He should cling to it like a lifeline, the pretense that what you were asking him for wasn't real. A game. You've always liked games. Like those love letters you wrote in high school, "practicing" on him with each flowery expression of your utterly hopeless, devoted love.

(You don't know how many times he's read them. How they're all tucked away in a box he hides in an old gym bag, someplace safe you'd never look. You don't know he always slides one inside a hidden compartment of his uniform before a flight.)

So, really, nothing would change if you did this.

Nothing at all.

Except maybe everything.

"I mean, we are going to that party tomorrow, right?" You fidget with the blanket sprawled across his bed, a piece of home to keep him warm when the walls of his dorm started to feel claustrophobic. It's yours, but you've never mentioned it, never asked for it back. "People might bother you. So…we need to practice. Kissing. Just in case."

Caleb sucks in a deep, slow breath. It sticks in his lungs, the world going still for a moment, except for your fingers digging into an old hole in the fabric, bottom lip still caught between your teeth.

When you peer up at him through your lashes (he'd tried to count them all once, years ago. He'd gotten up to about 84 before they fluttered, and you looked at him, soft and safe and happy, and he lost track), the breath he had been holding escapes him in a nervous laugh.

You're fucking with him.

He just knows because—well, you have to be.

Because why here? Why now?

Why tempt him like this when your mere presence, your existence alone had always been enough to push him to the edge? To always be one nudge, one slip away from what was just out of his reach? Sinking his teeth into the sweet flesh of the fruit that was meant to be admired, protected, not consumed.

You frown, brows knitting together in frustration.

"Caleb."

"You're not being serious," he says, shaking his head. His fingers run through his hair, then anxiously tug at the chain around his neck. His thumb brushes against the words engraved into the metal tags; an old habit, a ritual. "You can't be."

You scoff, arms crossing your chest. The frustration in your expression crosses into irritation, and this—this is familiar. This he can deal with.

"Why not?"

Now it's his turn to scoff.

"What do you mean why not?"

Caleb lifts his hands, gesturing meaninglessly, because there was no way to explain it.

There were never any words for what you were to him, what he was to you. You just were. He was. And this wasn't—it couldn't—

He shakes his head, focusing back on you. Your lips are pressed together in a thin line now, face scrunched up in annoyance, and an old instinct rears up in him.

"Okay," he says slowly, elbows pressed to his thighs as he leans down closer to you.

Your eyes widen, lips popping open in an o, but he stops a few inches away. Trying to keep eye contact with you, but his gaze keeps slipping down, tracing that perfect shape of your mouth.

"Let's say you aren't just pullin' my leg, pips." His voice is deep, too deep. Too raspy. But he lets a smirk cross his lips, just to watch you react. "You've just been dyin' to kiss little ol' me all these years, and now you think you got your chance, hm?"

Your mouth opens and closes, glancing all over his face. Unsure where to look, even as your attention keeps focusing in low, where his smirk only grows. The blanket fists under your hand, and within a few wide-eyed blinks later, you're glaring.

"Now you're messing with me," you accuse, huffing.

"Fair is fair," he teases in a sing-song voice, and you roll your eyes. Your lips jut out in a pout, and he stares at them, trying to turn the playing field back to his favor.

But why? he thinks distantly, all the while he tries to push you further. To get you to give up? Admit defeat, that you were joking all along? Or that he'd finally caught you in exactly what you wanted?

Caleb knows all your tells. He reads them now, as easy as breathing: your fingers twitching, nerves; your eyebrows furrowing, annoyance; biting your lip again, want.

Want shouldn't be there.

Caleb's head tilts, looking at you closer. Nose scrunching up, frustration. Eyes unable to meet his, guilt. But wandering eyes and licking your lips—bashfulness? Longing?

That shouldn't be there either.

"You've been thinking of this for so long, hm?" Caleb breathes out low, palms flat against the bed as he leans closer to you. Your chest begins to rise and fall faster, eyes falling heavy and fixed to him.

You're pretending. He's pretending.

You're both always pretending, but about what?

His mind spins as he teases in a whisper, "You've been dreamin' about it." The tip of his nose brushes against yours. When had he gotten so close? Why did you let him? "Wondering if I taste like that lip balm you snuck into my pocket three months ago."

You whimper. So softly, but it rings in his ears this close to you, and he throbs.

Wrong. He was so wrong for this.

"Sour apple," you breathe. It's warm, fanning across his lips, and they part for you.

You're going along with it, he thinks, lies.

"Mm," he hums, watching you shiver. "You'll like the taste on me. Promise."

His hand inches closer, thumb brushing against the waistband of your pants. His callused fingertip slips across the sliver of skin where your hoodie has ridden up.

His hoodie. It's your favorite to steal when you come over. Sometimes you take it when you leave, leave it when you come back. It always smells like you then.

A sound rumbles low in his chest—possessive, pleased—and he swallows it, watching you ease closer to him at the touch.

Your forehead rests against his. He can't think straight.

Pretending. You're both so good at pretending.

You inhale deeply, and the sound trembles.

You'll break in a second. You'll let out a nervous, endearing laugh, palms on his face to push him away. You'll admit it was all a joke, a ruse. He'll laugh too and say he knew it all along.

You'll move on.

You won't forget.

"And when you kiss me," he promises, inches away, "I'll ruin everyone else for you forever."

Your eyes meet his. Your lips part, and no sound comes out.

When your fingers reach up, trembling, brushing along his face, he waits for you to push him away.

I'm just teasing you, Caleb, you'll say.

Yeah, I'm teasin' you, too, he'll say back. How's your own medicine taste in your—

Caleb gasps, eyes flying wide open when the softest warmth meets his lips.

His gazes focuses on you, half-lidded and cupping his cheeks; your mouth plush and gentle, but eager, wanting as it moves against his.

His lips part against yours, trying to breathe, trying to think. A whimper is pulled out of him when you take the opportunity to suck on his bottom lip.

Caleb breaks.

He kisses you with an insatiable hunger, sloppy but sure, hand splaying across the small of your back to tug you into him.

It's not real, but it feels real, and he drinks you in. Mistaking your desperation for his own, or his for yours, kisses exchanged in time with the syncing of two rapid heartbeats.

He can't tell anymore where he ends and you begin, and he leans into you, cupping the back of your neck, yearning to get closer. Needing to crawl in until he's nestled within your bones, next to your heart.

He'll sink into the muscle and help it beat. He'll always be with you.

When you pull back, gasping, he doesn't want to open his eyes. He doesn't want to wake up without you again.

But when your thumb runs across his swollen lips, and he looks, you're still there.

"I thought you were joking," Caleb breathes out, long lashes fluttering, grazing your cheekbones.

You sigh, stroking his jaw with a reverence that makes his heart stop.

"Just…pretend with me," you offer quietly, desperately.

Your wide eyes meet his, as disbelieving as he is, even as you lean in again. Pulled by a magnetic force, by the gravity that made up his very bones. He doesn't even have to use it to have you coming back to him, and that realization has his mind spinning.

"Just for today."

Caleb still isn't ready for the press of your lips against his this time, but his eyes flutter shut when he feels it. He sighs into your mouth, trying to memorize the shape, the curve of your top and then bottom lip when his lips purse just slightly to capture each one in his mouth, alternating increasingly wet, desperate kisses between them.

"Caleb," you whimper, and his arms are around you, pulling you into him until you're crashing together, all make-believe forgotten as he devours you the way he'd always dreamed of.

"Just for today," he repeats your words anyway between each quick kiss, the wet smack of two inexperienced mouths loud in his dorm room as you become tangled together.

He leans you back onto his bed, fingers shaking as he cups your cheek and kisses you. His body weight sinks into yours, and you sigh.

If he blankets your body with his own, you'll be protected. You'll be safe. You'll be his.

Your leg shakes as it wraps around his calf, neither of you exactly sure of what you're doing, how far you're going as you lose yourself in delirium, in this waking dream that'll be gone all too soon when one of you snaps out of the haze.

Caleb continues to reaffirm a lie, "Just for today, pips, just..."

You pull back just enough to meet his eye. There's something dark there. Something knowing, and it resonates with his soul before you pull him back in for another desperate kiss.

You're both so good at pretending.

But you'd never be this good.

edit: Oh jeez I wrote a lot. MY BAD.

Starts off with non!mc's/your pov where you first meet Caleb. You weren't in the best situation, your parents unfortunately passed away in a car crash and you were living with your uncle for a while. It was all fine, but unfortunately he got into drinking, drugs and gambling that made living with him difficult.

He never hurt you or let harm come to you physically, he was still someone that loved you dearly, but he was pretty messed up and when he couldn't afford to keep you in school, you just stopped going. When his "friends" were over, you had to pretend to be a boy so that they wouldn't leer at you or make you feel more uncomfortable than you already were.

In order to help with making money, you took on odd jobs here and there before settling with making stuffed animals and dolls up until you were old enough to get a more secure job working at convenience store an hour away.

Your uncle gets in a particularly bad mood and sensing he was going to start getting upset over any little thing and start ranting and shouting, you leave and head to work far earlier than you needed to.

You're waiting for the store to open up, hungry and exhausted and that's when you meet Caleb. You can't help but see past the mask he wears, sensing something behind the smile he offers to you as he asks if you're alright. You notice the bags beneath his eyes, seeing more of an exhausted shell rather than the normal man he was trying to be.

But you don't say anything, you don't comment on it. You simply tell him you're just waiting for the store to open so you can start your job. He asks when it starts and you hesitate, admitting that it won't be for another couple hours. In the middle of that, your stomach rumbles, flustered with how loud it is.

He offers to feed you and you accept after some thought. At worst, you pay for yourself so you already plan on eating light and at best, you get to at least have some company when you eat.

He takes you somewhere cheap but very familiar, something that puts you at ease. He's already pulling out his card, telling you that if you had any doubts, he was willing to pay all of it before the order is even made. It's a nice gesture and so you indulge a bit.

You sit, strike up a conversation with him as you both wait for the food to arrive. It's light at first, simple things like the weather and the ambience of the restaurant, until the food arrives and you eat like you haven't had a good meal in a long time (which you haven't).

He notices, taking in your appearance and the way you carry yourself. That's when he starts to probe a little into your life, you offer answers casually because you don't really think you'd ever see him. You tell him between bites about how you've lived up until now. Your teenage years were the hardest to survive since your parents died when you were still a child. Your uncle was fine until you were about thirteen, but the lifestyle that he was living made it difficult for you.

And now you're uneducated and working just to survive and maybe help pay off some of his debts. He never asked you to, but it was something you wanted to do since you didn't really think about yourself that often. You were alive, maybe that's all you really needed to be.

Caleb doesn't really say anything after that, but after you both finish your meal, he offers something that leaves you speechless. He offers to marry you, allowing you to move out of that space and somewhere better. Even if you're fine with the way things are, he feels it'd be far better than surviving. That you'd get a chance to live and on the off chance your uncle dies, the debt collectors won't be able to come after you.

You didn't consider his lifestyle that disturbed until you realize how naive you were. Just because your uncle protected you didn't mean you were safe. Why else pretend to be a boy in the first place, right? If they found out you were a girl, they'd do something worse to you and maybe even him?

But you don't really understand why Caleb would suggest something like that. And when you ask, he only smiles. You don't really need to know the reason; he's a broken man underneath after all. No one sane enough would offer marriage to someone they just met.

And no one sane enough would accept.

You get married to him. On paper, you both are wed and the only kiss you share is in front of a judge. Your uncle is a witness and Caleb even got some random person to pretend they were related.

It's weird, but on paper you're married. You move in with him to Skyhaven. Room and board, with all the food you could ask for. You don't consummate the marriage, he never touches you like that. You both have separate bedrooms and he pays for everything you want or need.

Overtime he teaches you all the things you missed in high school. He helps you get an education and teaches you how to cook. He offers everything you could ask for, but you never step over the line, feeling like you owe him far too much for everything he's done for you.

