naka

He’d been mean the moment he came in with his tie half done, instead of his grey sweatpants and tank that he’d usually wear when he was going to stay the night. This smart attire he had on when he came in two hours later than he had promised — one that you usually would tear off anyway because it always fit him just right — was warning that there was nothing easy to happen tonight.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I know, baby, I kno—“ Caleb tries apologising for the nth time, pleading and guilt evident in his voice as his hands try reaching out to you again. You’re trying your best to not let your voice break as you cut him off, because you’re angry and you want that loud and clear, more so than you want him to know that he’s hurt you again. Feeling sad and hurt oddly also feels synonymous to feeling pathetic, and as someone who tries to mimic as iron clad grip on whatever’s left of her dignity, you play a facade of angry.

“It’s one night, Caleb! One night out of practically a month since I last saw you! And you couldn’t even spare me that.” You tried your very best, but your strongest efforts couldn’t even stop the break in your voice. “She calls you and immediately that’s the most urgent thing in the world for you.”

You get the gist of the story (his excuse) — the childhood best friend turned wondrous hunter of his had a favour to ask of him and his Colonel privileges. Hence, instead of clocking out when he was supposed to, he’d left work hours later to help whatever he could. As a result, he’d shown up to your place late and grossly overdressed.

You almost feel silly now, alike to a broken recorder. Because as he opens his mouth again, without a doubt trying to find a bridge between asking for your forgiveness and getting you to understand why exactly he had to do it, you feel the urge to ask him for the nth time: Why is she more important to you than I am?

Which you know, anyway, that he’ll deny. You won’t and don’t buy it.

It’s a cycle that you have tried to cut both yourself and Caleb from but the past months have proven to no avail. You feel the sadness and hurt bubbling up even further as the questions beg to escape from your mouth.

But beyond, sad, pathetic, hurt and anger? You feel exhausted.

His pleading voice, his guilt ridden eyes that are trying to meet yours, his desperate hands cupping your jaw, they all slowly quieten down to boil down to a single phrase in your head: I’m done.

The words that leave you next are not exactly the same, and they might even be worse. With a shake of your head, you take a step back, hands pushing Caleb away ever so gently, “We’re done.”

“W-What? Baby, no, what do you mean? We’re not, c’mon. Baby, let’s talk about this.” Caleb is spiralling, because yes, while this is a familiar dance you’ve both shared many times before, the waltz always ends in love-sick kisses and “never again” whispered in between your thighs. Never, this.

Truth is, Caleb is in love with you. That has never been a doubt he ever had. If it ever came down to it, he’d lay himself bare to and for you. Unfortunately, he is a man of many complexities. While he knows confidently that he is not in love with MC, he is thoroughly bonded to her in a way he wishes he isn’t. The two grew up together and survived many traumatic experiences together, and while he can try his best to explain this to you, until you’ve been caged in the laboratory like he and MC were, you’d simply not get it. He understands how it looks sometimes, and wishes desperately things were different but he’s also long dreadfully accepted his fate that he’d made a home on the bad luck of things.

Being in a relationship with you had always felt to be too good to be true. Caleb had always felt like an impending doom was due to come. You were too good, too beautiful, absolutely everything he had wished and cried for. It’d only be so long until this explodes into a doom, too. If only he’d realise sooner it was by his own hands.

He shakes his head, lips trembling as desperate hands try to reach out to you again. “We can work this out, I promise. Baby, please. I’m sorry — I.. I can change, please. You love me, right?”

“Of course I love you, Caleb. I am so in love with you, that’s the reason this hurts so much.”

You can no longer hold back the tears. “I love you so much as a person, Caleb. But I don’t like who you are as a partner.” Caleb swears he feels his heart drop into his stomach, and his jaw mirrors the emotion, his mouth agape as he listens to you. He realises he’s ran out of words. Respectable and admired as the colonel, dependable as a friend, unlikeable as a partner.

“I don’t like how this relationship makes me feel anymore. I feel insecure, and anxious. When you take hours to reply, I’m imagining you fucking and falling in love with her.” You almost choke on your words, the same words you feel so ashamed by. “And I’m not usually someone who feels that way. But your absence in this relationship, your presence in her life, it hurts me.” With a deep breath, as if to make it count, you say, “You make me feel so sad.”

Caleb feels like he doesn’t deserve to live. You’re slipping from his fingers and he knows that he’s the only one to blame. He thought he’d been able to juggle all the different roles in his life, but now realising that he simply cannot. For he is Caleb, and his life has been forged into misery. Who is there to blame, anyway? MC? EVER?

Caleb tries very hard to figure it out, but all roads simply lead back to himself.

The two of you stay silent for a very long moment, the only sounds the both of you hear are the sniffles and the sound of Caleb attempting to speak, but closing his mouth soon after.

At this point, both of you know there is nothing else to say. Tonight becomes the night you both discover the depth of your love for you. It looks very different for each of you, though.

You mistake Caleb’s silence for giving up. He’s not defeated - his limbs are begging him to crawl to you and beg. His heart begs his mind to cut ties with MC even, if that meant you would stay. Dedicate the rest of his life to you.

But, he’s well aware that his hands are tied and neither are things he can do without someone else getting hurt. He feels alike to a monster carelessly wielding a knife, no matter what he does, someone gets hurt.

