#tall!reader

The entire family had been there when Bruce had gotten the call. Some soft sweet voice on the phone with a stutter echoing in the Batcave about how she might be his child and apologizing profusely for the awkward call.

Everyone had frozen when looking at Bruce. Bodies tense and expecting this to blow up into a whole spectacle. Each person looking at the other for someone's reaction. But, the most anticipated reaction was Bruce's.

"Who's your mother?" He had asked in an almost gentle voice. Suspicious, but there was no way he was going to show that.

"It's, um... You probably don't remember her... But, she did a show for Versace..." The voice had stumbled to explain before finally sharing a name. And, that made Bruce nod before replying.

"I remember her. Beautiful woman with long legs." He had commented, something that a rich playboy would say about some random model from forever ago.

To be fair, Bruce did treat the models he spent the night with respectfully. But, it was still difficult to make an emotional connection with someone so focused on their appearance for their career.

The conversation after that still held everyone's attention. Sharp ears all trying to detect any inconsistences in the story.

You hadn't really felt the need to ask your mother about Bruce until recently. You had a fairly normal childhood, though your mother was on her second marriage while still a minor model.

You had graduated high school last year and weren't necessarily interested in college due to student loans, but you weren't asking for Bruce to cover anything either. You only called because you wanted to confirm things due to being a bit uncertain about your future at the moment.

Which lead to Bruce offering to send you a private DNA test. Making the entire cave sigh in relief when you stuttered out that you were more than willing to do it.

It had lead to bets being placed though.

Dick and Jason betting you were actually Bruce's biological child and karma was finally catching up to him for his playboy persona. Barbara and Stephanie bet that you weren't Bruce's kid at all, but that he'd probably swoop in to adopt you anyway. Duke refused to bet. And, Cassandra remained silent on the matter while observing Damian. Making a different kind of bet to herself.

Everyone could tell the youngest of the bunch was a nervous wreck on the matter despite his skill at hiding it.

Only Cassandra could tell that both Damian and Bruce were perhaps excited. Even if you were grown, you sounded so soft and sweet. Mild mannered and polite.

But, no one Tim was allowed to do any research on you until those results came in. No sense in getting attached or over analyzing things when they had a City to protect and you lived in another.

It did, however, only take two days for the results to come in. And, then a full day for Bruce to process it.

Positive.

After that, the green light went off. Driver’s licenses, passport, social security. All of it checked. Medical records. School records and pictures. Even a very pictures your mother posted of you online. (She didn’t post many. Which was surprisingly wholesome in a way for a woman with a flourishing social media presence.)

A sweet face that looked nearly identical to your mother’s with a smidgen of Bruce’s more angular features. Not very assassin-y looking, Stephanie joked.

Bruce himself called to fly his daughter out to Gotham home. Talking to her on the phone and wanting to enjoy this one bit of normalcy.

Of course, you offered to just drive out. A round trip sounded nice in your aimlessness and you didn’t want to hassle your newfound family. (You were nervous. It was clear to tell by the way your breath hitched on the phone.)

Another three days of anticipation and Barbara tracking your phone as you drove to Gotham. And, then your modest car pulls up along the driveway to the manor.

Bruce carefully coordinates the family on the steps. They weren’t missing this. Everyone was far too nosy. Even Damian, though he wouldn’t dare admit it. He had a right to see his blood-sister. (That comment made Jason laugh, Dick and Tim groaned.)

Bruce also felt that pool of anxiety in his gut. Though he wouldn’t dare show it. Years of life having made him better apply to manage hiding such things.

The carefree playboy persona was on, mixed with some genuine fatherly excitement as he jogged to open your car door for you. His heart melting a bit at how hopeful and shy you looked.

“Already getting the princess treatment.” Jason muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. Only to sputter as you stepped out of the car.

“Oh, my queer ass was not ready for this.” Stephanie’s eyes lighting up like sparklers.

“I completely skipped over her height on her driver’s license…” Barbara had covered her mouth in surprise, while also elbowing Dick to shut his. Tim and Duke were too busy laughing at a disappointed and pouting Damian. Clearly genetics didn’t favor him as much as his new sibling.

Cassandra was already by the car before anyone could stop her. A tiny smile on her lips while her head was tilted all the way back to study your face. “Yes.”

Bruce blinked. Then blinked again. Because he could now tell his daughter had his mother’s nose before looking up to met her eyes.

It was quite humbling to see that Bruce Wayne’s little girl had two solid inches on him.

AN: Kinda wrote this a week ago trying to get back into the swing of things. 🫣 God, where did my momentum go? Feel like I gotta re-learn everything.

You run your hands down the front of your dress, smiling at your mother as she passes by you to step into the carriage. You had kept your return a secret from all your English pen pals, including Eloise, only Lady Violet knowing about your eventual reveal at the ball tonight. You couldn’t wait to see your old friends’ reactions!

The entire ride to the Birdgerton estate was spent fixing your hair and perfecting your outfit. You had been careful to change into the perfect dress before heading for the mansion, but you were still fussing over it. Sure, you were 5 and 20 now, but the thought of seeing… You shake your head, forcing your hands to still. You were not going to focus on that. On him. You were an adult now.

The carriage pulls to a stop in front of the beautiful home, and you cannot hide your excitement. The Bridgertons were seconds away!