Overtime you start learning more about the kind of person he is and the burdens he carries. You learn about a love he clings onto that fuels his desires to be better. You learn about his past and the things he's been through and the things he's done.

Overtime, without meaning to, you fall in love with everything that he is. And you selfishly hope you can keep living the little fantasy of marriage, even if you never get more than what you have.

In this AU, MC takes a couple years to accidentally find Caleb. So, this fake marriage has lasted at most 2 years, pushing 3.

When MC returns to his life, his first love, you realize that fantasy can never really last. You know how much he loves her. You know that he calls out her name when he's stuck in his nightmares. You never hated the pendant he keeps for her, the one that guides him back home. You know the meaning of keeping something that means to you so close to your heart, only offering your own wish for his safe return by adding a golden apple to go alongside it.

You never pushed him to put it there, even offering that he could just keep it in his pocket instead or have it somewhere else, but he did.

You notice he spends more time working. Late nights and early mornings. He withdraws a bit more and he's quicker to look at his phone when a notification pops up. You don't question it, it wasn't like you were in a real relationship with him, but you also can't help but feel a bit melancholic when you know that it's because of her.

He never tells you it's her, but you learned about him enough to just know.

You overhear a conversation he's having with her one night in his office, about making plans to take her to the amusement park and that he was getting a day off work to take her.

It pains you, but you try not to let it consume you. You accepted that your love was one-sided and this marriage was never meant to last. It wasn't even real to begin with, the ring on your finger is worth less than a lavish meal at a restaurant. A choice you insisted on, considering the circumstances.

You accidentally bump your head against the wall when you try to sneak away and when he catches you, you lie that your stomach was hurting. He doesn't ask if you overheard him and you don't mention it either.

The following day, when he tells you he has work, you let him leave and wait a while before following him out. You want to see with your own eyes who she is and how he is around her. Not out of spite, but to see with your very own eyes that you should stop this little fiasco and move forward.

And when you do, when you see a smile you never saw on him before and hear a laugh you never heard, you understand. You see what could be and what you're in the way of.

It breaks your heart, but you needed to see that he was never going to be yours. And that's okay.

You make it home before he does and notice you have several missed messages and calls from Caleb. He was simply asking for updates on how you were feeling, with voicemails reminding you about staying hydrated and eating light food if your stomach was hurting that much. It's sweet and you wish you didn't love him as much as you did.

You allow yourself to cry. To grieve. To accept that his happiness is far more important and perhaps the only way you can repay him for everything he's done for you.

The next morning, before he leaves for work, you ask him if you can talk. He's in a rush, but he stalls a bit when notices the tone in your voice. You can't bring yourself to tell him anything, but you do resolve yourself that you'll tell him when he has time.

A few days pass when he finally has time and you tell him that you were planning on finding work. He questions you and your sudden motivation to find work but you carefully answer them that you were noticing he was simply working more and although you were content, you felt like maybe it was time for a change of pace. You wanted to socialize more and feel a bit more independent.

You see him hesitate, but ultimately he accepts the answer and even offers to help you find work. You tell him you need to do it on your own. You have to, or else you won't feel like you've done it at all. Even if the real reason was that you were already planning to learn to do things without him in your life anymore.

And so you do. You learn how to live without him in your life. You don't ask for his help. You get an entry level job that you can take a transport service for. You learn to live as if he wasn't in your life.

You also are trying to make enough money to move out. That you know you can't stay in his home anymore. A home that never truly was yours to begin with.

You start looking for places on the sly, trying to find somewhere cheap enough to move to that was at least a decent commute. You don't find anything yet, but as you're looking, he comes home and you try to hide what you've been searching for.

He notices and asks you what you were doing and so you lie. You tell him that you were looking for some story you read but can't remember the name of. He's unconvinced, so he prods you a bit and asks if you remember anything of it.

So you tell him it was a period drama. A lovely courtesan who lost her beloved in a war and lonely duke that offers to buy out her contract. He offers her a place to stay and provides for her without ever asking anything from her. He knows he's falling in love with her and a part of him hates that she can't let go of the one she lost. But, he never pushes his love onto her, never pressures her to love him back. He already knows he can't compete with a heart that already belongs to another. He can only offer comfort so that the burden of loss doesn't consume her.

But one day, her beloved returns to her. After years of living with the Duke, she can't help but feel relief seeing him again. And the Duke lets her go, even if it hurts him. Even if it breaks his heart, he wants nothing more than for her chance to truly be happy. Because to him, love is letting go.

Caleb stays quiet for a while, your own feelings bleeding into the story more than they should have as you look into his eyes. He says that if the Duke tried to tell her his feelings, perhaps he might have gotten a different outcome.

You say that the Duke might have been afraid. That even if he loved her as much as he did, he might not have survived to hear the rejection out right.

Caleb says that he might not have been rejected. And if he was, at the very least he could say that he tried. That she might have learned that she fell in love with him if he simply confessed.

You smile, staring deep into his eyes as he watches you. You tell him that when the Duke sees how truly happy she is, confessing would only ruin it.

You both stare at each other for a while before his phone goes off and he breaks off the connection, saying he has to go back to work. He hopes you find your story before he leaves and you just sit there, trying not to let his words get to you.

You don't let yourself hope. You know what position you were in and you accept it by trying to live without him.

And you can't help but notice that he's noticing it. The day you bought a step stool so that you could reach for the stuff on the higher cabinets is the day he freezes when he sees it. You see the way his back straightens and his shoulder quakes ever so slightly. You hear the tightness in his voice as he tries to nonchalantly ask you why you bought it if he was there, but you tell him that when he's on long missions, it would be silly to ask him to take down some of the appliances you wanted to use.

You never see his face when he asks about it, but you can't help but wonder why it bothered him so much. Why your answer made his voice shake when he responded with a "that makes sense".

He asks about work over dinner. He asks how you're doing. He asks and pries a little into the life you are living without him in it and you answer honestly that it's fun. That you are happy. But you don't tell him that you don't really speak about him. That you don't involve yourself when your coworkers speak about their spouses and wish you had stories you could share.

You don't tell him that they know you're married, but that you don't talk about it. That they ask if you have any pictures and you answer that you don't really take them. That they gossip if you're actually married behind your back.

You don't tell him that it's better for you to pretend he's not really in your life when you're at work than feel the longing of what could be and what isn't.

You know he spends more time with her than you. You know that they're meant to be and you hope that you can make enough to move out and finally divorce him so that he could be happy.

But you can't understand why he hasn't mentioned anything about divorcing. You wonder if it's guilt. You wonder if it's shame that holds him back?

But you don't ask. You never ask. If it means you can linger in his life just a little longer, then you don't bring it up.

You spend time with him one weekend. It's just the two of you and you're doing domestic things. Shopping for groceries or eating at the few restaurants that Skyhaven has. You enjoy your time with him as you settle on the couch and watch some drama that looked mildly interesting.

His phone goes off and you watch him frown before telling you that he'll be a few hours but he'll return. You don't question him but just before he's out the door, he turns to you and tells you to wait up for him. He will be back.

And you do. But he never comes back and you're not feeling well. You realize that you might have been sick without realizing it, confusing the symptoms with allergies or potentially something questionable you ate. Perhaps a few things that didn't mix well.

You're puking in the toilet, feeling like death. You can't even get up and so you pull the towels together to make a make-shift bed because getting up seems impossible. And still he doesn't return.

By early morning, you're well enough to get up but barely. You're hobbling around and finding your phone to call emergency services. You're taken to the hospital to get treated for food poisoning. Whatever you ate just didn't really agree with you at all and you're relieved.

Caleb was called and he rushed to your side, wearing last night's clothes, looking disheveled and worn out, but impossibly worried. You don't question why he was gone for so long. You don't question the perfume on his clothes nor stains on his shirt from runny mascara. You're just surprised he was there, apologizing for not coming back sooner and frustrated that you didn't call.

You don't say much, just sheepishly tell him that you're fine. And it almost looks like he wants you to say more. To question him. To make him tell you where he was and be angry. But you don't. You just hold his hand and rest in the hospital bed before they release you.

He doesn't leave your side when he takes you home. He carries you inside and makes you comfortable on the couch. He fusses over you, spoon feeding you and provides care. You think it's too much, but when you open your mouth to tell him that, he shoots you a look that stops your voice.

He doesn't say anything about the towels in the bathroom. He doesn't say anything about how you didn't message or call him. He simply stays with you and for the first time in years, you sleep in his embrace as he holds you close.

After several days, you're all better and getting ready for work, he asks you why you didn't call. You tell him that you just thought he was really busy since he said he was returning but didn't. That whatever he was dealing with was important.

He whispers so softly that you almost miss it, but he says "it wasn't" and like before, you pretend you didn't hear it. You don't question it and you simply continue to get ready for work.

Time passes and you're sure you have enough money to move out. There's a place that isn't the greatest, older and worn with most of the modern luxuries you've grown accustomed to non-existent, but it's close enough to a place you can transfer to.

You were close enough to leaving the fantasy behind.

You were about ready to say goodbye.

A little party for the new year arrives and you tell him that you'll be staying late for it. He asks if you're not spending the new year with him and you tell him that you are, but the party was early because they were taking a week off to celebrate.

Caleb asks if you're allowed guests and you hesitate. You tell him you can bring someone, but you thought he was going to be busy with work so you didn't ask.

The hurt in his eyes makes you ask if he'd like to go with you. That if he really isn't busy, you'd like for him to go with you. It'd be a chance to see all your coworkers and see your place of work.

On the day of, you're trying not to feel too guilty when all your coworkers fawn over him and ask him a bunch of questions. Questions that were a bit too revealing on how you "lived your life" at work.

He doesn't really question you, but you can see the way his jaw is set as he answers them. You can see the pain and disappointment he's hiding when they say they weren't even convinced you were married.

As you both dance, his grip is firm but not painful as he looks down at you. You avoid his gaze, continuing to dance with him for a few more songs before you finally hear him ask why you never mentioned him.

You tell him that you did, but he scoffs and says that the most you've ever said was that you were married. You wince but ask him if he told anyone at the Fleet about you and he stops dancing. You peek up at him, seeing how clouded his eyes were, how somber his expression turns.

He admits he hadn't really and you nod your head.

You don't call him out on it. You don't hold it over his head. You don't defend yourself.

You just let it be.

You both go home and sit in the silence of a fake marriage.

You celebrate the new year together when it arrives and shortly after, he's off on a two week long mission for the Fleet.

You take the chance to pack your things, setting up your transfer to the other place and begin to move.

You leave the divorce papers on his desk, along with the ring and a note explaining everything and wishing him the best life.

You leave your phone behind and with one final look, you leave his place.

It was your final goodbye to him.

Now, his POV. [gonna pretend he has the necklace and that MC didn't]

For Caleb, it was hell. Having lost everything he held dear, the only tether to his life was the necklace MC gave him. He was grateful that he kept her from dying in that explosion, but it was still hell living his life without her.

It was the only way to protect her and help her escape EVER. But he was miserable. Completely. Utterly.

He had a terrible nightmare that consumed his very mind, he didn't sleep. He couldn't. Not when it was so vivid in his mind. So on a mission, he was tired, but still trying to survive.

It was early morning, his small attempts of sleep barely covering the insomnia that weighed on his bones. He goes for walk to get some fresh air and clear his mind and that's when he sees you.

For a brief moment, he almost mistakes you as MC before realizing that you were not her. You didn't really look like her at all, but the way you looked so tired and exhausted made him feel like he wanted to reach out to you like all the times he used to do for her.

So he reaches out. He talks to you and sees someone similar to him. Someone that is just surviving with the hand they've been dealt with. And he offers to buy you something to eat when he hears how hungry you sound.

Maybe it's just the protective instinct he grew up with, but he wants to ease your burden, even just a little, by offering you a meal. He knows you're wary of him but he's already paying for it so that you don't think he'll stiff you.