If walking away tonight means that the knife stops pointing in your direction, he’ll gladly do so. So, he stays silent. Doesn’t fight for you because he believes he cannot give what you deserve, but doesn’t say anything in agreement either because he physically cannot bring himself to say it. If he opens his mouth, it’d only be the bile at the back of his throat that has already crept up from the hurt in his chest.

So, you break the silence.

You’re still obsessed with them, years later. 

Even when he doesn’t understand why, staring at the mirror in the early morning or late night, trying to make sense of what made the small dots on his face endearing to you when to him it was just an insecurity. Brows furrowed, lips turned down as he judged his own appearance. 

He hears your footsteps before he sees you. The soft, familiar manner of your feet on the floor– something he could recognize anywhere. You were looking for something in the bedroom, with the way you were opening and closing drawers like you were on a mission. 

When you open the door to the bathroom, your voice echoing against the tiles, he didn’t move from his place in front of the mirror. “Caleb, have you seen my eyeliner? The new one that I just got this week?” 

Your reflection appears behind him, searching around the bathroom, still in his hoodie and when your gaze lands on him, you see the small flicker in his gaze. 

You frown. “What are you doing?” 

“Nothing.” He mumbled, a bit too quickly than he hoped. 

Your eyes narrow immediately.

Caleb looks away first.

The silence stretches for a moment. It's the silence that exists between two people that know each other too well, and in the way you stare at him through the mirror, Caleb knew you always clocked him. 

Your arms cross over your chest, and he avoids your gaze, fixing it on anywhere but your reflection. The sink, the faucet– and the eyeliner you were looking for hidden behind the toothbrush cup. 

That alone tells you enough about what he was doing in front of the mirror, and you sigh. Quietly. “Caleb.”

“Mhm?”

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” 

Your frown deepens. His gaze moves to you for only a split second, before you catch him looking at his own reflection. It’s a short moment, but you could see the way he looked at the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. Then it clicks, and your expressions soften. “Oh.” 

His jaw tightens, and he avoids your soft gaze again. 

The silence that follows is heavier than the last one. It’s not heavy, nor uncomfortable. But vulnerable in a way that Caleb doesn’t let himself be around you too often. 

Because he is supposed to be the strong one. The protector. 

And to him, it’s stupid that this measly negative thought on his own features is making him this way. 

"They're still there." His voice comes out quieter than expected.

You blink. "What?"

"The freckles."

For a second, you simply stare at him. Then you almost laugh.

Not because it's funny. But because of course that's what had him standing in front of the mirror at six in the morning looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "They've been there your entire life, baby."

"I know."

"So why are you surprised?"

"I'm not surprised."

"You seem surprised." 

He shoots you a look that makes you smile. He groans, just as you laugh. “There you are.”

“What?” Caleb frowns.

“You’re finally looking at me.”

He pauses, and the soft look in your eyes makes his ears turn pink. Your smile only widens as you step towards him. Your arms wrap around his waist, and you peer through the side to the mirror, humming. Caleb relaxes against you, moving you until you’re standing next to him in the mirror. Your eyes meet his through the mirror, then it drifts downwards to his freckles. 

There are more than most people notice. Tiny constellations scattered over warm skin.

Some  are darker than others. Some are barely visible unless sunlight hits them just right.

You have every single one memorized. A fact Caleb would never recover from if you told him.

Unfortunately for him, you decide honesty is important in relationships: "I think I know at least twenty-seven of them."

His eyes widen. “What?”

“Twenty-seven.” You tilt your head up at him to look more closely at his face. His eyes are widened slightly, brows furrowed, voice pitched slightly higher in disbelief. “You counted?”

“Maybe.” You shrug.

“You counted.”

“Maybe.”

“You;re insane.” 

You grin, and lean up to peck his cheeks. “I know.”

Caleb lets out a mix of a laugh and a huff. His ears are completely red now, the flush spreading to his cheeks as he shuts his eyes at the absurdity of you counting his freckles. 

When he opens them again, he catches you staring. Again. 

It’s not like you hide it, at this point. 

His voice drops into a mutter. “I don’t get it.”

“Hm?” You meet his gaze. 

“I don’t get why you like them so much.” 

You tilt your head and watch him carefully. You watch the uncertainty hiding beneath his expression, the remnants of old words. Old comments. Old wounds. Things said carelessly by people who probably forgot them the moment they spoke, but they were things that Caleb had quietly carried for years.

You reach up, and your fingers brush against his cheek. Gentle. Careful. 

As though touching something precious.

Because to you, he is.

Your thumb glides over the bridge of his nose. Over the freckles resting there.

Caleb's breath catches, and you smile softly.

"Because they're yours."

His eyes flicker. 

You continue before he can interrupt. "I don't like them because they're perfect." His gaze remains fixed on yours as you continue, your fingers still on his skin, tracing lines between his freckles. "I like them because when I think of you, I think of them. When I picture your face, I picture your freckles." You laugh quietly, "You know, when I was younger, I used to think they looked like stars."

His expression falters.

And you know you've won the moment he looks away. Because Caleb only looks away when he's overwhelmed.

"I still do."

His throat moves and Caleb looks back at you. Your other hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him a bit closer so you could trace more of the freckles. "They make you look like you."

You cup his face. His hands immediately find your waist, like its instinct to him. And really, it is.

"There isn't a version of Caleb in my head without them."