You ascend the steps, arm in arm with your mother, before stopping at the height of the stairs and the entrance to the house. The dancing hall is just as extravagant as you remembered. As you survey the various guests, waiting to be announced, you take time to note the faces you recognize. There was Daphne, her husband with her, and their children around them. There were Colin and Penelope, looking just as in love as you knew they had been when you were young. Your smile widens when your gaze lands on Eliose, hanging off the arm of… You look away for a moment before taking a deep breath and looking back. You could look at him. It had been a decade! You would handle looking at Benedict Bridgerton. You focus your gaze on him and allow your heart to settle. You could do this. 

But, oh, how handsome he has grown! His eyes twinkle the way they had all those years ago as he laughs at something his sister says, and he holds himself with a sense of self he seems to have grown into over the decade you hadn’t seen him. He looks wonderful, the Bridgerton Blue he’s wearing making his eyes almost glow as they meet yours… wait. He’s looking at you! His jaw is slack, and he has frozen midstep the same way you have at the realization. 

He mouths your name at the same time the servant next to you announces it to the room. Your mother tugs on your arm gently, guiding you down the steps, and the spell is broken, allowing you to look away at last to appreciate the shocked faces of your friends. You straighten to your full height and begin to descend. 

When you reach the bottom, Penelope and Colin get to you first. She wraps you in a hug immediately, and you smile at Colin’s nod over her shoulder. Anthony and his new wife are thrilled to see you as well. Daphne finds you next, giving you another hug before introducing you to her family. You curtsey deeply, but the Duke waves a hand. 

“There is no need for that. From what I’ve heard, you’re an old friend!”

“Indeed!” Eloise’s voice pipes up from behind him as she all but shoves him away to get to you. The hug she gives is as tight as it is enthusiastic, and you wheeze out a laugh as you hug her back. She leans back with her hands on your shoulders as she eyes you up and down. 

“Oh, my dearest friend! You forgot to mention how tall you’ve gotten in your letters! You’re just beautiful. Benedict, isn’t she beautiful?” With a wink at your mortified face, she stands to the side. He’s standing right behind her, because of course he is, and you make eye contact again. 

You’re expecting a polite nod in response to Eloise’s meddling, maybe even a smile, but the smouldering once-over Benedict gives you steals your breath. 

“Yes. Yes, she is.”

His voice is deeper than you remember, although the quiet confidence you fell for all those years ago remains unchanged. You’re proud of your ability to stand your ground, voice remaining steady as you say, “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

You think (you hope) that that will be that, the ordeal of seeing your decades-old crush survived, but Benedict seems determined to prove you wrong tonight. He extends a hand to you when you start turning away, murmuring a quiet, “May I have the pleasure of a dance?” Your eyes meet his again in shock, and he hastily adds, “In honor of your return, of course.”

You meet what you assume is a challenge with as much confidence as you can muster, placing your gloved hand in his and letting him pull you away. You have an inkling he is teasing you, the same way he had when you were young, about your ill-returned confession. Despite your hurt at his enjoyment of your embarrassment, you cannot deny how wonderful it feels for his arm to wrap around your back and your hand to be in his. You startle when he pulls you closer than strictly necessary, but you manage not to show it on your face. This close, you note that you and Benedict are at eye-level, something he seems to notice simultaneously. 

He smiles at you, leaning forward to whisper, “You truly have grown taller, Little Lark.” Your old nickname was something you should have been expecting, but it tips the scales in your embarrassment’s favor, causing you to break eye contact. He chuckles teasingly, a sound you are positive you will never forget, before spinning you under his arm to pull you even closer than before. 

He ducks his head, blue eyes sparkling again as they meet yours. “Come now, Little Lark! Where did all of that courage go?” Suddenly, you’re aware of the eyes on you, the whispers, and how much of a fool you were making of yourself. You had been here for all of 10 minutes, and you had already let him sweep you away! You needed to get a hold of yourself. 

You frown, and Benedict’s smile drops in turn, squeezing your hand gently where it rests in his. “Did I say something wrong?”

The dance, thankfully, ends then, and you use it as an opportunity to get away. You step back quickly, offering a curtsey and a quiet, “thank you for the dance, Mr. Bridgerton,” before turning and leaving, walking as briskly as societally allowed to where you knew the balcony was. You all but throw open the doors to the outside air and grasp the balcony railing with both hands, taking a gasping breath and letting the cool night wash over you. 

“You still haven’t gotten over him, have you, 'Little Lark'?” a voice you had almost forgotten sneers behind you, and you hang your head in disappointment. While you had missed many things about England, Cressida Cowper was not one of them. You remembered just who it was who had found you when you had fled your confession all those years ago, still recalling the awful words she’d said to you despite being 3 years your senior. It seemed she had not changed, despite all the growing up everyone around her seemed to do. Guessing you have to give her an answer, you turn around.

“Charming as ever, Miss Cowper. It truly astounds me that you are not married yet.” Sarcasm drips from every syllable, and at your clear disdain, her smile disappears. 

“He will never marry you. You know that, right? Everyone in the Ton knows he refuses to wed, and that show out there was either pity or a ploy to get under your skirts.” Your eyes begin to sting, but you stand your ground even as she sneers, “You’re in love with a rake, darling. It’s about time you realize it.”

You stalk past her without a word, so focused on getting away from her sickening laugh that you don’t realize Benedict has just opened the door to the terrace. You all but run into him, his warm hands holding your arms when you stumble. He definitely notices the tears in your eyes, but you don’t give him the time to comment on them, brushing past him quickly. 

You all but run to your mother, pulling her to the side to ask her to leave. At first, she disagrees, but one look at your face is enough for her to acquiesce. 