He keeps the conversation light, but he can't help but notice the details of someone that is struggling with their life. He can see the way the light doesn't really quite hit your eyes as you smile like someone that forgot how to.

And when you eat, he feels the pain in his chest. He sees just how much you've been without. Maybe it's the lack of sleep. Maybe it's because he sees how much you're suffering and hiding it away like he is. Maybe because you remind him of MC in a way.

He asks about your life and feels a sick sense of dread as you explain your situation. Even if nothing has happened to you now, it doesn't mean that nothing ever will. That something won't go wrong and you'll be left to fend for yourself.

So he offers to marry you. To help you in your situation.

He knows it's completely irrational and insane, but right now he's not quite all there. In fact, he probably never was.

But you accept it.

You both weren't all there in the head.

On the day you got married, you had insisted on a prenup. He told you he didn't need one, but you insisted it was to protect him. You were willing to marry him and accept his help, but you wanted to make sure he was also secured. You were the one that got the most out of the deal anyway.

The kiss, the only kiss he ever shared with you, left an impression on him. He almost wanted to do it again.

He doesn't touch you intimately. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable and even more so, he doesn't quite know how to avoid feeling guilty.

He provides everything for you. He does it to make your life a little easier. He wants you to feel like you deserve this chance to be happy, even though you try your best not to disturb his space so much.

He teaches you all the things he can. He studies with you and helps you get something so that you don't feel like you've fallen so far behind.

Caleb knows he's using you to fill the void in his heart. He knows he's trying to replace the loss. But he also can't help but enjoy your presence in his life.

Overtime he learns more about you. He learns your likes and dislikes, learns more about the way you are with your responses. He sees the similarities you share with MC but also the differences that make you your own person.

Overtime he learns to confide in you. Learns to show you more of himself that he hides. He realizes that you're a comfort that wouldn't judge him for the way he is. You don't even flinch when he tells you about MC.

And a small part of him wishes you did.

When you offered him the golden apple charm, just your way of wishing him a safe return as well, he hesitated only when you told him he didn't have to wear it. That it could just be somewhere. You were far too considerate, he thought. He put it on the necklace because he wanted to keep you close to his heart.

He finds himself looking at it more than the one MC gave him before he leaves.

[time skip part]

When MC returns back into his life, Caleb doesn't even know how to feel. He's elated, sure, and he's so damn happy that she's back. He feels the love he felt before resurfacing as he embraces her. He's so damn happy.

But when she confesses how much she missed him and that she loves him, his heart... stops.

When she leans in to kiss him, he dodges it and pushes her back. He doesn't really know why. It was everything he ever wanted and yet as he looks into her eyes, he can't help but think of you.

But he doesn't even if it's love he feels or just... responsibility. He took you in and helped you. He's married to you. He can't just... kiss another woman. That wouldn't be right. That's all it is, isn't it?

He explains to MC that he's married. He doesn't quite know how to react to the pain her eyes so he blurts out that it's a fake marriage. He confesses that he only married you to help you out of your situation.

But then he lies. He lies on your family's name that they set rules in place because it was so sudden and they didn't believe you two were really in love. He lies that they were the reason he couldn't kiss her. That he can't be with her the way they want.

She starts to get angry and he swears that it's only temporary. That you were not to blame, it was just the circumstances that made it difficult for the both of you.

He makes the mistake of giving MC false hope. But is it really false if he loves her? Right? It's not... the marriage isn't real.

Even if he wears the ring, even beneath the gloves. Even if he sees you wear it, despite telling you you didn't have to when you were at home.

Even if he thought about gifting you something far better than that cheap one he let you talk him into getting.

But it's all about just being responsible, right?

He doesn't talk to you about it. He's feeling so guilty about explaining her back in his life. He feels ashamed that he lies to you about working late when really, he's with MC. He doesn't know what he's chasing by being with her, but he just feels like he's supposed to be with her.

It's what he's wanted for so long.

And you weren't actually in a relationship, so it wasn't cheating.

Caleb doesn't know why the thought makes his chest hurt so much.

He knows you suspect something, but the one thing he can say he doesn't like about you is that you never call him out on it. You don't speak up. You don't say anything, you just pretend not to notice. You let him keep his secrets.

Almost like you don't actually care.

And it hurts.

When he's making plans with MC to take her to the amusement park, he hears you. He tells her he'll call her back and goes out to check on you. You make an excuse and once again, you do not call him out on it. You don't make it known that you overheard him and he almost wants you to. He needs you to. But you don't.

Even when he leaves, you just wish him a good day and see him off. Even as he spends time with MC at the amusement park and it's fun, really, he can't help but wonder how you're doing. He messages you but you don't answer. He calls but you don't pick up. He checks your phone's location and it's still at home. You just weren't answering.

It worries him but he knows you're probably just tired. But he swears that he thinks he sees someone that looks like you at the amusement park.

He gets home and doesn't hear you cry, but when he checks on you in your bedroom, he wonders quietly about the tear stains on your face.

He wonders what you want to talk to him about the next day, his mind consumed with all the possibilities of what you want to talk about.

But work gets hectic and he's trying to stop MC from making a fuss at the Fleet. He feels guilty that he's making you wait so long to tell him something, but he feels a sense of relief that he can put it off if it's something bad.

When he finally gets a breather and you tell him about getting a job, his heart drops. So many questions. So many accusations sit on his tongue. He feels a sense of dread washing over him but he holds himself steady. Your answers are hard to poke holes in and he doesn't really try to. It sounded like you really wanted to have more independence and he can't help but feel like he's losing something he never wanted to lose.

Any offer he throws your way gets rejected. You make your resume. You find your job. You don't even ask him to take you to work or to pick you up. Not that he could, with how early he leaves and how late he arrives, but you don't even consider it.

You don't even ask him for help in the kitchen anymore. To do laundry. To help you tidy up.

And it's hurting him. It's hurting him in a way he can't fathom. He feels like it's his responsibility as your husband to be there for you and yet you're not letting him fulfill it. You're not letting him in anymore. You're pushing him out...

And he hates it.

So he tries to be there for MC. He tries to fall into place with the role he used to be in. He tries to be there for her in the way she wishes for him to be but he refuses to do more. He holds her but that's as far as it ever goes. He knows she wants to kiss him but he doesn't want to.

He doesn't know why.

He catches you being shifty when he comes home, your laptop as you try to appear casual. When he asks you why, you tell him something about the story you apparently were trying to find.

But the more he hears you explain it, he can't help but feel how similar their situation was. How this Duke was you and he was the Courtesan. Even if the roles were reversed in the technical details.

So he asks why the Duke wouldn't try to confess. He wonders if maybe you confessed... if you had feelings for him, it would make his own feelings easier to come to terms with.

But the Duke never does. And neither do you.

The courtesan never learns if her previous love was the one she truly wanted or was she simply chasing a memory that was long gone.

MC calls and he walks away.

Caleb is stuck with a choice he doesn't know where to lean to. But he can see that you're not allowing him into your life like he used to. He sees how much you're doing things on your own and you don't look at him when you want or need something.

He feels you pulling away and he can't bring himself to reach out to you anymore. He doesn't even know if it's all in his head or if you're really trying to move on.

And yet, when he gets home, a little earlier than normal since MC isn't trying to drag him around somewhere, his heart shatters at what he sees in the kitchen.

To anyone else, they'd see a step stool. To anyone else, it was just a little thing to help you reach slightly higher than normal. Anyone could have one.

But all the years he's known you, been with you and heard you ask him to reach for something without hesitation, you never thought about getting one. Until today.

Until you were starting to pull away.

He isn't even sure he's breathing right now, his heart rate spiking as the blood rushes to his ears. It's so offensive right now, he wants to break it. He wants to throw it out the window. He wants to turn around and demand why you need it so badly.

He wants to collapse at your feet and ask the question he so badly wants to avoid. But he doesn't. He tries to talk calmly, tries to swallow the lump in his throat as to why you got it.

And god help him, you answer in a way he can't even refute. So he accepts it, cursing himself for the way his voice betrays him. His eyes sting but he doesn't let you see. He just pushes it away with his foot and begins cooking, needing the distraction.

He pries into your work life, wondering if you were at least doing well. He tries to learn more in the answers you give him, to see if he's on your mind at the very least while you're there. You message him sparingly, but then again, you never bombarded him in the past either.

You don't really give anything away and he can't find anything to comment on. He also doesn't have the right to. Not when he is living a lie with MC.

Not when he's lying to her to begin with.

He finally gets a breather after grueling work hours and dealing with his strange situation with MC. He gets to spend time with you. He finally gets to cling to the small moments he gets to share with you as you spend the day together.

It feels nice and comforting, but he almost wonders what it'd be like to hold your hand. You've held it before, but the intimacy of the way you took his mechanical hand in yours the first day you saw it made him wish he could feel the warmth.

He couldn't feel a damn thing when you examined his arm. Couldn't feel the way your fingertips brushed against the metal and wires. Couldn't feel the way you interlaced your fingers with his.

He never touched you, never had an intimate moment with anyone really, but that day he felt something sinful in his chest. He felt embarrassed and shy when you looked at him as you held it.

He feels his hand twitching, wanting to reach over to you now that you both were sitting so close yet so damn far. He inched his hand closer, feeling the light brush of your pinky before his phone went off.

Caleb wished it didn't. It was MC. She wanted him for something and he couldn't quite say no. So he left, but he promised you that he'd be back. That he wasn't going to let this be something that was going to keep him from you.

How wrong he was. MC was in a pickle with some wanderers and he aided her the best he could. It was easy clean up, really, but it was what came after that made it hard.

She was emotional, wishing he was able to be with her. How hard it's been on her and she wished he could just divorce you so they could be together.

And for some reason, that word was the one thing that broke him.

He was cruel to lead her on. He was cruel to let MC think that she had a chance. He wasn't sure if he loved you fully, but he wanted to try.

So he confessed his sins. He finally told her everything and how he felt. It was hell and it was long. She was in denial at first and then she was angry. She pounded his chest and called him a liar. She told him that he was awful for making her believe there was a chance.

And he stayed with her. It was the least he could do as she cried all the pain and sorrow he caused her.

He tries to text you an apology, but he wonders if you'll even see it.

By morning, he's exhausted and so is MC. She's finally asleep and he leaves quietly. He barely makes his way to Skyhaven when his phone goes off. It's a number he doesn't quite recognize, but when he answers, it's someone else on the line asking for him. He's your emergency contact and they were wondering if he could make it.

He's terrified at what could have happened, rushing to the hospital in Skyhaven. His mind races with all the possibilities of what could happen, but the nurses tell him that you were just really sick from something you might have eaten.

And there you are, tired but seemingly doing well. He's by your side, apologizing for not being there. He's angry that you didn't call him when you first started feeling sick. But like always... you don't say anything.

He knows you see how he looks, how his shirt is stained and how MC's perfume clings to his clothes, but you don't say anything about it. You just stay silent on the matter. And god... why don't you say anything?

Something. Anything at all! But you don't.

Even when he takes you home, you don't call him out on it. Even when he cleans you up and takes care of you, you don't even mention why he was late. It's like you don't want him around. It's like you don't even need him.

And it hurts. He goes to shower and clean himself off and notices the way you must've slept in the bathroom. He can't help but feel guilty and horrible that he left you alone when you were so vulnerable. He can't help but feel angry that you're not even trying to rely on him anymore. That you're trying to live your life... like he wasn't going to be in it.

When he sees you, he doesn't know what to really say. You look so sick and a bit miserable, so he reaches for you. He doesn't care how he's never quite held you before, he just pulls you in close to let you rest on him.

And for once, he's really happy he gets to hold you in his arms as you sleep. For once, he presses his head into your hair, letting his tears fall as he prays quietly for you not to leave him.

Once you're better, all the dread and anxiety finally compels him to ask why you didn't call him. And you answer in a way that hurts. You always do. You tell him you didn't think it was necessary. That he was doing something important when he didn't come back.