Your smile softens.

"And honestly? You'd be less cute without them."

"Don't."

"You would."

He grumbles your name.

"You absolutely would."

"Stop."

"I think I'd cry."

"You would not cry."

"I'd mourn."

Caleb drops his forehead against your shoulder with a groan. A genuine one this time, one not out of frustration. Just hopeless, because just by your hands on his face, and your sweet, embarrassing words, he has been completely and utterly defeated by you.

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him, and his arms tighten around you immediately.

The bathroom falls quiet again. But this silence feels different.

Comfortable– Warm.

After a while, you feel him nudge his face against your neck, followed by his muffled voice."Twenty-seven?"

You burst out laughing.

"I knew you were still thinking about that."

"Twenty-seven?"

"Actually, it might be thirty."

Caleb makes a sound that suggests he's reconsidering every life choice that led him here.

You only smile wider and gently move his face up so you could press a kiss against his temple. Then to his cheeks – like you were kissing every single dot on his face.

Until his face is burning red enough to rival the sunrise peeking through the bathroom window.

The funny thing is, Caleb never truly learns to love his freckles.

Not the way you do. Not the way you look at them, like they're something worth admiring.

He can't rival the way you love it.

But over the years, he slowly stops hiding them. Stops treating it like something wrong on his face.

Because whenever he catches himself doing it, he remembers the way you look at him.

Like every freckle is something precious.

Like every single one belongs exactly where it should.

And Caleb stops frowning at the sight of them in the mirror.

In fact, Caleb looked happier when after the ceremony, MC bounded up with him with a grin, patting his hair and congratulating him for getting married and finally, finally moving on. To which he blushed and replied to her with something inaudible to you.

So from the very beginning, there’s always been three there has always been three in the spaces you occupied with your husband, three at the altar (you wondered if Caleb had imagined it was MC standing in your place on your wedding day), three in the bed (you could even imagine MC lying in empty space inbetween you and Caleb as you slept, and three at the table (at first before Caleb had learnt more about you, the dishes he served were all reminecent of MC’s favourites). You knew MC haunted, haunts, your marriage. But like any good wife, you looked the other way and hoped for the best. 

Although it was not that you expected for Caleb to start acting like your husband right off the bat (you told yourself he needed time to heal). Not that you expected him to treat you like MC. Not that you never stopped praying that the underdog (you) of the story may prevail eventually. Yet the silence in his cold, gray penthouse, the lack of physical touch between the two of you, the meals consumed in harrowing conversation (you’d have to give it to him for always trying to ask you how your day was everyday), the nights spent so far away from each other, was slowly convincing you that this marriage was nothing but one of convenience. All you did was try your best to keep holding onto the hope that maybe things would change with Caleb for the better. 

About two years into the marriage, Caleb surprised you by asking if you could have a child together. 

You were shocked he was the one to ask. 

Your remembered first attempt at intimacy had gone miserably. You could freshly recall on your wedding night when Caleb had loomed over you in the darkness of the bedroom, his chest heaving - though he hadn’t moved to do anything, anything at all - with spots of tears forming in the crease of his eye. After ten minutes of silence, he rolled off you.

‘I— I’m sorry…I- I can’t.’

You had told him it was okay. And you never mentioned it again, so you were coloured surprised when Caleb meekly asked you, as if he thought you might get upset, to try for a baby. 

Fortunately for him, it only took about three times before you presented him with a positive pregnancy test. Fortunately for you as well, since each attempt was very awkward, terrifyingly so. You had no idea where you should have out your hands, your legs, if he even wanted your hands on him— and neither did Caleb know what to do with his touch. You’d think he didn’t want a baby by how hesitant he was acting. However, eventually when you did hand him that test with two pink lines, Caleb’s face practically glowed. You had never seen your husband, in all these years of marriage, look so…happy, so much more like his actual age than the cold, gloomy colonel you were married to. For the first time, you saw the sunny Caleb that you only got to know through photos stuck in dusty albums in the corners of your home. He hugged you, kissed you, and laughed in relief. 

Relief? 

Honestly, you were somewhat relieved too. Usually, Caleb would be away for prolonged periods of time, always muttering about something to to with the fleet, a mission, training, before departing for sometimes weeks at a time, but ever since you got pregnant, Caleb cut back on prolonged duties and stayed by your side if he could. There was one thing you could never complain about him, was that when it really came down to it, Caleb was not a bad husband by the books. He constantly cooks, cleans, cares and caters for you, and even more so now, he’ll drop whatever is on hand at moment’s notice to come running to you if you said you felt the slightest bit of discomfort. Plus, with all the baby essentials Caleb had purchased, they had really livened up the house much more. You watch as he assembles them without the need to look at the instructions whilst sitting on the floor of the living room. As he fusses about with you taking the right supplements, about getting enough sleep…it’s cute. It’s the closest feeling you’ve ever experienced to having a real husband,  despite being married for well over two years now. 

On a muggy afternoon, you inched out of Caleb’s grasp (he has now found it in himself to sleep closer to you with one hand usually over your stomach if you allow it) and wobbled your way to the walk in closet for some airier clothes. As you sifted through the racks, you accidentally knocked out a few photos from Caleb’s colonel service coat, which fluttered down to the bottom of the closet. Crouching down (whilst you still could), you inspected the photos. 

Oh.