The ride to your new home is silent, and your sleep is fitful when you get there. You only hope Benedict takes the hint to stay away. 

He doesn’t. It takes all of two days for you to get a caller, and although you expect it to be Eloise, it is Benedict who walks through the door to your parlor instead. Your mother, who, bless her, has wanted nothing more than for you to be married for nearly a decade, leaves you alone the second she sees him. 

The first few seconds are awkward, neither of you saying anything. After counting to five, you look up from your needlepoint to acknowledge him. You are shocked by what you see. 

Benedict is a wreck. His hair is a mess, his shirt is untucked, and his hands cannot seem to be still. You make eye contact, and your eyebrows raise when you see the beginnings of a blush creeping up his neck. 

You open your mouth to speak, to put him out of his misery somehow, but he beats you to it. 

“I cannot begin to express how sorry I am about the other night,” he says, taking a step forward, seemingly in distress. 

You huff an awkward laugh. “I am sure I don’t know what you mean. Miss Cowper-”

“Was wrong.” Benedict interrupts. He kneels before you and takes your hands in his, looking up at you earnestly. “She was wrong.”

You tilt your head, bewildered. “Whether or not you decide to marry has nothing to do with me-”

Benedict interrupts again, shaking his head. “It has everything to do with you, Little Lark.” He sighs, then, and looks away before muttering, “You… may have had two correspondents when you wrote to my sister for all of these years.”

When you catch on, your face flushes. “You read my letters?!”

You go to stand, but Benedict stops you with his palms on your bent knees. Even through your dress fabric, they seem to burn, and the familiarity of it stuns you into stillness. 

“I know! I know they were not meant for my eyes,” said eyes don’t leave yours for a moment, “but after finding the first, I couldn’t help myself. Your thoughts, your heart, your mind… were enchanting.” One of his hands rises to meet your cheek, the other moving to pull your hand to rest against his chest over his heart. 

“My soul has been yours since I read the first paragraph, and I have only fallen harder since. I did vow not to marry, but only because I knew the only woman I could possibly want lived an ocean away from me.”

You shake your head, as if trying to wake yourself from a dream. 

“Why didn’t you write?” 

Benedict’s blush rises up his neck into his cheeks. 

“Would you believe me if I said I was shy?”

You laugh, and his whole face brightens as he lets you go to stand before you.

“Will you allow me to court you, Little Lark? Let you find if my mind is as enticing as yours?” 

You take his offered hand and stand, smiling at him brightly.

★sam winchester is immediately drawn to you. He’s used to being the tallest one in the room, always having to crank his neck when talking to everybody, making himself smaller. So seeing you, standing tall, the room melting around you– not because you cower to it– but because it molds itself to your presence? Yeah, he’s whipped. ★sam winchester doesn’t make some half-assed comment about your height. (No bullshit ‘wow you’re so tall’) Instead, he’ll point out smaller, more unique things about you– your smile, the shirt you chose, your reading habits– the quiet things that make you, you. ★sam winchester who knows first hand that buying clothes is an absolute Hell, so he’ll go out of his way to find cute things for you to wear. Also, taking his flannels is a given– his closet is your closet too. ★sam winchester loves resting his head on your shoulder. It’s not something he could ever do before, the angle being awkward with the gaping height difference– but once, he fell asleep sitting next to you, his head tilting into you (he swears it was the best nap of his life) and ever since then he can’t help but lean into your side whenever you’re sitting together. ★sam winchester who despite what you might think, actually loves sharing crappy motel beds with you. Sure, it’s cramped– but he likes the feeling of being tangled together, holding you to his chest and legs intertwined.

tall!mike who has to has to lift his heel off the ground anytime he wants to kiss you (you call them tippy toe kisses, he hates it)

taller!reader who doesn’t go a day without people doing double takes when you pass by only for mike to obliviously flaunt the fact that you’re dating by having a strained arm around your shoulder (he can reach but it’s an awkward angle, his shoulder gets sore after a while)

tall!mike who despite everyone’s skepticism, loves having a tall girlfriend. He'd grown tired of having to duck his head to make eye contact, it never felt quite right having to hunch his already horrible posture past its limits just to feel apart of the conversation. With you, he'd tilt his chin just a little higher, his eyes raised, his shoulders straightened, to be met with your gorgeous face.

taller!reader who wears flats to dances so mike doesn’t feel like a complete loser (you’re somehow still taller)

tall!mike who likes the height difference because most of the time he’s at eye level with your boobs (he’s pathetic)

taller!reader who’s shoulder becomes a headrest for mike when he’s tired

tall!mike who likes having you on his lap because he’s face to face with you for once— not that it bothered him that you usually weren’t, but it’s nice seeing your pretty face

taller!reader who joins the girls basketball team and gets Hawkins to state. (mike’s your #1 supporter and screams at all your games)

tall!mike who can’t help but stare when you talk about your day because the light hits your face unlike anyone else and he’s convinced you’re a goddess (you’re the only one tall enough for the light to hit)

taller!reader who often wears flared jeans as it flatters your figure most, but decided to kick it up a notch and wear a skirt to school. As soon as Mike caught sight of your legs, he had to look away. (he can’t handle allat)

tall!mike who’s your designated zipper guy. Anytime you wear a dress, he’s the one you call to get it on and off (he not-so-secretly loves it)

ryland grace - he is so intimidated by you at first, but he's totally down with it once he gets to know you. this is a man who hasn't had very many relationships. sure, he's intimidated by the height on you (especially if you're confident enough to wear heels), but he's also just intimidated by you in general. you're so smart, so kind. he's got a crush on you from afar for a while for sure. "statistically your height isn't as rare as you think"

court gentry - the definition of a man who does not give a singular shit about how tall you are. whether he meets you as a fellow agent or a citizen, he doesn't give a damn. he notices, of course he does. notices that you shrink in on yourself and slouch next to shorter people and dread heels and a dress. but he gives you CONFIDENCE baby. such a "you look beautiful, darlin" kinda guy who says you look so sexy in heels and reminds you to sip up straight. not in a bothersome way but in a a-want-you-to-think-you're-as-beautiful-as-i-do way.