And it was, just not in the way you thought. But at the end of it... it wasn't. It never truly was that important. It would never have been if he had just been honest with MC from the beginning. If he had simply confessed instead of lying to her.

After weeks of dealing with the Fleet and MC's venting, albeit justified, anger, she finally accepts that he probably was a changed man. And he was. And she wasn't that hurt anymore by it, because a small part of her knew that he wouldn't ever feel the same.

It was cathartic to finally let her go.

Finally he could move forward with his feelings and hopefully... hopefully still have time. Even if he wasn't entirely sure of himself, he still wanted to try.

When you tell him about the party your company was having, he was hopeful that you were going to invite him. But, when you didn't, he couldn't help but feel hurt by it. He couldn't mask the pain that you really were keeping him away.

When you offer, if he's willing, he accepts. Even if it's pity, he'll go with you. He'll show you that he's there for you.

The day of the party was... quite heartbreaking. He had no idea what kind of life you were living at work, but hearing how little you spoke of him and how much you kept secret... he couldn't really tell if he was angry or just tired.

You didn't look at him at all when you danced. So many questions. So many times he wanted you to look him in the eyes and at least say something about it. He had so much to say but not a word left his mouth as you both danced for far too many songs.

Finally, when it all became too much, he just needed to hear from you. He needed to know why.

And you shot back at him if anyone knew about you.

Caleb couldn't answer. In fact... he couldn't say anything at all. As much as he accused you of technically hiding him, he did the same. Hell, it was worse. No one outside of MC knew he was even married.

And how much of a hypocrite was he to feel upset when he did the exact same thing to you?

You didn't say anything.

And for once he was grateful you didn't.

There was so much going through his head. So much regret, anger, pain and humiliation. He couldn't even look at you without wanting to turn back time and announce to everyone he was married.

He was ashamed. Burdened with the guilt that he was just a coward.

When New Year finally rolled around, he vowed to do better. To be better. He was going to change and be the man you deserved. You deserve the best version of him and he would make sure of it.

But life was funny. He was forced to leave you for a mission that took him away for a couple weeks.

And yet for some reason... he really felt like he shouldn't go. Not with the way you looked at him as he got ready to leave. Not with the way you told him to have a safe trip.

He couldn't get the way you looked at him when he left. Those two weeks were hell if he had ever been in it. He was miserable, on edge and had far too many close calls for his liking.

But as the days got closer to coming home, the more he hoped he didn't.

Not because he wanted to stay away from you, but because he was scared of what he was praying wouldn't happen.

Your messages stopped altogether on the final day. He didn't even know why it frightened him so much, but by the time he got home, his worst fears came true.

You were gone.

And sitting on his desk were the divorce papers, your ring beside it and a note beneath.

He sobbed. For the first time since he left MC the day of the explosion, he broke down into fits of hysteria. He shouted and cursed the world. He begged the gods that didn't hear his prayers. He thought he had time. He thought he was going to be better.

He hoped you'd let him.

But here was the proof that he was too late.

After hours of crying, his voice hoarse and his eyes burning, he finally read your letter. He read every line over and over again, wishing he could stop you from writing it. But the one line he clung to, the one line that gave him hope was the way you told him that you loved him.

You wished him a happy life with the person he loved.

And by fucking God, he took that as a challenge.

He will have his happy life with the person he loved.

And you were just going to have to accept it.

All of him. And he wasn't going to let you get away.

You were temporary.

Deep down you know that. Just something to pass the time. But it doesn't make the harsh reminders he gives you any less painful. Sandpaper on freshly skinned knees or salt in a paper cut would have been less painful.

You met Caleb when he first came into the Fleet. He was charismatic and handsome. Called you beautiful like it was your name. Gave you butterflies every time you'd sneak a glance at him and catch him staring at you with that goofy, lopsided grin of his. You'd ask him why he was staring and he would prop a fist under his chin and shrug. Telling you "you're just so pretty it's hard not to stare."

Pretty words are just pretty words now.

But you wear your heart on your sleeve and rose-colored glasses like a fashion statement. Refusing to take them off even when he starts to tell you about his childhood crush. A girl he grew up with that he left behind. And you can't deny that she sounds lovely. Might have been friends if he would ever listen to you and just reach out to her. If nothing but to see how she's doing these days.

Sometimes you catch him muttering her name in his sleep. Even with you sleeping next to him when you spend the night. You shrug it off though. Telling yourself they were so close it's hard not to think about her often. But if that was true—then why can't you shake the feeling that there's something more he isn't telling you?

Even now as you lay in bed, blankets wrapped around you and Caleb beside you, there's that feeling of unease. There's something he's hiding and you can't put your finger on it. His phone goes off on his nightstand. Screen illuminating his room with a ghost of bright light. You know you shouldn't, but there's something in you that says to look at his phone. This is one of the scarce nights off he has. Who could possibly be calling him at this hour?

You drop the phone as soon as you see the contact picture. Everything starting to make sense and all warmth leaving your body. Making you cold and your stomach twist and turn sour. All the plushies he brought home every week—they weren't for you like he said they were. They were hers. The childhood crush he kept talking about. Had always talked about for as long as you've known him. But why was he keeping it a secret that they were reunited? You've always pushed him to reach out and talk to her. Haven't you? Why would he keep this from you?

A knot forms in your stomach as you pick up the phone again. Setting it back on his nightstand before climbing back in bed beside him, and pushing the thought of what the voice message she had left could be saying. Caleb would tell you in his own time. You were sure of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It never left you. That feeling in the pit of your stomach that something was amiss. A gnawing kind of ache that wouldn't leave you alone. He would tell you sooner rather than later and if he didn't then you would bring it up. So sure that you were just being paranoid and irrational. Didn't even know why you were so startled to see her picture pop up when she called him last night. But the fact that he was keeping it from you was the real problem. You knew the warning signs so well you could spot them before anyone else. Been through enough to know that you needed to leave before you were left. Caleb wasn't giving any of them. So why were you so paranoid?

You spend too much time analyzing his body language in the morning. Watching him as he flips the pancakes over in the frying pan. A man hard at work. If you were still talking to your mother she would be proud. She always wanted you to marry a military man. Your thumb absently runs over the ring on your finger. Contemplating whether or not to say anything. But your mouth opens before you can stop the words from coming out.

"We're okay, right?" Your head tilts when you ask him. Thumb digging into the fire opal centered in the middle of the ring. A lump rising in your throat.

He turns his his over his shoulder just enough to see you sitting at the kitchen island. "Yeah, babe, why wouldn't we be?"

"Just…making sure is all." Your voice trails at the end.

Caleb knows your past. Knows all about every man before him that had done you wrong. How raised voices set you on edge and any change in tone or behavior raised red flags. You were a frightened rabbit now. When he met you, you were so broken from your last relationship that it took two years for you to trust him enough to tell him anything. Constantly in need of reassurance and validation that he wasn't going anywhere. That he meant it when he asked you to marry him a year into the relationship. You worked hard to recognize your triggers and hold your tongue when you're upset. Careful not to say anything that you don't mean or might regret later. You've come a long ways since he first met you.

"Hey," he's standing in front of you on the other side of the island when you look up. Eyes so full of adoration it breaks your heart that you even thought him capable of such a thing. "We're okay. I'm not going anywhere."

Lines that he said so often they should be memorized by now. The corners of your lips turn up in a small smile. "Okay."

He leans forward, placing a tender kiss on your forehead before pulling on his uniform while simultaneously putting a plate of pancakes in front of you. "Got any plans for today, gorgeous?"

"Was thinking of going to see Gideon."

"Don't stay too late, yeah?" Then he's out the door and your stomach drops.

He was doing all the right things. Saying things he normally does. But still no word that he had reached out to—what was her name? It doesn't matter. What did matter was that you could swear that the usual hint of jealousy he usually has when you mention going to see any other man wasn't there this time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gideon's face lights up with a smile the moment he sees you. Sweeping you, literally, off your feet and into a hug as he spins you around. You squeal when he does. Wrapping your arms around his neck and praying he doesn't suddenly drop you in the momentum. Of course, you know that he wouldn't. His training as a fighter pilot had made his stronger than any other man with his build. But it still scared you just the same. When he places you back on your feet, he ruffles your hair like he would a younger sister.

"What a great surprise, Misses Xia." He teases, bopping you on the nose.

Your nose twitches with the touch. "Stop doing that! And stop calling me that. We're not even married yet." Still, you can't deny that your heart skips a beat every time you hear it.

"You're blushing. It's been how long and he still does that to you, huh?"

"Almost three years."

Though it felt more like ten. You've been through more with him than most people in a relationship this long have. He often volunteered to go to your therapy sessions with you. Offering an inside look at how you're doing. Always encouraging. So sweet and understanding. An overwhelming feeling of guilt washes over you. Making you suddenly feel cold. How could you ever doubt him? He's never done anything to prove he was like the guys before him. You had no reason to think he would betray you like that.

Except for not tell you that he was talking to that childhood friend again.

"Hey, what's going on? I hardly ever see you like this. Did you and Caleb get in a fight?" It breaks your heart to hear him so worried. Especially if this turns out to be nothing.

"Did you ever meet his childhood crush?"

Gideon runs a hand through his hair. Or what was left of it since he keeps it so short. Tilting his head in curiosity—or uncertainty. "Caleb never tell you about Emma or something?"

"That's the problem, Gid. He never stops talking about her, but I feel like I know next to nothing about her."

"Well, her name's Emma. She's about two or three years younger than us. He never shut up about her when we were in the DAA together either. They were raised together. Loves plushies. Works for the Hunter's Association now, I think. Has a heart condition. Why the sudden interest?"

"She called him last night. He was asleep."

A surge of anxiety hits you. Hard. Your chest tightens and it feels like the wind was suddenly knocked from your lungs. You're name is similar enough to hers. You also have a heart condition. Did he choose you because he thought he didn't have a chance with her? There were so many what-ifs. Your mind starts racing. All your insecurities beginning to feel overwhelming as you go through all your conversations. Every little interaction. Searching to see if there was something amiss. If he had ever given any indication that something was wrong. But you find there aren't any. The only thing he's ever given you was reassurance that everything was okay. That he loved you.

The walkie talkie connected to his uniform goes off. A man says something eligible only to him. Gideon gives you a soft, reassuring smile before pulling you into a bone crushing hug again. "He loves you, okay? Don't worry about her. I'm sure he got over it. I'll talk to you later—duty calls. Text you to make sure you're doing alright!" And before you can promise him you are—you aren't—he runs off in the direction of the run way. Boarding a plane you can't get on, and flies away.

While he was Caleb's friend first, Gideon was always honest with you. He was there for you in ways no one else had baby when it came to friendship. Offering a sounding board or a shoulder to cry on. Whatever you needed him to be he would be that for you. You two grew close over the years of knowing Caleb. He was like your brother. So, you conclude that he's right and head back to Caleb's.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you get back, there's a note from Caleb laying on the kitchen island for you. A smile pulls the corners of your lips as you read it.

had to go on a mission in the tunnel—i'll be back in a week or so

—love you, caleb(:

Your chest aches as soon as you finish it. Putting it back on the island where he left it. It was stupid, you knew that he had a good reason for not introducing you to her. For not saying anything about reaching out. It was probably recent and he wanted time to reestablish the relationship before bringing you into the picture. It would probably be a shocking for her to learn that he was already engaged in her absence. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was amiss. Like Gideon had said—he had probably gotten over the silly childhood crush.

After grabbing a snack from the kitchen, you go lay on his bed. Ready for a nap as you scroll through your phone. Pictures of the two of you from various trips he'd taken you on during his time off. Voice notes you've saved beginning from the time you first met him to note. Texts sent back and forth. Though you noticed that there were times that his replies were shorter, response time took longer. Anxiety came knocking again. And like every time before—you brush it off. Shoving it down and bottling it to unpack at another time.