It was a laminated photo of your baby’s ultrasound. Not just that, but on the edges of the photo, written neatly in his handwriting in pen, were the words: [name]’s ultrasound appointment on xx/xx/xxxx. 

Adorable, you thought, that Caleb carried this around with him. You privately wondered if he would proudly show it off to his co-workers or his underlings. You hoped he might, maybe even boast a little about how lucky he and his wife was. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, wondering if this marriage was finally taking a step into the right direction. 

But right next to that photo was that necklace. When U Come Back. You knew very well the story behind that necklace, how MC had given it to him before he left for the aerospace academy. How he used to wear it, 24/7, but had at least the decency to stop wearing it at all times and only keep it on him, after he married you. Yes, at least he had the decency to now never take off your wedding bands. Your eyes glazed over the necklace again. Bitterly, you wondered if he’d ever want to carry a photo of him and you someday. 

Nevermind. You dried your eyes quickly. At least in this marriage, both he and you, are getting something that you both wanted, something that you will both cherish more than anything. 

A bouncing baby girl.

He wanted your baby. He needed your baby. He wanted to be a father, because he wanted to be a father, a nurturing, loving figure, right? And not for any other reason? Right?

Right.

Two weeks later, whilst tidying up the kitchen, your hand bumped against a bright yellow lunchbox patterned with little apple stickers, long forgotten beneath a pile of documents and papers. Fondly, you picked it up. 

In the very earliest days of your marriage, you had done the domestic, wifely thing of making your husband a lunchbox before he departed for work every morning. And he had returned an empty box everytime, down to the last grain of rice being picked clean. You still remember the fuzzy feeling of seeing Caleb smile at you, thanking you for such a delicious meal, how his subordinates had all fawned over the presentation, how delicious it was, how lucky the colonel was to have such a lovely wife…

So why not do it again? You thought merrily, after all, you haven’t made him a packed lunch in a while. Maybe showing up at his work with a delicious lunchbox might perk him up. Excitedly, you got into your car and made your way down into central Skyhaven. 

Entering the fleet HQ, you were immediately guided to your husband’s office. 

You were about to turn the handle and step in - usually there weren’t much visitors in his office in the middle of the day - but a chorus of loud voices stopped you. 

“And to Caleb! The newest dad-to-be!”

“The first of all of us to be a father, actually.”

You heard a round of clinking cups. It must be Caleb, inviting his flight school friends to celebrate the impending birth of your child. At his office though…strange. But it must be because he’s been so busy, he hardly had any time to go anywhere except his workplace and his home.

“Woah…no, no more.” You recognised that as Caleb’s voice. You could imagine his hand gliding over to cover the surface of his glass.

Drinking? In the middle of the day? Seriously? You snorted, hand going down on the handle again, But at least it’s to a good cause. Caleb being a new dad and all.

“But seriously. Here’s also to your marriage not being a total disaster!” 

Your stopped before you could push against the door.

“It’s not. A total disaster.” Caleb said, his voice a bit slurred though not completely drunk.

“Yeah, yeah…we all know you had the hots for MC, but she ended up marrying that sexy doctor instead of the big bad colonel, didn’t she, oof—!” 

A thud. Caleb had probably slammed whoever said that against the wall. A series of ‘ooohs’ followed.

“Kidding, kidding…”

“You better be.” Caleb dusted his hands off, sinking back into his seat. “I’ve long moved on from MC. I even have proof.”

“Oh yeah? Don’t tell me it’s—”

He pulled out the ultrasound picture that he kept in his uniform pocket, showing it to everyone in the room.

“I had a child with my wife. Can’t you see how much I’ve moved on already? I can have a child with someone who’s not MC. See?”

Tears stung your vision. 

So thats what he was using that picture for. 

Not for a happy memory’s keepsake, no. But to show the world that he, Colonel Caleb Xia, the yearner, the lover, the oh-so-perfect man…has moved on from his sweet MC.

…

You quickly threw the lunchbox you made away, and fled the building. You needed to get away from him, in that moment. You didn’t want to linger on in this kind of feeling anymore.

…

Time passes a lot quicker, you found, when it wasn’t just you in the house all day. With Caleb by your side (more or less constantly in the final few months of your pregnancy) the days had quickly passed. And before you knew it, there was a living, breathing infant in your arms. 

The birth was easy, and again, you were grateful for Caleb’s support (he never left your side in those six hours, plus you’ve heard far too many horror stories of baby daddies bringing their Xbox, or not showing up at all…) though admittedly you swore at him multiple times and eventually snapped at him to wait outside. However, part of you feared he might react to an actual baby, his and your baby, with regret and hesitation. You couldn’t shake the fear that Caleb might feel prejudiced against a baby you made with him instead of one borne from him and MC. But those fears quickly evaporated when you saw Caleb crying, sniffling, holding the little pink bundle in his arms.

Both Caleb and you were overjoyed, though also albeit scared, naturally like most first-time parents. He was seriously dedicated at every step. Again, you’d have to give it to him for being a good dad. 

After returning from the hospital, he never allowed you to get up in the middle of the night to soothe the baby. He never complained about doing the messy work that came with babies, often willingly taking care of all her wants every day as if trying to prove a point. He now even tries to come home earlier and go on less long-distance fleet missions to spend more time with the baby, something he’s never done for you in the time you were married. You watched as he poured his whole heart into being a good dad for a tiny little girl. A perfect masculine figure. Ever so sensitive to what she needed.

