut behind him and you hear the sound of the faucet flicking on. You hesitate by the side of the bed, wringing your hands. The rain grows heavier, pelting the windows.

He ran from you. Away from you.

It's the one thing you don't want. The one thing you can't bring yourself to ever understand after going through being without him for so long. It's a gaping chasm within you that begs for a bridge. You've learned so much, and yet, you still understand so little.

You exhale and make your way over to the bathroom door, giving the wood a soft knock. "Caleb?" you ask gently. "Can I come in?"

The water abruptly stops. You can picture him standing over the sink, arms on either side, head bowed. In pain. Alone and in pain.

"You're safe here, Caleb," you remind quietly, hoping it's the right thing to say. "It was just a dream."

An intake of breath that sounds more like a sob. A muffled sound - you're not sure if it's his hand hitting the counter or his back sliding down against the door that splits the home between you.

Your hand falls to the door knob. When you try to turn it, you find that it's been locked. You can't reach him. Your hand returns back to your side. You don't know what else to say.

"You were never supposed to see this," Caleb whispers, voice barely cutting through the door. "I - I can't protect you like this."

His voice trembles in a way you haven't heard since before this new Caleb, and it takes you back, back to when you were children and he had twisted his ankle tripping over a curb in the road. You had ran back to him as soon as you realized he wasn't following and had sat beside him, promising to get help, hand held in yours.

He had tried to brave, wiping his tears away, but you could still hear the wobble in his voice, the way he sniffled and asked if you were okay before anything else.

It's the memory that stops you from answering you don't need to, because it's all he's ever done. Protected you from the mundane to the complicated.

"Caleb, it's okay," you say, the softest you've ever spoken, "let me take care of you."

Your words ring throughout the empty room. The storm outside grows, and grows, and grows. You lift your hand to the door and rest your palm against it, hoping he lets you in, hoping that he doesn't shut you out over and over until there's nothing left to see.

You breathe in. You breathe out.

The bathroom door clicks as the lock is undone.

"Okay," Caleb says, finally letting you in, finally letting you see, finally letting you help in all the ways he's helped you.

You wonder how you could ever let him go.

The daywalker cabin is like a bucket full of sunshine and he can't help but smile softly the longer he looks, taking in symbols he can't wait to learn and running his fingers along what he thinks clouds would feel like, if he could ever soar high enough to touch them.

He lingers in the cabin for a while, forcing air through lungs that struggle to take any in. He feels so unsteady now, in everything he does whenever he's alone, no one else for him to look to make sure he's making the right decision.

He wasn't like this before. He wasn't like a lot of things before, uncertain in his own skin, hollowed out from within.

He hasn't seen the Eldress alone since. He thinks Vera and Vargas have gone out of their way to make sure the two don't cross paths, outside of when she tried to keep Nova and him from fixing the stone meant to keep them together. She hadn't spared him a glance when Nova had hugged her father, instead turning away as Victor bit his lip to ward off a much greater pain.

It's odd, missing something he's never been without. He's too afraid to raise his tongue to the empty spaces. He doesn't know how he will eat blood fruit from now on, the farthest thing from a vampire. She had threatened that he would starve next, and he was quickly beginning to believe her.

Victor sighs and makes his way back out of the cabin and over to the fire pit, flopping down onto the dirt. The tree stumps have been put away and he doesn't bother with finding the strength to bring any back over, instead pulling his knees up to his chin and staring into the embers as though they will explain to him all that he is missing.

He's not sure he wants to go back into Shadyside. The times he's been able to sleep have been spent on Vargas' couch, too afraid to step foot under the same roof as the Eldress. Auntie.

Auntie, as he had begged her to stop.

"I'm surprised you're still here."

The sudden voice makes him jump, heart squeezing between his ribs. Nova drops down beside him, playfully knocking her shoulder against his. Her smile could rival the sun when he turns to look at her, radiant and contagious as his own lips pull in turn.

"Missed me already?" he throws back easily, and her laughter is sweet enough to return his heart to a steady beat.

"You wish." She looks around the camp, taking in the emptiness with a small sigh. "I'm going to miss it here."

Victor follows her gaze to the window of the daywalker cabin and finds himself agreeing. He picks at his fingernails for a few moments, nervous and self-conscious in a way he can't shove back down. Nova seems to pick up on it, turning to meet him.

"You okay?" she asks softly, eyes flickering down to his hands. "You're going to ruin your moonicure." His lips pull again. She makes him feel at ease even when the rest of him feels as though it's fallen apart.

He feels ashamed, all too suddenly, scalding words pushing at his throat. Would she still look at him like he hung all the stars in the sky once she found out? Would he still be enough?

"Victor?"

His dark stone flashes, led by fear. Nova doesn't move away, and Victor wishes he could hate her for it, but he can't. Not when it's her. He closes one hand, hard enough that his nails press painfully into his palm. Nova reaches for his hand before he can get far, forcing his fingers apart and slipping her own in between.

Victor doesn't think he deserves such kindness. Not when he's barely a vampire, barely a success, barely the boy she's seen before.

"Nova," he whispers, her name stuck between his teeth. "She defanged me." His speech still isn't quite right if he doesn't focus enough, and he nearly slips up as he says it, terror latching onto him and holding tight. "I'm...I'm barely a vampire now."