There's a Moments post from him. Made maybe ten minutes ago and directly under that is a reply from an Emma Markel. Profile picture set as one of her and Caleb. He's grinning from ear to ear and she's holding his arm. Your stomach churns. Nothing to worry about. They grew up together. Raised together in fact. It was natural for them to be that close. She was probably more like a sister to him than anything else these days.

A reply from Gideon pops up and Caleb responds within seconds. Passive aggressively, but you figure it's stemmed from years of being as close as brothers. Your phone vibrates in your hand.

G: hey, doing alright?

G: not thinking about Emma are you?

You take a minute to consider your answer. Whether or not to spill your guts about the looming anxiety. You decide it was better to be honest with him than to play it off like you're fine. Gideon knows you better than that. He'd call you on it.

You: I mean nothings off or different

You: but we have a similar name…we even look similar. It's hard not to be insecure about that.

G: what can I say? Man has a type. You definitely fit the bill.

You: yeah, guess you're right.

You're nowhere tired now. Mind reeling with too many thoughts and feelings to sort through. You've always been more self aware than anyone should be. Too painfully aware that every emotion feels like your skin is on fire. Overwhelming in the way they consume you so completely. Over time you were able to recognize when you were having an episode. Able to hold your tongue to keep from lashing out. But there was no calming down the emotions that ruled you.

As time ticked down, you go over every piece of information Caleb had possibly told you about her. Every picture he had shown you of the two of them together. Analyzing what it was about her specifically that makes you anxious. Sure, you shared things in common. The same hair and eye color. But that was nothing to pick apart. Then a memory sparks something. There was a time when Caleb let you pick the music in his car and you turned on your favorite band.

"You have the same taste in music."

He had said it so casually it was like nothing but an afterthought. Something he might have forgotten over time until you reminded him. At the time it brought you a sense of pride to know that he was at least familiar with your favorite band. But then that turned into a constant. He'd take you out to eat or order out and you'd ask how he knew your favorite places to eat. They were hers first. It was never that her favorite things were an afterthought. It was that you were.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caleb came back from his mission early. Only by a day or two, but early nonetheless. Your heart skips when you get a text from him when you're out with Gideon. Only to sink the moment you read what it says. He made it home safe but he's spending a few days in Linkon before coming back to Skyhaven officially. There's a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"Hey, he's probably just tying up some loose ends." Gideon places a hand on yours—likely getting a Moments post from Caleb announcing his safe arrival back from the Deepspace Tunnel. "At least he's back in one piece, right?"

You can't help but offer him a small smile. Gideon's been a constant for you as much as Caleb himself. Offering a shoulder to cry on, words of advice and reassurance where he could. And you're grateful for his friendship. You are because if it wasn't for him you would have self sabotaged by now and lost the love of your life as a result. Good things are never meant to last for you and you're more aware of that than anything else. Still, this is another thing you take notice of.

In the hours between sleep, you toss and turn. Going over things you know aren't normal for your relationship. Caleb is less attentive than he used to be. More forgetful of things you've told him. Shrugs you attention away too often. Your love language has always been touch and while you know his is quality time—you can't help but feel unease when he tells you not to rub his back. Explaining it away as he doesn't want you to accidentally feel the difference between his skin and his biotic arm. And you reassure him that it's never bothered you. That you love all of him. Because you do.

He lets your calls go to voicemail more often now. When before he would answer you no matter what he was doing. Instead, he tells you that he's in the middle of a meeting. And no matter how often you memorized the times the Fleet holds meetings—you brush it off and tell him it's okay and to call you when he can. You've brushed off a lot things since being with Caleb. Telling yourself that everything is fine and you're just not used to a healthy relationship. Which is true. You're not. But maybe you shouldn't be gas lighting yourself into thinking you're just being paranoid.

"His birthday is coming up, right?" Gideon pulls you out of your thoughts. "Maybe you can plan something for the two of you?"

"He always wanted to Peter Pan in the sky. Maybe there's a showing during his birthday—I'll have to look around."

Gideon gives you a goofy grin full of pride. "As one might have it—I happen to know the owners. They're friends of my parents. Soooo, I might be able to put in a word to play Peter Pan."

Although time off together is rare, you and Caleb always make the most of it. Tonight, you’re seated within the warm golden glow of candlelight in one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants, the kind that takes months of planning and a small miracle to reserve. The table gleams, a bottle of your favorite wine already half-empty between you.

Caleb’s fingers are laced through yours on the white tablecloth, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin as he murmurs soft nothings that make you laugh quietly. He looks at you like the world has narrowed down to this single moment, to just you and him alone. 

You don’t notice the sharp edge in his smile when the waiter fills your glass a little too slowly, or how his hand tightens around yours every time someone’s gaze lingers on you for too long. You’re too wrapped up in the warmth of him, the way his voice feels like silk against your ear, the way his eyes linger on your lips, the way his smile turns his eyes to cute little crescent moons.

“Was everything to your liking?” the waiter asks, suddenly at your side. Caleb’s arm slips around your waist, casual to anyone else’s eye, but you feel the slight pressure in his fingertips, claiming, protective.

“It was amazing” you say brightly, smiling up at the waiter. “That ravioli was to die for.”

The man chuckles, leaning in with an easy grin. “If you leave me your number, I can send you the recipe” he suggests, his eyes flicking briefly toward Caleb.

You laugh, naively thinking nothing of it. “Oh, really? That would be great!”

You grab a napkin, scribble your number, and slide it over with an conspiratorial wink. The waiter grins, tucking it into his pocket and giving it a pat, before moving off to fetch the check.

When you turn back, Caleb’s smile is still fixed, but it’s tight now, his jaw locked. The faint lines around his eyes don’t look like amusement anymore.

“I’m gonna get the recipe” you gush, oblivious to the way his knuckles whiten around his wine glass. “I can make it for us at home, isn’t that brilliant?”

“Brilliant” he repeats drly, his tone smooth but hollow. The candlelight catches his eyes, and for the first time tonight, they look dark, far too dark.

You chatter on all the way back to the car, laughing, replaying your favorite parts of the evening. You don’t notice that Caleb hasn’t said a word in several minutes. You don’t see the way his reflection in the car window watches you, unblinking…calculating. 

…

The car hums softly as the city lights slide past the windows. Caleb’s hand rests loosely on the steering wheel, the other draped over the armrest between you. Normally, the drive home would be full of laughter, soft music, his voice filling the silence with easy conversation.

But tonight, he’s quiet.

Each time you try to draw him out, commenting on the food, the music playing on the radio, the way the night air smells tonight, he only hums in response. A grunt here, a vague nod there. His profile is calm, serene, but something about the set of his jaw keeps your stomach uneasy.

You circle back to the topic that had excited you all evening. “The waiter was nice, huh?” you say, smiling despite the tension. “Can’t believe he said he’d send me the recipe for the ravioli…wasn’t that sweet?”

For the first time since you left the restaurant, Caleb’s head tilts, just slightly, but it’s enough to make your words falter.

“You liked the service then?” His voice is smooth, low, almost purring. There’s an edge beneath it though, something sharp.

You blink at him, thrown off by the shift. “Yeah, he was really kind” you say softly, trying to catch his expression, to read him.

His hand moves slowly. It slides from the console to your thigh, shifting the hem of your dress higher. The weight of it is heavy, and possessive. His fingers flex once, kneading the soft skin at the top of your thigh. It’s not rough, but it’s not tender either, it’s claiming.

You swallow, your voice coming out thin. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer right away. The only sound is the quiet thrum of the tires against the asphalt as he comes to a stop at the lights. He finally looks at you, his amethyst eyes swimming with unrestrained want.

“Nothing” he finally murmurs, fixing his eyes back on the road ahead like it’s nothing. “Just… interesting.”

The word hangs in the air, heavier than it should be. His thumb continues to trace slow, deliberate circles against your skin, the touch searing.

You glance out the window, heart skipping when you notice his reflection in the glass. He’s smiling now, faintly. But it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

… 

Caleb is the first out of the car, by the time you pick up your bag from the footwell and reach for the handle, your door is already swinging open. His expression is calm, composed, one hand braced against the frame, the other extended toward you like the perfect gentlemen. 

“Come on” he murmurs. His fingers close around yours, warm and firm, drawing you up from the seat. His touch lingers longer than necessary, thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist, tracing slow circles until your pulse stutters. You feel yourself relax into his touch.

Once inside, the quiet continues. You expect the usual chatter, teasing remark about how much you both ate, but there’s nothing. The silence stretches thin as he walks behind you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back. The pressure is gentle, but there’s purpose in it, a subtle insistence that keeps you moving forward.

You reach the hall stand, slipping your coat from your shoulders. “I’ll hang this—”

He takes it before you can finish. The fabric slips from his hand, landing soundlessly on the floor. He doesn’t look down, doesn’t apologise. His hand is already back on your spine, guiding you toward the stairs.

“Caleb…?” You glance over your shoulder. He doesn’t answer, just looks at you, a small smile on his lips, and then closes the distance between you.

His mouth meets yours without warning. The kiss is slow at first, deceptively tender, his hand cupping the side of your face, fingers stroking gentle paths across your skin. But then the pace shifts, his lips drag against yours, a quiet hunger building beneath the surface. He kisses like he’s reclaiming something.

You melt into him, breath hitching as you feel the warmth of his body and the faint hum of his breath. The taste of wine still lingers on his tongue. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are half-lidded, unreadable, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw before he leans in again, deeper, rougher this time.

By the time you reach the bedroom, your pulse is racing. Caleb pushes the door open with one hand, the other never leaving you. He moves you backwards until you feel the cool press of the wall at your back. His hand slides up, fingers braced behind your head so you don’t hit the plaster. Always careful. Always in control.

He trails kisses across your cheek, one at the corner of your mouth, one along the bridge of your nose, another brushing the edge of your lashes. His breath is hot against your skin. You can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat where your chests touch.

When he stops, his face hovers inches from yours. His voice is quiet, velvet-soft but laced with something that makes your stomach twist.

“You smiled for him” he murmurs. “The way you smile for me.”

You blink, confused, dazed by the closeness. “I—I didn’t mean anything by it” you manage, your breath uneven. “He was just being kind.”

Caleb studies you for a long moment, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your mouth. The smile that touches his lips is faint, almost tender, yet it chills you.

“Too kind” he says at last, his tone dipping lower. The words are barely audible, more exhale than sound. “That won’t happen again.”

His lips ghost against yours once more, a teasing brush that leaves you chasing more even as your body tenses. His eyes flutter shut briefly, savouring the moment. His fingers tighten slightly at the back of your neck, not painful, just enough to remind you how easily he could hold you there. Then he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

There’s affection in them, yes, but it’s a sharp, burning kind of affection. Your breath catches, a flush creeping up your neck as forbidden excitement pools low in your belly, the unknown looms, electric and intoxicating.

Seamlessly, he pivots you both with that iron grip on your neck, guiding you as he walks backwards toward the bed. Each step amplifies the anticipation, your bare feet brushing the cool floor, his presence a magnetic pull you can’t resist, your mind racing with fragmented thoughts. 

Abruptly, he releases you, the sudden absence of his touch leaving you swaying, exposed and aching for him. His focus shifts with predatory efficiency to undressing you, no fumbling, no hesitation, just swift, purposeful movements that make your skin tingle in anticipation. 

His fingers find the zipper of your dress, drawing it down in one fluid, decisive pull that echoes in the charged silence. The fabric whispers free, he guides you to step out of it with gentle but commanding hands, then steps away for a torturous moment to lay it neatly on the dresser. You stand there in nothing but your underwear, pulse thrumming wildly in your throat, every nerve alight with uncertainty. The seconds stretch, deliciously agonising, your body humming with nervous energy.