But what about what you needed?

Sometimes when you come home after a day out with your friends or a solo trip somewhere, the moment you open the door to your home, you feel as if your entire world is behind that doorway. That despite all the freedoms Caleb has given you in this marriage (the financial freedom, ‘you can go anywhere you want’ , you can do whatever you wish), your world had drastically shrank to the man sitting in the grey parlour, who wasn’t even facing you.

On other days, he wasn’t even there. 

Gone to MC’s. Emergency.

….you weren’t exponentially surprised by the reason. Caleb frequently rushed to MC’s house to deal with her emergencies. At this point, you simply shrugged it off and continued on as you usually would. Only that when you went to the nursery to check on your daughter…

The crib was empty. 

Your heart dropped. You had frantically dialled his number. No response. You racked your head for thousands of possibilities. Did someone take her? Did he mention he was taking her anywhere? Did he…did he take your child? Taking off with MC to a place where you’d never find him again? Did Caleb pack up and leave altogether? With your baby?

You told yourself it couldn’t be true. That he’d never do something like that. He wouldn’t. That Caleb is a good, kind man. But to what distances he would go for MC, you had no idea. All you knew was that you’d like it to be you instead of her. 

Ten minutes later, you were banging the front door of MC’s house. 

Surprisingly, it was her husband, Zayne, who answered. 

“[name]? What are you doing here?” Zayne asked, surprised. 

He didn’t even get to answer before you shoved past him, calling Caleb’s name. 

“Caleb, Caleb?!” Your mind flashed with possibilities of where he could be. Maybe he was already gone. Maybe he took MC and drove up to the airport already. But surely not, his car was parked outside, and, and…

There he was. In MC’s backyard, sleeves rolled up, that stupid grin on his face as he…tacked a nail into a piece of plywood, MC hovering over him with a tray of lemonade. You stopped in your steps where the stone of the house met grass, calming down, as you watched your husband beam up at MC, sweat glistening down his muscular arms, droplets forming on his healthy skin, a damp V soaking the top of his t-shirt. Time seemed to slow as Caleb reached up, took a sparkling glass, smiling at MC gratefully, a smile so bright you’ve never seen in all those times you ever offered him something. 

“Caleb!” You snapped, finally loud enough that he whipped his head around, MC too. “Caleb! Where’s our daughter—“

Before you could even hear his reply, a beaming MC gasped in delight and smothered you in a hug. 

“[name]! You’re here too! That’s perfect, you should stay and have dinner! Ooh, I’ll tell Zayne to set an extra space at the table.” She spun around, shouting into the open patio doors. “ZAAAAAYNIIIIEEEEE?” 

She talked at such a fast pace, you barely even got to get a word in on how you didn’t really want to stay for dinner, how you just wanted to demand where your daughter is and go home. In that moment, you didn’t even really care if your husband went home with you. But just as you opened your mouth…

“Aw, pips, there’s no need, I’m almost done with building this part already.” 

MC pouted, that little, pathetic, faux-childish pout she always made at her dear gege. 

“C’mon, Caleb, staying for dinner is the least you could do for me, after rushing over on such short notice to build Zachary’s treehouse.” She said, referring to hers and Zayne’s son. She turned to you and smiled, dropping her voice to a whisper, “Zayne is so useless when it comes to things like this, and my gege is the best!” 

She turned back to Caleb. “And bringing your adorable little daughter too! I’ve been dying to meet her. You know I’ve asked you so many times already.”

You paused. “Wait a minute. You…asked Caleb to…to bring…”

“Yes!” MC replied, “I know she’s only a few months old, but all I’ve been asking Caleb is to let me meet my adorable niece!” 

It was almost laughable. The ‘emergency’ that required Caleb’s immediate attention was the construction of  a treehouse for MC’s son.  You couldn’t help but wonder how many other of these such trips to her house that Caleb took were also something else, something less significant but labelled as an ‘emergency’. 

You turned to Caleb, absolutely pissed. 

“You. You took my daughter just like that? You took her without asking me?” 

“I told you I was going to MC’s—“

“You didn’t tell me you were taking her!” 

“I thought you would have assumed—“

Right. Like you should assume, like every other little bit of your marriage, you should have assumed that Caleb’s judgement was right. That your husband is doing his best for you. For this marriage. That you should assume every step he did, he was thinking of you first, and not MC. You should always assume. You’d be happier off that way. 

But obviously, you were much more headstrong than Caleb let on. You were no longer the nervous blushing bride that had once optimistically stood by his side. 

“You have no right to take her and tell me, her mother, to just assume anything about the safety of her own child.” You replied, in a tone that surprised Caleb so much, that he wasn’t sure how to reply.

MC, caught in the middle, immediately pushed in to diffuse the tension.

“Aw, don’t be like that, my sister-in-law.” She smiled, holding onto your arm. “Don’t blame Caleb, it’s my fault. I asked him to bring the baby.” 

“No, no.” Caleb cut in, standing up and putting a hand onto MC’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself.” 

He turned to you, frowning. “[name], I think we’ve just blown this way out of proportion. No one’s been hurt and you’re acting if I’ve kidnapped someone!”

“You know that’s not what I—“

“Come on.” Caleb gently took your hand, herding you towards the house. “Our daughter’s fine. She’s asleep upstairs.”