lars lindstrom - HE. DOESN'T. GIVE. A. FUCK! you think he's so cute and at first, when you try to introduce yourself, he's such a stammering nervous mess (as per usual) that you think it's because of you that he was like that. the fact that you have at least an inch on him. but it's because he thinks you're so pretty and ya know, general human interaction. but once you've interacted a few times lars gets more confident. asks you to go on a walk with him. he just thinks you're the bees knees.

And then the next thing he knew, Jason felt your big hand come up and eclipse the back of his head to comb through his hair and lightly scratch a particular spot that had him shudder. That’s when he registers the staggering height difference between you both and Jason gulps a little. You’re indifferent to it though, as you crawled up to nestle the top of your head beneath Jason’s chin, too busy nuzzling contentedly into the space between his collarbone and his neck to notice. As if you’re not a hulking mass that he’s currently holding in his arms.

Or whenever he wants to kiss you properly, Jason would legit have to stand on his toes to reach your lips and feel your arms caging in on either side of his waist to pull him closer, deepening the kiss as he poured all his love, longing and desire into it.

When you both pull back from the kiss, he’s back standing on the heels of his feet and has to crane his neck to look up at you. Jason swallows thickly when he finds you leering down at him, your eyes filled with love and adoration and an emotion he refuses to acknowledge lest he gets even more… heated.

Quickly, he buries his face into your chest to hide his face. He can feel his blush and Jason knows his face is bright red as he feels your chest rumbling with deep chuckles of fond amusement, making his own chest warm and fuzzy despite his embarrassment at his realization that yep, you’re fucking massive.

The gymnasium was a cacophony of sound—squeaking sneakers, the rhythmic bounce of basketballs, and the occasional shout from Coach Jenna. The chill of the fall air seeped through the cracks in the old building, making you shiver as you wiped sweat from your brow. Your dark brown curls, most of it slicked back into your signature ponytail, clung to your forehead in damp tendrils, a few rebellious strands escaping to frame your freckled face. Your hazel eyes, sharp with focus, scanned the court as you sprinted down the hardwood, your 5’10” frame moving with the kind of fluid precision that came from years of training.

The Linkon University basketball jersey, number 25, hung loosely over your athletic build, the fabric darkened with sweat. Your skin, kissed with melanin, glistened under the harsh gym lights, and the faint dusting of freckles across your nose and cheeks gave you a youthful, determined look. The sound of your sneakers squeaking against the floor echoed as you pivoted, your ponytail swinging behind you, as you gave it your all on the court.

“Hustle, ladies! This isn’t a tea party!” Coach Jenna barked, her voice cutting through the noise. She stood on the sidelines, her clipboard clutched tightly in one hand, her sharp eyes missing nothing. 

Your teammate, Simone, shot you a grin as you ran side by side, her dark braids swinging with each stride. The squeak of sneakers against the polished hardwood floor echoed through the gym, blending with the sharp whistle of Coach Jenna. “Coach is on one today,” Simone panted. 

“When is she not?” you shot back, your voice strained but laced with humor. You dodged around a cone, your legs burning as you pushed through the drill. The chill of the air made your breath visible in short, quick puffs. 

The scrimmage against Skyhaven University had ended with a narrow loss, the opposing team’s star center sinking a buzzer-beater three-pointer that left your team groaning in frustration. As punishment for the loss, your coach had you doing line drills for each point difference and shot missed. Your muscles screamed with every sprint, every pivot, every jump, but you pushed through, determined to not fall behind your team. 

After what felt like an eternity, you slumped onto the bench, your chest heaving as you chugged from your water bottle. The cool liquid was a relief, but it did little to ease the ache settling into your muscles, a familiar reminder of the grind. Simone settled down next to you, her face flushed and her two french braids damp with sweat. She quickly gathered her things, her movements efficient despite her fatigue. You wondered how she still had the energy to move so fast.

“I’m heading back to the bus first,” she said, slinging her duffel bag over her shoulder before glancing over. “Do you want me to save you a seat?” 

Simone was your best friend on the basketball team, and as fellow freshmen, you’d formed a bond that went beyond the court. She was the first person to welcome you to the team, and her relentless optimism and dry sense of humor had gotten you through more than one grueling practice. You appreciated the camaraderie between you two and the unspoken understanding that you were both doing all you could to climb the team’s ladder. 

“Yeah, that’d be great,” you said between breaths and sips of water. “See you in a bit.” 

Simone nodded. “Don’t take too long. You know how Coach gets if we’re late.” 

You watched as she walked away, her braids swaying with each step. The gym was quieter now, the rest of the team already heading to the bus or packing up their gear. You took a moment to catch your breath, your eyes scanning the empty court. The polished floor reflected the overhead lights, and the faint scent of sweat and sports drinks lingered in the air. 