He returns, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His fingers ghost along the sensitive skin of your waist, feather-light trails that ignite sparks, making you gasp softly and arch instinctively toward him. Then, with the same expert precision, he strips away the last barriers. Unhooking your bra in a single motion, letting it slip from your shoulders and fall discarded; hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly before helping you step free. 

Naked now, utterly vulnerable under his gaze, you feel a rush of absurd nervousness, heat flooding your cheeks. His eyes are impossibly dark, primal, devouring you like prey, and you swear you could melt into a puddle right there, legs weakening as arousal and apprehension twist tighter.

He remains fully dressed in his suit, a stark contrast that only heightens your exposure, your submission. But then he reaches up, loosening his tie with deliberate slowness, letting your eyes trail ever move. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, a predatory gleam in his eye that sends another wave of anticipatory heat crashing through you.

“I need to teach you a lesson, pip-squeak” he whispers, the words laced with a faux reluctance, as if this punishment pains him as much as it will you. 

You swallow hard, shifting restlessly on your feet, mouth opening to protest or plead, but before a sound escapes, he slips his tie around your eyes, knotting it securely behind your head. Darkness envelops you instantly, robbing you of sight and amplifying every other sense, the rustle of his clothes, the thud of your heartbeat.

… 

You hear him circling you slowly, the soft pad of his footsteps a deliberate rhythm that sets your nerves alight in the pitch-black void of the blindfold. Drawers slide open with a hushed rasp, one, then another, followed by the faint clink of something heavy being set down on the ground. Your breath comes in shallow, absurdly heavy bursts, chest rising and falling as anticipation coils tighter in your core, every second stretching into eternity. 

Then his hands return, warm and commanding, palms settling on your hips with gentle insistence, guiding you forward step by blind step. You follow without resistance, body thrumming with obedience, cool air kissing your bare skin and heightening your vulnerability.

“Hands and knees, baby” he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble that belies the storm brewing beneath. You comply instantly, heart slamming against your ribs as settle onto the ground, carpet soft against your knees and palms. On all fours, your slick folds part naturally, exposed to the room's chill draft and, more intoxicatingly, to his hungry gaze.

A flush burns across your skin. You can feel his eyes devouring you, the weight of his stare like a physical touch, making your entrance clench involuntarily in anticipation. 

He can’t seem to  resist, his fingers ghost over your swollen folds in a feather-light tease, tracing the slick evidence of your arousal for just a second, sending a violent shiver racing up your spine and pulling a soft, needy whimper from your lips. The brief contact leaves you aching for more, hips twitching instinctively.

Without warning, cool metal cuffs snap around your wrists, firm, unyielding, anchoring them securely to the foot of the bed with a decisive click that reverberates through your bones. Your ankles follow suit, locked into a rigid spreader bar that forces your legs wide apart, thighs trembling from the enforced openness. No closing them, no hiding, no escape. 

The realisation crashes over you like a wave. You're utterly trapped, displayed for him, every intimate inch of you at his mercy. Panic and arousal twist together, your pulse thundering in your ears.

“Caleb” you gasp, the name tumbling out in a breathless plea, your body arching as his fingers trail a slow, possessive path along your spine, from the base of your neck down to the curve of your ass, eliciting a high, desperate whine that you can't suppress.

“Baby, don’t whine…” he chastises softly, though there's a dark amusement threading his tone, his touch lingering to soothe and stoke the fire simultaneously. “This is a punishment, remember? Be good for me.”

His fingers dip lower again, dragging languidly through your dripping folds, collecting your slick on his fingertips before circling your clit with maddening gentleness. The tease builds an unbearable ache, your hips bucking futilely against the restraints, chains rattling in protest. 

Then, unexpectedly, something cold and wet drips onto your exposed entrance. Lube, slick and chill, making you arch sharply with a startled gasp, the metal shackles clinking as your body jerks.

“Hold still” he commands, his voice dropping to a husky warning, one hand pressing firmly between your shoulder blades to steady you. “I want to teach you a lesson, not break you... yet.” 

He works the lube in with expert thoroughness, fingers plunging deep, scissoring and coating every inch until you're so drenched it trickles down your inner thighs, the obscene wetness amplifying your humiliation and arousal. Your breaths come in pants now, mind hazy with need, every nerve screaming for what's next.

Finally, something cold and unforgiving, hard silicone, presses against your clenching entrance, the bulbous tip nudging insistently, teasing the sensitive rim. You tense, a fresh wave of anticipation flooding you: This is it. He's really going to…

“Let’s teach you some loyalty, then” he whispers, the words send heat pooling hotter in your belly.

A soft beep pierces the air, followed by the low, ominous whir of a motor coming to life, like a predator awakening. The cold tip advances slowly, inexorably, stretching you open inch by thick inch. It doesn't relent, pushing deeper until it butts firmly against your cervix, filling you so completely that a shuddering inhale rips from your throat, your walls fluttering around the intrusion in overwhelmed protest. 

Only when it's seated to the hilt does it retreat, agonisingly slow, sliding out until just the bulbous head remains, hovering at your entrance, leaving you empty and clenching desperately for more.

Then it plunges back in, a relentless rhythm beginning. Deep, unyielding thrusts that bottom out with precision, the flared base kissing your slick lips before withdrawing again. The machine's pace is steady at first, mechanical perfection that builds a torturous friction, each stroke dragging over every sensitive spot inside you. 

Time blurs as it continues, thrust, withdraw, thrust, your body rocking forward with the force, breasts swaying heavily, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the room like a symphony of submission.

All the while, his hands roam your skin with possessive reverence, ghosting beneath your heaving chest to cup and knead, fingers pinching and rolling your stiffened nipples until they're aching peaks of need. He flicks them sharply, drawing broken moans from your lips, the dual assault of machine and touch pushing you toward the edge with merciless intent. 

Time dissolves into an endless loop of build and denial. Your body betrays you, hips rocking back instinctively, chasing the invasion despite the restraints. Your mouth hangs slack, soft, broken groans spilling freely as you fuck yourself onto the relentless silicone, the wet slap of your slick lips echoing obscenely in the room.

Caleb's fingers descend upon your clit, but there's no haste in his touch, only languid, tormenting strokes across the swollen, throbbing bud, rolling it in slow, hypnotic circles that ignite fireworks behind the blindfold. The pleasure sharpens to a near-burn, a white-hot edge that has you babbling. 

"Please... faster... Caleb, I can't—" Your voice cracks, words dissolving into whimpers as the dual assault coils tighter, unbearable tension winding in your core.

You're teetering on the precipice, every muscle taut when it crashes. Your cunt clamps down like a vice around the silicone, clenching spasmodically as ecstasy rips through you. You feel everything, the artificial ridges dragging against your spasming walls, amplifying the overload until stars burst in the darkness.

"Oh god!" you gasp, the cry raw and shattered, your upper body collapsing forward onto your chest in surrender. The shackles hold firm, keeping your hips elevated, ass presented high, your pussy still impaled, speared wide open by the machine even as aftershocks ripple through you. 

It doesn't pause. The dildo forces its way back in with mechanical indifference, stretching your oversensitive depths anew, drawing out the orgasm into a prolonged, trembling haze. 

…

“Now, baby…” Caleb’s voice drifts to you, low and honeyed, the chair creaking as he sinks into it with deliberate leisure. The metallic rasp of his zipper follows, then the unmistakable glide of fabric over skin. “Count for me. Out loud. Don’t lose track.”

A hiccupping sob catches in your throat just as the machine surges, tears soak through the tie covering your eyes. The motor snarls to a higher pitch, pistoning faster, harder, each thrust slamming home with brutal precision. Your body jolts forward, cheek scraping the plush carpet, wrists yanking against the cuffs as the dildo spears deeper than before, bullying past every fluttering barrier. 

The sudden velocity rips a strangled cry from you, but you still grind back on it, greedy, shamelessly, hips rolling to meet the invasion because being empty is worse than too-much.

Over the wet schlick-schlick-schlick of silicone claiming you, another rhythm layers in, slick skin on skin, steady and obscene. You twist your blindfolded face toward the sound, it’s Caleb, fist pumping his cock in perfect sync with the machine, fucking you by proxy. His soft, ragged gasps weave through the mechanical whine, each exhale a dark praise you can’t see but feel in your bones.

“C-Caleb—” The name punches out of you on a forward lurch, half plea, half cry. Your second climax barrels down like a freight train, you grind back frantically, thighs quivering, chasing the brutal dig against your cervix. “One… two—oh fuck—t-two!”

Your walls spasm wildly around the invading shaft, legs shaking so hard the spreader bar jangles, metal clinking with your futile attempt to snap them shut. Slick gushes down your thighs in hot pulses, but the machine never slows, it continues to forces its way through your clenching channel, dragging against oversensitive walls, prolonging the climax into a merciless plateau.

You try to crawl forward, to escape the relentless plunge, but the cuffs bite into your wrists and the bar locks your knees wide. There’s nowhere to go. Only deeper. Only more.

You’re utterly wrecked. Skin sheened with sweat that cools and stings in the open air. The blindfold is sodden, tears bleeding through to trace hot paths over your cheeks; drool slips unchecked from your slack mouth, pooling beneath your lips on the carpet. Limbs gone liquid, you sag in the restraints, face buried in the plush weave, every muscle surrendered to the machine’s merciless rhythm. 

It hammers faster now, a blur of silicone and lube and raw need, each thrust punching muffled sobs from your chest. Words are gone. Only fractured babble spills out, “C-Caleb—please—nngh—too much—I love you—I love you”

A guttural, filthy groan of your name rips from him, thick with release. The sound alone wreaks you. Your cunt clamps down in frantic pulses, milking the invading shaft as another climax tears through your ruined body.  All that escapes is a frail, keening moan, high and broken, while fresh tears flood the tie and your frame shudders helplessly in its metal cage, utterly spent, utterly his.

“Baby” Caleb coos from where he’s sat. 

“Three” You whisper, voice hoarse, you hear him laugh softly. He’s there in an instant, kneeling beside you, the heat of his body cutting through the haze. A tender hand cups your chin, lifting, gentle but insistent. “Up on your arms for me.”

The machine never falters, still pistoning deep, but his touch eclipses it. You drag yourself upright on shaking elbows, wrists straining against the cuffs, every thrust rocking you forward onto his waiting palm.

“Open.”

Your lips part before the word finishes. The blunt, velvety head of his cock slides in, slick with his own release, salty and alive. 

You latch on instantly, desperate, tongue swirling the slit, lapping the bead of precum, cheeks hollowing as you take him in as much as restraints allow. You worship him, long, wet pulls, tight suction, the soft pop when you draw back to the crown and tease the sensitive ridge.

Above you, his breath stutters, a low, broken groan that vibrates straight to your core. His fingers thread into your hair, not gripping, not forcing, just resting, anchoring you to him while you unravel him. You feel him swell, pulse, his earlier climax left him raw, and it takes only moments.

 A shudder rolls through his thighs, the head flares against your tongue. Hot, thick ropes of cum flood your mouth, coating your throat. You swallow greedily, despite some spilling down your chin, milking every drop, lips sealed tight as you suck him through the aftershocks until he’s gasping your name. You slip your mouth off his cock, giving it a soft lick before you pull away.  

The taste of him, the sound of his surrender, it snaps the last thread inside you. Another orgasm crashes without warning, violent and sudden. You drop your forehead to the floor, a raw cry tearing free, back bowing as your walls clamp down on the relentless dildo. The machine continues to drive through the spasms, prolonging the blaze until your whole body quakes, tears and drool mingling on the carpet beneath you. 

The machine surges into overdrive, a mechanical growl rising to a scream, thrusts blurring into one continuous, punishing rhythm that hammers against your cervix with merciless force. Each plunge stretches you impossibly wide, ridges scraping oversensitive walls, slick and lube and your own release splattering with every withdrawal filling the room with the sound of your spent cunt. 

You’re beyond counting, beyond thought, only raw sensation remains.