He led you past the living room, past the kitchen where a frazzled Zayne stood, wordlessly watching as Caleb led you up the staircase and into the nursery, familiar with the layout as if it was his own house, to where your daughter was sleeping peacefully in their son’s old crib. 

“See?” Caleb sighed, “Nothing’s wrong. You got all worked up over nothing.” 

You wanted to yell and him and tell him that this wasn’t nothing. That somehow ‘nothing’ always seemed to be associated with his behaviour with MC, and that none of what happened concerning MC in your marriage could just be swept under the rug like that. Maybe that’s how he preferred it, you thought bitterly.

“I want to go home.” Was your only reply.

Caleb’s shoulders slackened. “C’mon, let’s just stay for dinner…”

“I want. To go. Home.”

Your husband seemed to give up this case, and sighed. “Alright.” He replied, “Let me get my jacket.”

Suddenly, both of your heads turned, as you heard MC rap her hand against the nursery doorframe. 

“Caleb…can I just speak with you for a second before you go…?”

You wanted to question if she had been lurking outside, listening, but Caleb cut in front of you. 

“Of course.” He replied.

He took MC by her shoulder“We’ll just be a minute.” He called to you.

“You don’t mind, do you?” MC asked graciously. 

“Sure.” You replied evenly. “I’ll just be in here. Come get me when you’re done, okay? I’ll dress our daughter to leave.”

You saw Caleb nod, before escorting MC down the stairs. You made sure they both saw you close the nursery door.

You mad good on your promise to stay in the nursery and dress your fussy little daughter (who was looking more like Caleb by the day). Five minutes later, gently creaking open the nursery door, you snuck outside, thinking they’d finished their conversation already.  But you realised they hadn’t gone far. As you stood on the stairs with your back against the side of the wall, you could clearly hear Caleb and MC talking in the living room behind the staircase. 

Their words made your heart beat out of your chest.

“Is your wife always so…uptight?” You heard MC mumble, her voice suddenly sultrier than before.

“No, she’s just…” You heard Caleb began.

I’m just what, Caleb?

“…she’s just emotional, that’s all.”

You heard MC snort. “Emotional? Hardly. I seem to remember that at your wedding, she was ever so meek and crittery, so nervous, so deferent, so grateful to marry the big strong colonel…” She sighed, “And I thought that, y’know, hey! She might do a lot of good for you. She’s like a squeaky mouse, just like another version of me, how I was your ‘pipsqueak’…” Her voice suddenly dropped to a whine. 

“I thought maybe you found a better replacement.”

You heard sounds that indicated that Caleb stepped forwards to hug her. 

“MC…nothing and nobody could ever replace you.” Caleb said gently.

They were silent for a long time. Wetness had began to gloss your eyes.

“Well…on that happy note…” MC mumbled, “I have some news for you.”

“Hm? What is it?” 

“I’m…” She giggled, “I’m expecting.”

“You’re what?!” You heard Caleb exclaim.

“Shhhh! I said I’m expecting. I’m going to have another baby.” MC replied hushedly. 

“Oh wow…congratulations!” Caleb laughed. “Guess I’m ready to be uncle to another mini-zayne, huh?” 

MC let out a small happy sigh. “Not quite.”

“What do you mean? Do you think this baby’s going to look more like you, or—” 

“No, no…”

A pause. MC gazed up at your husband, clasping his hands.

“Caleb…the baby is yours.”

…

You couldn’t bear to hear the rest of the conversation. You sprinted back up the stairs, going back into the darkness of the nursery. You hated yourself for it, but you couldn’t help but sob, sob over this marriage which you’ve always held hope to, this marriage which, admittedly, up to that moment you were still clinging onto the hope that things may turn to the better, that your fate might change, that this wasn’t all a mistake, that your marriage wasn’t just a helpless fantasy on your part…

But look at you now.

Crying on the floor of the house which belonged to the woman who your husband was obsessed with. Crying with a baby that was only born into the world to prove a point for your husband, to prove that he had moved on. Or worse, your poor baby daughter wasn’t even born to prove a point anymore, she had only served to prove a lie, a lie that was quickly unravelling at the hands of the man who demanded her existence.

Caleb…oh, Caleb.

Your tears stopped when you heard someone coming up the stairs. Immediately, you dried your eyes and stood up, trying to slow down your breaths and calm yourself down. You refused to face your husband like this. You refused to make a scene. Not now, anyway.

“Ready to go?” He asked, pushing the door open. 

You didn’t turn for a second. In that moment, time seemed to stop. 

Slowly, you turned to him, your daughter held tightly in your arms.

“Sure.” You smiled, “Let’s go home.”

…

Home. Such a funny word.

As you watched the glowing skyscrapers pass you in the passenger seat, you suddenly felt very calm. The air was wet from rain, and a cool summer breeze had began to sweep through the night. You thought you might feel rage, or resentment, but instead…all you felt was a strange sense of sereneness. You were disappointed at Caleb, sure, but not as surprised as you thought you’d feel.

Which felt worse than being angry. 

You’d rather feel that rush of adrenaline, make a scene, throw something at his face and scream at him and cry and slap him, maybe, but no, no, all you felt was a churning pit of emptiness in the pits of your stomach. Your belly empty, while MC’s swelled with life. His life.