Nova is silent. Victor is afraid to look at her so he keeps his sight on their intertwined hands as though that will make the truth any easier to bear. She is silent for so long that he starts to think that maybe she hates him too, until suddenly she's launching herself at him, wrapping her arms around him so tightly that it nearly hurts to breathe.

Victor hesitates, so, so uncertain. Nova clutches him like she's afraid he'll disappear into thin air, and he doesn't know if he has enough worth to hug her back. She buries her face into the side of his neck, lips pressing against his skin.

"Nova," he brings himself to whisper, blinking back what he thinks might be tears. "Aren't you - " and his voice chokes, because he can't bring himself to say out loud what is swirling around his head, and he thinks that he isn't worth words now, not when it comes to someone who shines so brightly he would be okay with fading into the shadows.

"Victor," she whispers back, as determined as the day he finally met her, "whatever she told you, it's not true, none of it." A pause as she pulls back so that she can meet his eyes, a tear running down her cheek that he nearly reaches up to catch. "You're a dream come true," she swears, and the words pull a watery laugh from him, her forehead falling against his. "Fangs or not, you're still you."

He can't help himself any longer as he reaches for her, fingers sliding down the curve of her cheek. She reaches up and rests her own hand on top of his.

"Stay with me?" he asks, a moment of vulnerability stretched into a safety he hasn't been able to find. Nova nods, pressing closer.

He wants to kiss her.

He wonders if he'll ever be worthy of such a thing.

(part i | part ii)

The first thing you register is the pain, actually, the way your limbs feel as though they're lead, the way it hurts to breathe, the motion scraping through your chest. Trying to open your eyes feels impossible and takes a while to do, and then when you're finally able to do it, the room is blindingly bright.

You wince and close your eyes again, and it's then that your ears finally catch up with the rest of you. There's a steady beeping close by and the sound of your name gently being called over and over again.

You want to answer, try to, but the words get stuck. A cough fights its way through your lips instead and the voice silents for a long moment as you flinch and try to keep your body steady, the movement jolting you around.

There's the distant sound of something sliding and then a weight at your side, something warm pressing against the inside of your wrist. They call your name again. It sounds like the very syllables tremble, tripping over one another.

You realize that you know this voice - that you love this voice, that you've never heard it so broken with uncertainty, and a new type of pain surges through you.

Regret.

You attempt to open your eyes again. The room is darker this time around and you recognize that the sliding sound from before was the curtains, and the grip on your wrist is -

"Zayne," you rasp, and your voice sounds absolutely horrendous. You cringe, nearly apologize, but find it's hard to say anything else. Your eyes flicker across the room, taking it in.

Slivers of sunlight peek through small gaps in the curtains, illuminating the whiteboard that hangs on the far wall with your patient information. There's a vase with fresh water and your favorite type of flower by the window. A sleeve of crumbling crackers sits untouched by your bedside. And finally there's Zayne, sitting in a chair that he's pulled from across the room.

He's already ahead of you, holding a small plastic cup with a straw up to your lips, eyes watching you carefully. You take a small sip and the relief is immediate on the ache of your throat; you take two more sips before Zayne gently tugs the cup away.

You watch him as he returns the cup to your bedside, and find that besides the physical pain that makes you ache, the way he looks hurts you most.

He's still in the same clothes as he was last you saw him, though his white coat hangs haphazardly off the windowsill, leaving him in his plain clothes, wrinkled and nearly askew. His hair is out of place and his face is wrought with worry, making him look older than he is. His eyes are scanning over you, flicking from one point to the next to make sure everything is alright and correct, and yet it's easy to see just how unsteady he is, in the way he can't bring himself to look away or to let go.

One hand stays wrapped around your wrist, an anchor against the rest of him. You look down at his fingers and it's only then that you realize they're trembling.

"Zayne," you say again, voice no louder than a whisper. It's still not quite right, not how you usually speak, the word nearly foreign on your tongue.

He doesn't look at your face, eyes settling somewhere on the blanket that covers you. His grip on your wrist grows tighter but the shaking doesn't stop.

There's a long moment of silence. You watch him, wishing you could do something more than stare. If only you could wrap your arms around him or rewind time and maybe do things differently.

Zayne shifts slightly in his chair.

"You needed emergency surgery." He finally says, but his tone shakes too.

Your heart lurches - of course you did. You knew the moment you saw what you were up against that it was a mistake to continue on, and yet you still did. You wanted the truth, you wanted more answers, and instead you ended up bloody and cut open from the inside out.

"It took - " He clears his throat, words getting caught. You can see him close his eyes and the jagged inhale of his chest. "It took all night. They didn't know if you were going to make it through."

Another pause. He's still shaking, his hand, his shoulders, all of him now, and you gently pull your wrist out of his grip so that you can hold his hand instead. His mouth opens and then closes.

"I thought I lost you," he whispers as he finally meets your gaze.

A tear slips down his cheek and then is followed by another, and another. You can't get your body to react fast enough as you tug at his hand, pulling him closer. He moves with you and as soon as he's within reach you drag him close, wrapping your arms around his body and burying your face into the crook of his neck.

His body shudders as he settles against you, arms sliding carefully around you. "You will never lose me," you murmur against his skin, determined as ever, heart nearly beating straight out of your chest. "You didn't lose me."

That's all it takes for the dam to break.

He tries to stifle the sob, to hide it, but the tears come all the same, and his body trembles and his grip tightens and his breath hitches.

You pull him as close as you possibly can, and you don't let go.