Caleb’s fingers tangle in your hair, yanking you up just enough to claim your mouth again, his tongue pressing into your mouth, stealing your breath.

“Mine” he rasps, voice frayed at the edges. “All fucking mine.”

Your body locks, then shatters. A final, cataclysmic orgasm rips through you like lightning, every muscle seizing in violent spasms. You scream, hoarse, broken, wordless, drool and cum streaking down your face and breasts, slick dripping in glistening ropes down your quaking thighs. 

Your cunt clamps down in futile rebellion, milking the silicone shaft as it powers through the clench, forcing wave after wave until your feel nothing.

Babbling spills unchecked. “C-Caleb—please—stop—no more—please-I’m yours-I’m yours” Nonsense, devotion, surrender. 

You collapse, the cuffs alone hold you spread, hips jerking helplessly as aftershocks ripple endlessly. Your mind blanks, a soft, floating void where only his name echoes.

When the motor finally whirs down to silence, you’re left trembling, wrecked, utterly spent, a crying, babbling, cum-covered mess, marked inside and out by the man who owns every shattered piece of you.

He works with practiced urgency, keys clinking softly as the cuffs fall away from your wrists and ankles. The spreader bar clatters to the floor. When the machine finally eases out of you, a pathetic, broken whine escapes your lips, the sudden emptiness a cruel ache after hours of relentless fullness. 

Your legs give out completely, you slide forward, collapsing face-down onto the carpet in a boneless heap, chest heaving in ragged gasps. The mess beneath you doesn’t matter; you’ll call in professionals tomorrow. Right now, nothing exists beyond the throb between your thighs and the echo of his name in your head.

Strong arms scoop you up before the chill can settle. Caleb cradles you against his chest, one hand sweeping damp hair from your tear-streaked face, the other tugging the soaked blindfold free. Light floods in, soft and golden, and you blink up at him through swollen lids. He looks as ruined as you feel. Cheeks flushed crimson, skin gleaming with sweat, his own release streaked across the ridges of his abdomen in pearly trails. The sight punches the air from your lungs, if you had anything left, you might have cum again just from the sight of him.

You paw at him weakly, hands curling around the back of his neck, dragging him closer with what little strength remains. “I love you” you whimper, pressing frantic, sloppy kisses to his jaw, his throat, the corner of his mouth, any inch of skin you can reach. “I’ll always be yours. Only yours.”

His arms tighten, possessive and tender all at once. “Good girl” he murmurs against your temple, voice hoarse, reverent. “You did so well”. 

"I'm just teasing you. But seriously," you round their kitchen island and roll a tester. "He's got great taste. Tell him thanks. You should invite him Saturday."

You nudge MC, who puffs her cheek before surrendering, a feminine laugh filling her open floor.

She lets out. "I already did."

You bust out laughing, a harsher, sharper sound that tickles MC. As if on cue, MC closes in on you, scans her collection before plucking a tube out and spritzes you.

"This one suits you. I knew when it came out lemon-y on me, the herbal notes would bloom on you."

You take a whiff and smile. It's rather sweet of MC to remember which scents paired well with your skin.

“Oh, it pays off to have a scientific genius as your friend.” MC smacks you unforgivingly, yet you feel the love. 

In return, you fish out a trial tube from your bag. 

"I got a hold of this perfume. It's warm like honey, got a kick to it. Smelled like ass sweat and leather on me." You brush MC's hair aside and sprays her neck.

Like a chef, you waft the scent in.

Delicious.

"Mmm, this is a new look on you." MC sniffs and hums pleasantly.

"I smell like roses-"

"Skye would love this on you-"

Another smack across your arm, this time less lovingly but more force. Luckily, just a plastic spoon that could do little to no damage.

"Are you double dipping jokes? Tsk tsk."

You surrender.

"Alright I'll retire for the night. Losing my game, clearly-"

"What game?"

A manly, boyish voice cuts through the air, sending tingles to your back, slowing down time. Only does the click of your locked door set everything into motion again.

"Caleb!" MC exclaims, rushing him over to their island. "You're early, come over here and do a smell test with us."

"Hey, pips. Hey." Caleb is making his way over, large frame near intimidating saved only by his gentle eyes and casual expression. His eyes land on you. You casually smile back.

"We got new inventory," you recover. Only MC knows your nervous habit of reusing phrases when your brain stops. You can't think fast enough.

"Let me see," Caleb counters gravity with his hip on the island, slotting himself between.

He sniffs the air once and questions, "Are you guys already wearing them?"

"Yeah, any you like?" MC responds, suspiciously fast.

You fiddle with the scents, making it top priority to find another tester for MC. "Seems like a timeless collection this round. I think we might have a keeper here."

MC hums and rounds the island to dig for some snacks underneath. "Yeah, I really like the one you tested on me."

She winks and you receive it with suspicion. Meanwhile, Caleb rounds the kitchen island towards you in, what feels like slow-motion. Your palms start sweating, and you internally push down the buoy of hope leaping between your chest and throat. 

Your acquaintance formed with Caleb first during college. He was a class-favorite, friendly, extroverted, funny when it counted, and held strong marks. You were competitive, thrived in your own smaller circle, a bit forthright with your speak, and were the only one to keep coming second to Caleb. It ticked you off, which, you suspected, contributed to Simone's initial attraction towards you. They bonded over their initial dislike.

MC was the first to soften them up, meanwhile Tara loved stirring chaos and setting their process back to square zero. Tara's evil snickers ironed itself as your ringtone.

You alternated between your friend's laughs for ringtones.

It was Tara's laugh that perked Caleb's ears one day, during their physical training session. It was MC's laugh that made Caleb's do a double-take after class. His eyes tracked down the stranger, caught the fairy-like twinkle of MC's laughter, followed by the airy response of yours, who he later learned was his self-proclaimed rival.

That weekend, Caleb invited himself to their get together.

That weekend, you noticed sides to your rival that were jarringly out-of-character, at least compared to his student-body face.

Sometimes, Caleb had a faraway look, opting to fade into the background with Gideon and Patrick at the social forefront. Sometimes, he looked like he stirred and argued with himself, eyebrows deeply set into a mean look. Only a shoulder pat or friendly poke in the head from MC would shake him out of his daze.

You never broached the subject or found an appropriate opportunity to. Despite all the casual encounters after, where Caleb would spot your form and give you pointers. In turn, you would answer his out-of-pocket questions about life, death, that slowly bled into curt humor, recent political ongoings within the fleet and in the world, to mundane tv shows, and questions about the woman's perspective. Simone busted out laughing that over their weekend brunch. MC conspired and Tara frantically pulled two more tarot cards.

It part, you felt like a conversational practice partner. You seldomly stuck around when Gideon and Patrick came along, outside one bar hangout when Caleb went non-verbal. You had bloomed into a social butterfly on command to cover for his dead battery. Gideon caught on and gave you a raised eyebrow of approval.

That night, MC and her gals swung by, sweeping you off your feet into their own corner. To say their venn diagram of friends overlapped by just a tail explained their fragmented friendship.

Caleb was weird for sure, and a mystery that you needed to stay away from.

A mystery that was leaning in towards you at a dangerously slow pace. A glacier that was impossible for any human to stop.

Caleb's amethyst eyes felt like fire, a cosmos set fiery and ablaze. Impending doom. Apocalypse. You stood your ground, more-so frozen than brazen.

In a bizarre twist, he closes his eyes and breathes in, pausing after registering your gentle repellence.

MC peeks from the island counter edge. Internally, she reminds herself to text the groupchat without you.

"Caleb?" You bring him out of his… trance. "This is… the Eus de la Nuit. It's herbal for sure, maybe a bit medicinal."

He opens his eyes and looks heavily into yours. "You smell amazing."

You freeze. Your emergency reflexes flip on, and you spray him like misbehaving dog. "Try it, then."

Caleb coughs. He takes a moment to pblt the fragrance from his tongue and shakes his head. "It smells better than it tastes for sure."

"If you were further-"

"Okay!" MC claps her hands. "Snacks acquired."

Caleb remains where he is but turns his head. He nods at MC and smiles approvingly. MC nudges her head towards you. They communicate telepathically, and you pretend not to notice, treat it as water under the bridge.

The night carries on. Everyone comes over and they celebrate Patrick's promotion.

You recover. Simone and Andrew talk about their potential engagement. Tara announces her crush on a mysterious guy she met at another party.

Caleb finds himself leaning against you infrequently.

You gnaw at your nails, suddenly insecure seeing MC nurse her phone. You flash a glance at Caleb, only to see him gazing back at you. You smile politely. Caleb chuckles, dropping his head.  

You look away.

Weird. Deep down you've had a feeling that MC and Caleb were childhood sweethearts. Hence, you've kept your distance like the plague.

It's the common conclusion anyone could come to, listening to their stories growing up. Road trips, studying overnight, spending summers together at the park, the fair, the carnival. Incredulously enough, you heard rumors (courtesy of Gideon) that they pretended to date, to scare off some suitors.

You immerse yourself in badgering Tara about her side hustle. Her profits are on the upward trend. She's changing up her content, testing different introductions and inflections of her storytelling. You check out her newest video, bookmarking and reposting immediately.

MC comes over suddenly and tugs your arm. "Tara, are you staying for this?"

"Of course," Tara agrees, clueless but eager.

"Staying for what?" You ask. Tara respond before you can toss a wild guess out.

“The main course.” She replies, conspiratorially. 

"Yeah. Caleb's going to make a move on you." MC bumps shoulders with you. "Are you okay with that?"

You cough. You recover. You gape at them silently. 

Tara giggles and gets comfy for the show unfolding before her. 

Clearly there's information you're unaware of. You spend some time gathering yourself. Fiddling with the counter top only reveals so much. You gather up the wits to address the elephant in the room, looking MC directly in the eye.

"Well, are you okay with that? I know you two are, um."  

You gulp, the next word coming out like mud. “Close.”

"Isn't this heavily against girl code?"

MC laughs and leans her head of your shoulder, her speed taking you by surprise. “Everyone thinks that. Tara did at first too. Simone saw through it. I'm sure you have too.”

You shake your head. “Probably, but it was easier to keep the mental guardrails up. You're breaking my mind right now.” 

“Denial.” Tara helpfully offers. 

“Definitely,” you wave your white flag.

MC shakes her head and continues. "No, we just grew up together. I hate this part, don't get sad but," and MC looks up at you with her big, doe eyes.

They're beautiful, you're not sure how Caleb doesn't get distracted, or anyone else for that matter. Light and innocence emit effortlessly from her gaze. "We only had each other growing up. Caleb's really hard on himself for being the more responsible one. He's only a year or two older but being an orphan ages you. It gets scary thinking about being really, really alone, you know?"

You gulp and soothe MC's back. While Caleb's the main topic, you assume MC must have carried her own weight, both born of her own and residual. MC nuzzles into your shoulder more, humming happily. 

"You should get to know him more."

Tara sips on her cocktail, courtesy of Gideon's experiments. She leans her head on your shoulder too. 

You hum and nod. "Thank you for telling me that. You didn't have to."

MC pokes your cheek. "I wanted to."

"Yeah, you tend to keep your distance. If I were a guy," Tara offers, plucking out a strawberry and feeding herself, "I'd think you didn't like me."

You sweat. Tara smiles sweet as the devil.

The new information swirls inside your stomach, making you nauseous. A part of you is still in disbelief. Out of poorly hidden curiosity, you decide to dig for more information.

It's a bizarre feeling but a lack of insecurity floods your head. "I had questions, but I don't think they're important now." Also known as, I trust you, I believe you. Their past has nothing to do with you. Only now, and the future matters.

"That's what makes you, you. I'm so glad I met you." A slight slur escapes MC's voice and you laugh. "You can always ashk… though…"

"You're getting drunk. And Tara, you've been drunk."

“I carry it well,” Tara giggles and you lean on Tara's shoulder. The 3 of you all lean off the stool.