As you sat there, the weight of the loss settled over you. It wasn’t just the score, it was the missed opportunities, the shots you could’ve made, the passes you could’ve intercepted. You clenched your fists, the frustration bubbling up, but you pushed it down. There’d be time to analyze the game later, to figure out what went wrong and how to fix it. For now, you just needed to get through the ride back to campus and the inevitable scolding from Coach. 

As the team continued to file out of the gym in groups of two or three, you lingered behind, taking time to stuff your gear into your duffel bag. Your muscles screamed with every motion you made accompanied by the sound of your growling stomach. The sound of the gym doors on the opposite end of the building creaking open drew your attention, and you glanced up to see Caleb leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a slight smirk playing on his lips. 

Caleb was impossible to miss. At 6’2”, he towered over most people, his broad shoulders and athletic build a testament to his dual life as a star basketball player and an aspiring pilot, currently majoring in aerospace engineering. His dark brown hair was tousled, falling slightly into his striking purple eyes, which gleamed with amusement under the fluorescent lights. He was dressed casually in a black hoodie and jeans, his orange and black flying jacket slung over one arm. The jacket was worn but well-loved, a fond memory from his high school days, and it suited him perfectly. 

“Tough loss, pips,” he said, his voice warm but teasing. 

You rolled your eyes, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you stood up, ignoring your protesting knees. “Don’t remind me. What are you doing here, anyway? I remember telling you I was riding back with the team.” 

Caleb pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside, his boots clicking against the floor as he walked to meet you halfway. “I already talked to Coach. Told her I’d give you a ride.” He said shooting a quick wave to your Coach, and she, distracted by the notes on her clipboard, returned the gesture. Since when did they get so close?

You groaned at that, dragging a hand down your sweaty face. “Caleb, I don’t need a babysitter. I’m perfectly capable of taking the bus.” 

“And miss the chance to spend quality time with your favorite person? Not a chance,” he said, his smirk widening. He reached out and ruffled your damp hair, earning a swat from you. 

You muttered under your breath while slipping on your favorite hoodie, and followed him out to the parking lot where his beat-up pickup truck waited. The truck was a relic from high school. You and Caleb had found it abandoned in the neighborhood junkyard, its red paint faded and speckled with rust, but Caleb said it had character and fixed it up in no time. The man has always had a way with tools, yet you struggled using something as simple as a toaster. You climbed into the passenger seat, tossing your bag into the back, and noticed a small paper bag on the dashboard and a large Diet Coke waiting for you in one of the cupholders. The cup was filled to the brim with the crunchy, nugget ice you loved. 

“After-game snack,” Caleb said as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Figured you’d be starvin’.” 

You raised an eyebrow but couldn’t hide the smile creeping on your face. “You’re such a dork.” He always knew exactly what you needed, even without asking.

“Your dork,” he corrected while starting the engine, which earned a snort from you. The truck rumbled to life, and you two pulled out of the parking lot. 

As your childhood best friend drove, you leaned back in your seat, sipping your drink and nibbling on the peanut butter protein bar that was in the paper bag. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did with him. You talked about the scrimmage, taking this chance to vent about the missed shots and the opposing team’s star player. 

“You’ll get ‘em next time,” Caleb said, his tone encouraging. “You’re a shoo-in for a starter spot next year. Hell, you might even be captain one day, just like me.” 

You snorted. “Don’t let it go to your head, Mr. Valedictorian.” 

Caleb’s expression softened. “Please let that go,” he chuckled. “High school was ages ago, and I’m already a Junior. Seriously, though. You’re killin’ it out there. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?” 

As you opened your mouth to respond, your phone buzzed, interrupting the moment. You pull it out of your pocket to see a text from your roommate, 

Tara: Have you seen the back of my earring??? I’ve looked everywhere!

You sighed, typing out a quick reply of nope before tossing your phone onto the dashboard. “Roommate again,” you muttered. 

Caleb glanced at you briefly, his brow furrowing slightly. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, just… Tara’s a mess. I swear, I spend more time cleaning up after her than I do studying.” 

Caleb’s jaw tightened a bit, but he didn’t press. Instead, he changed the subject. “You wanna come over for dinner? I made your favorite.” 

You hesitated, the idea tempting. “I really should study. My stats class is kicking my ass, and if I don’t pull my grade up, I’m gonna lose my scholarship.” 

Caleb drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking. “How about this? You come over, we eat, and I’ll help you with your stats homework. I TA’d for Professor Lucius last year, so I know his style.” 

You opened your mouth to refuse, but Caleb flashed you his signature puppy-dog look. Wide eyes, slightly pouted lips, the whole nine yards. You groaned, throwing your hands up in defeat. “Fine… but only because I’m starving.” 

Caleb’s triumphant grin was almost too much to bear. Suddenly, a thought flickered in the back of your mind. 

Did you ever tell Caleb you had Professor Lucius this semester? 

The cold sweat of the cup bit into your palm as you searched your memory. No, you definitely hadn't told him. Between basketball drills and Tara's latest crisis, you'd barely registered the mid-semester professor switch yourself until the first confusing lecture. Yet Caleb had said Lucius' name like it was common knowledge, the same way he always seemed to know your schedule before you did, your coffee order before you spoke it, and when you'd need him before you knew you needed him yourself.

The realization prickled at you—you’d never told Caleb about Professor Lucius. Struggles with statistics, yes, but not who taught it. Not when six other instructors were teaching it this semester. Yet he’d known. Like he always knew.