“What do you want to have for dinner when we get back home?” Caleb asked you, breaking the silence.

You shrugged, wondering when, or if that all, he was going to confirm for you what you had overheard. 

“Don’t be like that.” He nudged you with a half smile, “You can pick anything. Anything at all to eat, it’s up to you.”

You didn’t want to eat with him. Even the thought of sitting at the same table, across him, made you feel sick. The thought of your mouth wrapping around the utensils that once touched his mouth, his mouth that once warmed MC’s tongue. Biting into food prepared by his hands, his hands that once traveled across MC’s naked skin. A sickening scene.

You didn’t want anything to do with him. 

“I’d rather you decide.” Came your firm reply. “Since you seem to decide everything that goes on around here.”

Caleb sighed, a long heavy drag. “[name], I don’t know what you want me to tell you.” He spun the wheel, pulling into the familiar street. “So can we please just drop the attitude?”

“What attitude?” You asked, fluttering your lashes as often MC did when she wanted to appease her dearest gege, “I really don’t mind what we eat. Why would I?”

“[name].” He said more seriously, “Please. I don’t want a scene. Our baby’s asleep in the back and I’d really like to keep it that way.”

Right, so you’d be fine having an argument if our daughter wasn’t here. Speaking of children…

“MC’s looked glowing today, don’t you think?” You mentioned, sliding out of the passenger’s seat almost the second Caleb rolled the car into the driveway. 

He shot you a strange look as he unlatched your daughter from her baby seat in the back. “Yes…she did. Why do you ask?”

You shrugged innocently, unlocking the front door, “Nothing, I just meant that motherhood agrees with her.” 

Caleb said nothing in reply. You watched as he carried your daughter inside, not a muscle in his face giving away a single hint of suspicion or anxiety. You knew what kind of man your husband was. It wouldn’t be so easy to gauge out the truth from him, or any semblance of emotion he didn’t want to express for that matter. But you were expecting this.

“Do you think she’s going to have another one?” You said coquettishly, shrugging off your coat.

He couldn’t help it this time. You watched from behind as his shoulder twitched, ever so slightly, for not even half a second. 

“I wouldn’t know.” Caleb replied, his tone ordinary, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. She and Zayne are a happy couple, after all.” 

Your husband would have made a great actor, you thought humorlessly. You wondered if he was tearing himself apart inside.

“Actually.” You raised your hand, smiling. “I don’t want dinner.”

Caleb turned, cocking an eyebrow at you. “What? But you—”

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You nodded, one foot on the stairs. “I’m going to bed early. It’s been a long day.”

“But it’s only—“

“Goodnight, Caleb.”

“…goodnight.” 

…

Weeks had passed. You’ve continued to act as if nothing had gone wrong. Caleb went to work, came back from work, cooked, played with your baby girl (who was now crawling all over the place) and went to bed. The only aspect that he felt…off, about, was how pacified you acted now. 

You didn’t pepper him with questions about his day anymore.

You weren’t there to ask if he was feeling alright the moment he came home.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to stand closer to him.

It was as if the marriage had undergone mitosis and split itself in two, as if the straining cell it had once been has finally pulled away from the other half. All that remained was two individuals, standing inches apart in the kitchen, sitting a meter away in the living room, sleeping in beds that felt miles away from each other at night.

Your scents didn’t even mingle together anymore. The air in your home felt stagnant. You were sure that if you hadn’t got used to it, if you weren’t you for a second and you had visited your current home for the first time, you would assume that there were no inhabitants in it at all. 

You could imagine it now. The edge of the scissors pulling the winding umbilical cord into a taught triangular shape in the sterile air, about to snap shut, about to separate the two entities, mother snd baby, to deliver individuality and freedom to both…there just needed to be a little push. A little force. Just a little more, and you would be able to forever sever this rotting chord that ties you to this marriage . 

Every day, Caleb would come home and wonder what changed your demeanor so much. And you’d wonder when your husband would grow the balls to tell you that MC is pregnant with his baby.

He didn’t on week one. Or two. Or three. Or four. And as you can guess…

He didn’t speak a word when MC posted a gender reveal (week 19) online, the cutting of the triple-tiered cake revealing flamingo-pink insides. Caleb liked that post, you saw.

He also didn’t mention a word when MC announced a baby shower (week 28), which you were also invited to (the gall. can you imagine the audacity?). You had acted perfectly amicable, presenting MC with a hug and a basket of gifts. Caleb had gone to congratulate Zayne. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony.

By the time the date hit 30 weeks after you overheard their conversation, you had had enough.

If Caleb was going to be a coward about it, then you would force him to confront the truth.

…

Week 34 was fast approaching. You knew a normal pregnancy would end at about 37 weeks to 40, so when Caleb, suddenly, in the middle of your morning shot up from his seat after answering a call, you were surprised.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“MC had th—her baby.”

“Already?” You hummed. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Caleb gasped, practically sprinting to put on his jacket hanging by the bannister, “That’s why I need to go see her. Now.”

“No wait!” You stood up, grabbing his wrist. “I’m coming too.”

“No.” He replied. “You shouldn’t. Someone needs to stay home with our daughter. And I won’t be long.”

“No, no!” You chirped merrily, picking up your daughter from her high chair. “Let’s bring our baby. After all, she should get to know her new half-sister.”