"MC just wishes Skye would text her back." Tara teases.

"Duh, captain obvious." MC retorts. You gape at her blatant honestly. You look down.

"Where is he? You don't invite him. None of us have his info."

MC hums and checks her phone.

"He swaps our burner phones often. I do have his number though. I just feel bad for bothering him." The pout is evident in her voice.

"Your counsel cannot make a judgement until sufficient evidence is present."

"Does that mean you don't have enough information, or that he doesn't feel bad?"

"… Both," Tara rationalizes, trying her best to carry this consolation parade.

“He has your number, he's probably waiting like a gentleman.” Tara reasons.

"He doesn't seem the double text type." You add. 

MC groans, "I just! I've been waiting to find the right moment."

"Don't lose him if he plays a different game," Tara warns.

"Yeah, you're right." MC whips out her phone and presses call. You help her stand up and pat her waist as she leaves.

"You sure know how to mobilize people." You direct towards Tara. "So about that brand deal, still need someone to proofread the email?"

Tara smiles, "I'll text you. Just relax tonight. I'm gonna go congratulate Patrick, officially."

"Okay, I'll come with-"

"No," Tara anchors you down by the shoulder. "Stay here, you already said hi. Nurse my drink."

You could overwhelm her. Physically, you are taller. Presence wise, Tara delivers sweet menace like no other. Tara abandons you with a drink in each hand.

You set down their near overflowing cups and wash your hands.

Quietly, you notice a warm presence by your side. It's intimidating.

"Drinking for two on a weekday's a new look." The voice observes, soft yet crisp. When you turn to acknowledge him, Caleb's already looking at you. The act stirs unfamiliar heat and nausea in your stomach.

You dryly joke. "These are my actual colors. I couldn't hide it from you any longer."

He weighs on your reply and looks down the marble counter. Chatter and laughter buzz around them. A smile slips onto his face.

"You don't need to hide from me," he slides a non-alcoholic drink over. "But I can bug you about staying hydrated."

You suck your breath. Clearly you've believed misconceptions about several people close to you. Maybe, you consider, you'll take the leap and open your mind to Caleb. Your rival, turned acquaintance, turned friend-of-a-friend who's continued to linger around that league. You begin undoing the wire fence built to withstand all surprises, trump any expectations that could shatter your heart, and your friendships.

You turn to him, and God, he's still looking at you with an unfairly charming, peaceful glint in his eye. Did you always feel this safe in his proximity?

You take MC's advice literally, even if would-you-rather is a kitchsy attempt. 

"If you had to choose between $50,000 a year guaranteed, no need to work, or $500,000 a year doing something you hate, which would you choose?" You sip his water, grab both drinks, and motion him over to the balcony. The kitchen island is too high traffic for any undisturbed, prolonged conversation.

Caleb obeys quietly, never letting their distance grow further than 4 feet behind. Your dark, cool hair shines with a luster that compliments the star-sprinkled moon-lit night sky. He leans against the screen, relishing in the cool glass against his flushed skin.

You're beautiful.

He hums to cover his thoughts, stalling to drink in your gaze. "I'm already doing the latter," and you choke, "It's not too bad."

A swallow. "Okay let's flip it, what would you do if you had 4 more hours in the day? Same pay, just more time."

"What roundabout way to ask about someone's hobbies," He smirks.

"Passions, whims," you correct.

Caleb tilts his head and brings a thoughtful finger to his chin. "My passion is tinkering, and flying. I've built model planes since we were kids. Overseeing the fleet…" The faraway look creeps into his gaze again before you can stop it. "Checks some of those boxes."

He pulls out his phone, a quick tap into his photos, another expands it, and he swings it over to you. "The thrill of flying still keeps me going. The community is the other. Out of everyone around me, the mechanics took me under their wing." All that to say, "I'd build planes with them."

"Not for the fleet," you clarify, taking in the group selfie of Caleb and four other men, oil smudged and sweaty, with a unique single flyer model behind them.

"Definitely not the fleet." Caleb smiles.

You whistle, zooming in to the model behind them. You've already memorized Caleb's sweaty yet boyish mug and CK-esque build, sporting that white tank. Play it cool.

Caleb doesn't react, his gaze on your profile as you analyze the near pixelated jet from how much you've zoomed in.

"Tell me more about this, what makes it special?" You zoom back out and return his phone. Your fingers touch. Caleb waits for you to let go.

"You really wanna hear?" He tucks his phone back.

"Of course."

Your tone is earnest, and Caleb loves the way you sound. You make him feel warm.

"Well, the engine carries different fuel. Slower burning with standard wing geometry to reduce drag. The thrusters can change airflow paths mid-flight, optimizing the cruise and giving you this gentle takeoff. We're tweaking those variables right now to make it feel like you're floating on clouds, essentially."

You whistle. “And here I was, expecting to hear about a better, faster, bigger plane.”

“Sounds like you care about the ergonomics of it all. That's kinda refreshing,”

"Yeah, we care more about the feeling of flying. Not if you can fly better, or faster, or sharper. Those maneuvers are mainly for combat. I want flying to feel how I imagined as a kid."

"That's rather sweet." You leave no room for interpretation. "So you're a car guy, essentially."

Caleb laughs, "Yeah, call me if you need any fixing." He pauses, a light bulb flickering and you find it adorable that you're able to read his mind for once. You chuckle as the question slips out, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

"Do I have your number?"

You shake your head. "No, you don't." Your heart thumps, but you smile. 

"Hand it to me," he does a mini come hither with all four fingers. "Just in case a real emergency comes along, too, you know?"

You give him a suspicious look but all too willingly comply. He's rather blunt. You prefer it that way.

"Alright," you say. "Expect suuuper late night messages, my stuff tends to break at inconvenient hours. I'll be sending you inane questions and annoying quizzes."

"That's perfect," Caleb accepts endearingly. He moves on too fast for you. "You asked me such a revealing question. I can't be the only one dropping defenses."

"When's a time you've been mad? What happened, what did you do?"

You twirl the ice in your drink and decide for honesty. No airs to make you look better, no overbearing ugliness.

"Something I had control over?"

Caleb pauses and leaves the ball in your court. "Your choice."

You take a sip and nod seriously. "I held resentment towards my mom for our situation. We don't see eye to eye, but years later I realized she was working with limited resources. So I cleaned my act up, got myself sorted, and I'm working on her situation too." You realized it might be insensitive, but it coming from a deep crevice of your mind outweighed any tact. The thought came impulsively.

"The light at the end of the tunnel is that I got to learn another language more fluently. So if you ever need a travel companion to the West, feel free to call on my service." You try to steer the conversation in a lighter direction.

"Glad I have your number then," Caleb laughs. 

He smooths a thumb over the counter. "This sounds like it happened a long time ago, for a long while."

"Yeah, I was a toooootal brickhead. College helped blow a lot of that steam out."

“I remember your name under mine. You always tried to crack my class rank.” He chuckles and shakes his head. 

“You're like, twice my size!”

“Remember, that mindset keeps you second.” He teases, and you smack his arm. 

You crack a smile and both laugh. Caleb pushes some water towards you before resuming. 

“Everyone reacts when they feel cornered. I'm glad you're both out of that, or almost.”

You take his offer.

"Thank you Caleb, I appreciate it."

The night air billows. When you turn, he looks at you. You notice the near automatic reaction, as if his senses covered a wider field of vision. Little do you know, Caleb's paid more attention than he'd admit to you, since your rivalry was announced to him.

With another gust, his necklace's reflective glint captures your peripheral.

"I wanna know the lore behind your necklace." You gesture with your chin. The water is calm, but you're wading through on your tip toes.

He follows your direction and smooths over the pendant thoughtfully. The pendant drops as he looks at you again.

"I'm surprised MC didn't tell you."

You smile, hiding your anxiety. Despite your earlier conversation with MC, you don't know what Caleb will say.

"She gifted it when I left for academy. I wear it because… I guess… it's the first keepsake from my family."

You nod understandingly. "I would treat a family gift like treasure, too."

"Right. It means more because she's the only family I have."

Caleb breathes a little. You know because his chest rises and falls a little deeper than usual.

"Yeah, I understand. It looks like you take good care of it. Spotless, great work." You smile at him, and he smiles back.

"I do keep it in solution sometimes. Being careful and layering it under the uniform is enough to keep it in good condition."

"Hmmm… that's quite an image, for sure." You can't help but let a comment slip. One drop of desperation slips out, like new sweat.

His ears perk, his shoulders perk, and a light shines in his eyes. Caleb lets out a soft laugh and relaxes again. This time, his shoulder looks softer, more relaxed. You can only wonder what's going on in his head.

"Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just… have eyes." You try again. "I appreciate hard work!"

He smiles this time.

"Don't be sorry, hearing you say that makes my day. Night, rather."

You let his words sink in for the first time, instead of batting them away for some other, more mundane interpretation.  

"Really?" And your voice comes out, quiet.

"Really," Caleb says softly.

Another breeze sweeps you both, this time framing Caleb's face in a different light. You gulp, suddenly wanting to fix your hair, your clothes, your nails, your everything.

So you do, a newly discovered nervous tick. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, smooth out your shorts.

Caleb shifts closer, his arm brushing against yours. He doesn’t say anything—just sits there, close enough that you feel the warmth of his skin against your side.

You keep your eyes fixed on the skyline, pretending it’s the only thing you’re focused on. But your heart’s already betrayed you, thudding in your chest a little louder than you’d like.

“You’re quiet now,” he says, voice low.

“Just thinking,” you answer. It’s easier than the truth.

He tilts his head, studying you like he doesn’t fully believe you—but he’s not going to press. Not yet.

The silence between you stretches, but it isn’t awkward. It’s full, gentle. 

You run your thumb along the rim of the sliding door, tracing the edge slowly. 

"So I've… been promoted from stranger to rival, to… friend?" You suck in your breath.

He exhales—part laugh, part breath, part something heavier.

Caleb leans back against the windowsill. "If you're okay with that definition. We can revise and edit later on."

You're at a party. MC, Tara, Simone, Gideon, any one of them could show up at any moment. You bite your lip and concede by nodding.

"Edit and revise sounds fine with me, Mr. Co-Author."

"One thing." Caleb steps over without notice, heat immediately hugging your body and face.

"Hm-" Is all you get to muster before you feel soft petals, slightly dry lips on your cheek. A quick peck that lasts forever.

When Caleb pulls back, you find yourself gravitating towards his orbit. Drawn in by those violet eyes that emit warmth from his stormy vortex.

"Just making an edit. Was that too much?" Caleb clears his through and reassumes their previous stance.

You react, cat-like, before he can slip through your grasp.

"No, not at all. Co-signed. Approved." You huff.

"Amazing." His eyes never leave you.

You know the ball is in your court.

"Now I don't want to go back in there. You've trapped me."

"I'm not sure who trapped who first. Buuut, we could leave and grab … some food? Did you eat?"

Caleb takes charge of your pace, leaving no room for you to comment. "Not yet, have you tried the old dumpling joint nearby? Beer won't break your bank."

"No," Caleb smiles, "Take me."

"Okay," you smile. "MC told me you're a great cook by the way."

"I'd love to leave you a professional, totally anonymous review that totally won't make its way to the Chef."

"If you live up to your word, I'll show you a restaurant I'm actually banned from."

"There's no way you say that and not tell me the story behind it."

Caleb holds the screen door open for you, motioning for you to depart first. You smile at him and walk through. His gaze never leaves your frame.

You find his staring habit adorable. You hope that his gaze won't stop following you for a long time.

Caleb closes the screen door behind him. MC is nowhere to be found, Simone and Tara spot you two immediately, sending you goodnight kisses and goodbye imitations of the royal family.

Gideon and Patrick spot Caleb herding you out. They send him a knowing look, Gideon grinning, before returning to their current conversation. Patrick shoots the group chat a message. Caleb feels the buzz in his front pocket, filing their clownery away for later.