Still, it wasn’t like Caleb to get details wrong. He was meticulous, almost annoyingly so. Always remembering the smallest things about your schedule, your preferences, and your life.  

You shook your head, brushing the thought aside. 

It’s nothing. Probably just said it in passing and forgot. 

You removed the lid of your cup and took a long sip of your drink, the satisfying crunch of the nugget ice between your teeth pulling you back to the present. The familiar sensation was comforting.

You glanced outside the truck window, the campus of Linkon University beginning to roll by in a blur of autumn colors. The trees lining the pathways were ablaze with gold and crimson, their leaves fluttering to the ground in the crisp fall breeze contrasting the setting sun. Students bundled in scarves and jackets hurried to and from classes, their laughter and chatter faintly carrying through the glass. The clock tower loomed in the distance, its hands inching toward evening, and the faint scent of woodsmoke from a nearby bonfire drifted through the air. 

You leaned your head against the cool window, letting the rhythm of the road and the hum of the truck’s engine lull you into a sense of calm. Caleb’s playlist, a mix of classic rock and indie tracks he’d curated over the years, played softly in the background. He was humming along under his breath, his fingers tapping the steering wheel in time with the beat. 

You tore your eyes away from the passing scenery and glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His profile was sharp against the fading light, his jawline strong and his amethyst eyes focused on the road. There was a quiet intensity about him, a steadiness that had always been there, even when you were kids. He was the kind of person who made you feel safe, even when you didn’t want to admit you needed it. 

But there was something else there too, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. A tension in the way he held himself, a flicker of something in his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking. You’d noticed it more and more lately ever since you started college, though you couldn’t explain why. 

“You okay over there?” Caleb’s voice broke through your thoughts, his tone light but with an undercurrent of concern. 

You blinked, pulling yourself back to the present. “Yeah, just…thinking.” 

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “Dangerous habit.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Says the guy who overthinks everything.” 

Caleb laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Guilty as charged.” 

The conversation lulled again, but the silence between you was comfortable, simple. You turned your attention back to the window, watching as the campus gave way to the quieter streets of the neighboring residential neighborhood. The houses here were old but charming, their porches decorated with pumpkins and fairy lights. A group of kids played in a leaf pile on the sidewalk, their laughter ringing out like chiming bells. 

You took another sip of your drink, the ice clinking softly against the sides of the cup. The thought from earlier nagged at you again, but you pushed it aside. 

It’s Caleb. He probably just heard it from someone else. 

You always have been the forgetful type, forgetting even your birthday one year.

Still, as the truck pulled up to his apartment building, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than that. But for now, you decided to let it go. There were more pressing things to worry about, like surviving stats class and figuring out how to deal with Tara’s latest disaster. 

🍎🍎🍎

Caleb’s studio apartment was small but cozy, a reflection of his no-frills personality. The brick accent wall gave the space a rustic charm, its rough texture softened by the warm glow of a single floor lamp. The room was dominated by a worn leather couch, its cushions dented from years of use from its previous owner, and a slightly cluttered coffee table stacked with textbooks, a half-empty coffee mug, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. A small kitchenette sat in the corner, its countertops surprisingly tidy except for a single pan soaking in the sink. 

Photos of you and Caleb lined the walls, a timeline of your shared history. There was the one from your 12th birthday, where he’d surprised you with a basketball cake and a goofy party hat. Another from last year’s New Year’s Eve, the two of you bundled up in scarves, your cheeks flushed from the cold and the sparklers in your hands leaving trails of light in the dark. New Year’s Eve had always been yours—the two of you pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in a crowd or curled on a couch, watching the clock tick toward midnight with the same quiet certainty as the years turning over. No matter what chaos the year had brought, that moment always belonged to you both.

And then the candid shots, Caleb ruffling your hair after a game in middle school, you laughing as he tried to teach you how to cook (and failed miserably). Then there was a photo of you two during your high school graduation just half a year ago; you were clutching your diploma, and Caleb’s arm hung loosely over your shoulders, smiling bright. Each photo was a snapshot of a moment frozen in time, a reminder of how intertwined your lives had always been. And behind each photo was your adoptive grandmother, Josephine, always eager to capture the moments of her kids with her clunky camera.

You walked in and turned to the used couch. A deep red throw blanket was draped over its back, the vibrant hue a stark contrast to the muted grays and browns of the room. You flop down after dropping your bags to the side of the couch, stretching out horizontally and scrolling through your phone, your feet hanging over the edge. The leather creaked under your weight, and the faint scent of Caleb’s cologne, something woodsy and warm, lingered in the air. 

Caleb disappeared into the kitchen, humming along to the classic rock playlist he’d put on. The opening chords of a familiar song filled the room, Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin, and you couldn’t help but smile. It was one of his favorites, a track he’d played on repeat during road trips back in high school. 

“Seriously, Caleb,” you called out, raising your voice over the music, “how do you still listen to this stuff? It’s so old.” 

“It’s timeless,” he shot back, his voice carrying over the sizzle of the stove and the hum of the microwave. “You’ll appreciate it when you’re older.” 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “If you say so.” 

You set your phone down on the coffee table and headed to the bathroom, leaving it behind. When you returned, Caleb was setting two plates of braised chicken wings on the table along with two cups of microwavable instant rice. The rich, savory aroma made your stomach growl, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of gratitude. He’d remembered your favorite dish, just like he always did. 

As you ate, the conversation flowed effortlessly, shifting from sports to classes to Caleb’s latest escapades with his frat brothers. He leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he launched into the story. “So, last weekend, we decided to build a homemade drone,” he began, his eyes lighting up with the kind of energy that always came with his wilder ideas. “You know, just a little weekend project. What could go wrong, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was going. “Famous last words, Caleb. What happened?” You asked as you took another bite of your favorite dish, a slight note of ginger hitting the back of your throat.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, we got it all put together, or at least, we thought we did. But when we fired it up, the thing shot straight into the air, spun in a circle, and then nosedived right into the grill!” He exclaimed waving his hands around. “Next thing we know, the propane tank’s hissin’, and the backyard’s basically a fire hazard.”

You burst out laughing, nearly choking on your food. “You’re kidding me! Did you at least get it on video?”

“Oh, we got it on video,” he said, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his camera roll. He handed it to you, and you watched as the drone spiraled out of control, followed by a chorus of panicked shouts and the unmistakable sound of something catching fire. You were laughing so hard your sides hurt, and Caleb joined in, his laugh filling the room.

“I can’t believe you guys didn’t get kicked out of the house,” you said, wiping tears from your eyes.

“Oh, we almost did,” he admitted, still grinning. “But, you know, we cleaned it up. Mostly. And no one got hurt, so… win?”

“Barely,” you teased, shaking your head. “You’re lucky you’re still alive.”

The lighthearted banter continued, the tension from the scrimmage slowly melting away. It was easy, comfortable, the way it always was with Caleb. He had a way of making everything feel less serious, less overwhelming. For a little while, you forgot about the game, about the pressure, about everything except the sound of his laughter and the warmth of the moment.

But once you cleared your plate and pulled out your stats homework, the mood shifted as reality sank in once again. You groaned, staring at the equations like they were written in another language. The numbers and symbols blurred together, and you felt that familiar knot of frustration tightening in your chest.

Caleb noticed immediately, his grin fading as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone softer now.

“It’s this stupid stats homework,” you muttered, shoving the paper away from you. “I don’t get it. None of it makes sense. I’ve been staring at it for hours these past couple of days, and it’s like my brain just shuts down. Why do I need to know this? I’m a basketball player, not a mathematician.” 

Caleb chuckled, leaning over to look at your notes. His arm brushed against yours, and you caught a whiff of his cologne again, distracting you slightly. He tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “You’re overthinkin’ it,” he said simply with a small smile.

“Easy for you to say,” you retorted. “You’re, like, a wannabe math genius or something.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “I’m no genius. I just don’t freak out about it like you do.” He reached over, pulling the paper toward him and scanning the problems. “Okay, look. This one’s not that bad. You’re just makin’ it harder than it needs to be.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, well, that’s my specialty.”

He smirked, glancing up at you. “True. But lucky for you, you’ve got me.” He grabbed the pen you were holding and started scribbling notes in the margins, explaining each step in a way that actually made sense. You watched him, the frustration slowly easing as his calm, steady voice broke through the mental block you’d been hitting.

“See?” he said after a few minutes, sliding the paper and pen back to you. “Not so bad, right?”

You looked down at the page, the numbers suddenly less intimidating. “Okay, maybe you’re a little bit of a genius,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He leaned back, looking far too pleased with himself. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you said, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Thanks, though. Seriously.”

“Anytime,” he said, his tone light but sincere. “You know I’ve got your back.”

And you did know. That was the thing about Caleb. No matter how chaotic or ridiculous things got, he always had a way of making you feel like everything would be okay. Even when the numbers didn’t add up and the world felt like it was spinning too fast, he was there, steady and sure, reminding you that you weren’t alone.

He walked you through a few more of the problems, his voice calm and patient as he explained each step. But your eyes drifted to your phone, which buzzed incessantly with texts from Tara. The screen continuously lit up from where it was placed on the edge table, and you couldn’t resist glancing at it. Huh, did you set it all the way over there before you headed to the bathroom?

“What’s so important?” Caleb asked, interrupting your thought, his tone light but with an edge of curiosity. 

“Nothing,” you said, shoving your phone into your pocket. “Just Tara being Tara.” 

Caleb raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Instead, he reached over and plucked the phone from your pocket and proceeded to stand as tall as he could, holding it above his head. 

“Hey!” you protested, standing up and reaching for it. But Caleb was a few inches taller, and you couldn’t quite reach. 

“You said you’d focus,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Caleb, give it back!” you demanded, jumping in vain. 

He laughed, but there was a hint of sadness in his expression. “You know, it’s hard to compete with your phone for your attention.” 

You stopped jumping, your frustration melting into a tinge of guilt. The look in his eyes—part amusement, part something deeper—caught you off guard. “I’m sorry,” you groaned with a slight eye roll. “How could I ever make it up to you.” 

Caleb’s smirk returned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh?” 

You hesitated, then sighed, having an idea of where this conversation was headed. “What do you want?” 

Caleb’s eyes lit up, and you knew you’d walked right into his trap. “Come to the frat formal with me. Tomorrow night.” 

You huffed, but there was no way out. This was the grave you dug and now it was time to lie in it. He had been bugging you about his frat’s autumn formal for weeks. “Fine. But you owe me.” 

Caleb’s triumphant grin was worth it, even as you mentally prepared yourself for the chaos of a frat party, grimacing at the thought of dressing in clothes other than your trusty knee-length basketball shorts, hoodies, and sneakers. 

🍎🍎🍎

The ride back to your dorm was short, the silence between you and Caleb comfortable. The truck’s engine hummed softly, and the faint glow of streetlights flickered across Caleb’s face as he drove. His hands rested lightly on the steering wheel, his fingers tapping in time once again with the song playing on the radio. You glanced at him, noting the way his jaw tightened slightly whenever your on-campus dorm came into view. He hated this place, your co-ed dorm, and he didn’t bother hiding it. 

When you arrived, Caleb parked the truck and walked you to the door, his hands stuffed in his pockets. The cool night air nipped at your cheeks, and you pulled the hood of your hoodie tighter around your head. The dorm building loomed ahead, its windows glowing with warm light, and the faint sound of laughter and music spilled out from the common room. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, turning to face him. 

Caleb’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then he smiled, that familiar, easy grin that always made your stomach flutter, which you promptly ignored. “Anytime, pipsqueak,” he replied as he placed his hand on your covered head, his voice soft. 

You turned to the entrance while reaching for your key card, swiping it swiftly to unlock the door with a soft click. The sound was barely audible over the hum of the dorm’s hallway, but it felt loud in the quiet space between you and Caleb. You opened the door but held it open with your foot. Pausing, you turned to him with an eyebrow raised. “Y’know, can you quit it with that silly nickname already?” you protested, though there was no real bite to your words. “I’m hardly small, and I could easily destroy you in a 1v1 any day.”

Caleb’s grin widened, that familiar, infuriating smirk that made your stomach do a little flip, which you ignored once again. For a split second, you thought he might say something…something real, something that would explain the way he’d been looking at you all night, like you were the only person in the world. But instead, he just chuckled, reaching out to ruffle your hair under your hoodie like you were still the scrawny kid he’d met all those years ago. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice light but with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. 

You rolled your eyes, brushing his hand away, but the warmth of his touch lingered. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, turning to head inside. 

As the door began to close behind you, you caught a glimpse of him still standing there, his hands back in his pockets and his smile fading. His purple eyes lingered on you, intense and unreadable, and for a moment, it felt like the air between you was charged with something unspoken. But before you could say anything, before you could even process what you were feeling, the windowless door clicked shut, leaving you alone in the dimly lit hallway, the sound of the common room drowning out as it became overpowered by your thoughts. 

You leaned against the door for a moment, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. Caleb was always like this. Teasing, protective, and just a little bit maddening. But tonight, it felt different. Like there was something he wasn’t saying, something he was holding back. 

Shaking your head, you pushed off the door and headed down the hall towards your shared dorm, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the space. Whatever it was, you’d figure it out later. For now, you had a roommate to deal with and a mountain of homework waiting for you. 

🍎🍎🍎

The dorm was a disaster when you walked in. Clothes were strewn across the living room, empty takeout containers littered the coffee table, and a half-finished puzzle sat abandoned on the floor. Tara was kneeling in the middle of the chaos, her dark hair a wild mess as she dug through a pile of laundry. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, dropping your bag by the door. 

Tara looked up, her eyes wide with desperation. “What took you so long?! I still can’t find the back of my earring! Please help!” 

You sighed but knelt down to help, shoving aside a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that definitely wasn’t either of yours. Tara had always been like this, chaotic, scatterbrained, but endearing. You’d met her during orientation, when she’d accidentally spilled her iced coffee all over your shoes and then insisted on buying you a new pair. You’d been inseparable ever since, even if her messiness drove you up the wall. 

As you searched, Tara began peppering you with questions about your evening. “So, I figure you were with Caleb, huh?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

“Don’t start,” you warned, but Tara just laughed and returned to digging through the pile of clothes in front of her. You continued, “I have to go to that stupid frat formal with him now just as I started to think I was in the clear. As if I don’t have anything better to do than put on a dress and be surrounded by drunks. Coach doesn’t even let us drink! What the hell am I supposed to do all night sober?” 

“Oh come on. His frat holds, like, the most exclusive party of the year. You’re so lucky!” 

You groaned, shoving a pile of socks aside. “You can take my place if you want.” 

Tara shook her head, her loose curls bouncing. “Nope. I’ve got plans with that guy from my bio class.” You said a small ah under your breath nodding. You never understood Tara’s extensive roster and never bothered asking for specifics. She was with a new guy what seemed like every other week.

You finally spotted the earring back under the coffee table and handed it to Tara, who squealed in delight. 

“You’re the best!” she said, pulling you into a hug before retreating to her room. 

You did the same, tossing your phone onto the bed, and almost like magic, it lit up with a notification from Caleb: 

Sleep well, pips. Don’t let Tara or your floor mates keep you up :) 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. Caleb had always been like this, a protective older brother figure in your life. He hated your co-ed dorm, and he made no secret of it. 

“It’s not safe,” he’d said when you first moved in, his arms crossed and his jaw set. “You should’ve taken the single dorm I found for you.” 

But you’d refused, partly because you didn’t want to feel like you owed him anything and partly because you liked the idea of chaos that came with living on the same floor with a bunch of noisy dudes. It reminded you that you were finally on your own, making your own decisions, even if those decisions drove Caleb a little crazy. 

You threw off your shoes and plopped into bed, still wearing your outside clothes. As you laid there, staring at the ceiling and debating a shower, your thoughts drifted back to him. His teasing smile, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way he always seemed to know what you needed before you did. He was infuriating, endearing, and entirely too much. But he was your childhood best friend, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Still, there was a part of you that wondered, what would happen if you let him in completely? If you stopped pretending you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on you, or the way his voice softened when he said your name?