You enjoyed watching the colour suddenly bleach from his face.

“What?” His tone was chilling, shaken, almost boyish. 

“You heard me.” You fished out the car keys from the little ceramic dish near the front door. “Come on.“

“[name]—“

“I thought you were in a hurry to go.”

“[name].” Firmer, now.

“So let’s go.”

“[NAME]!” Caleb yelled. It was the first time he had yelled at you.

“What is it?” You blinked back.

Caleb’s eyes were bloodshot. His shoulders heaved. 

“How long…have you known?” 

“I think the better question is, Caleb,” Your face, he thought, was frighteningly unreactive. “When were you planning on telling me?”

He threw his hands down, turning away from you. “I was going to tell you today. After the baby was born.”

“So you can force me to face the consequences of your actions? If I like it or not? Is that why?”

“No! Don’t put words in my mouth.” He faced you again. “I was going…I was going to…”

“To what?” 

“To work something out.”

“And how was that going to end?” 

“I—“

“I’ll tell you how that was going to end, Caleb Xia.” You stabbed your finger against his solid chest. “It would end in me having to make sacrifices. It would end up in me in pain, over and over again, just to cope with how you’ve decided to treat me! I will be the one at a loss while you, you will get what you’ve always wanted. Every decision you’ve made was never for me. It was always either for you or for MC! I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth when you tell me that you’ll ’work something out’. I know you’ll give me the short end of the straw. You already have, for every day we’ve been married. Yet you never realise, because of course in the end whatever happens would work out for you, because it always fucking does!”

“[name].” Caleb breathed, “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to—“

“I’ll be home as quick as I can.” He said, pulling on his shoes at the door. “And then we’ll settle this.”

You laughed.

“Oh, Caleb.” 

You watched as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“I’m sure you’ll find yourself right at home.” You said with a smile. 

…

“Caleb, come quick!” MC giggled, waving her hand to usher him in. “I just sent Zaynie to go out to the cafe to buy me some lunch.”

Caleb looked over at the bassinet, where a tiny wriggly baby wrapped in white lay. His lips broke out into a smile, a little wider than when he had first met his daughter with you, before gently, very gently reaching into the blankets, prying them apart, to reveal the scrunched up face of his new daughter.

He instantly folded, a finger stroking her wrinkly cheeks.

“Hey there, sweetheart…” Caleb cooed, as the baby made an uncommitted sound. 

She was tiny. Wrinkly. But to Caleb, she was one of the cutest things he’s ever seen. She was part of him, and part of MC, after all. 

Caleb took an awed breath in, as she fluttered her eyelashes, opening her eyes to reveal…

Big, green eyes.

Her eyes were green. 

A bright, mocking, hazel.

Just.

Like.

Her father’s.

Zayne.

…

“What the fuck?” Caleb spun to MC, “You said—“

“Well…” MC smiled devilishly, a telltale sign that she knew the entire time, “I assumed wrong, I guess.”

“But you told me it was from that one night when—“

“There’s no way I could have conceived her with you from just one night, compared to how many times I’ve fucked Zayne around the same time.” She noticed Caleb wince in uncomfort at the mention of her activities with her husband. “You were right. Aren’t you always, gege.”  

“But—“

“Caleb, the baby isn’t yours.” MC snapped. 

He stood by the beside, shellshocked. 

She exhaled out of her nose, smoothing out her blankets. “There is no ‘but’ to it.”

Caleb let out an exasperated breath. “I can’t believe you lied to me. You lied to be about something this important!”

“I had to!” Suddenly, her voice turned an 180 and became a pitiful, little cry. 

“Gege…I was trying to help you…you married [name] and seemed to be so upset all the time, so I had to think of a way to get you out of that marriage. And see, now…” She smiled, “She’s out of the picture and will never bother you again.”

“You don’t understand!” Caleb shook his wrist out of her grasp, “I would never have…have put [name] through all this if it wasn’t my child to begin with.“

“Come on, Cay, you’re just being selfish now.” MC picked at her nails, “It’s all for the best. You didn’t enjoy being married to her in the first place anyway. I can’t believe you went through all the trouble of having a kid with her just to prove that you were over me. You’re so pathetic, gege.” She chuckled.

Caleb felt as if he could not move. MC’s voice seemed to become a distant echo, until…

“Gege?”

He snapped back into reality. Caleb frantically began pulling on his jacket, turning his back to MC, his shallow breaths filling the room. 

“Gege, don’t go.” She said softly, “It’s all for the best. You’ll still be an uncle to the baby. To our family. We’ll be together again, aren’t you happy about that?”

Caleb’s hand tightened on the door. He turned to look at MC, with the most hollow look in his eyes she’d ever seen him possess. Emptier even than the time she renounced him as her gege.

“No.” He replied curtly, pushing the door open. 

“Caleb Xia.” MC barked. “Xia Yizhou!”

For the first time, Caleb didn’t look back to her.

…

Caleb wasn’t sure how many speed limits he broke while making his way home, but from the look of the bumper, he should be expecting a few tickets soon.

He was in a daze as he got out of the car, almost stumbling to the front door of the house, unlocking it. 

He was ready. To apologise. To kneel before you and beg for forgiveness. 

Anything at all.

To go back to the beginning. To make things right, as they should be between a husband and his wife.

To be a family. You, him and your precious baby, that you gave him.

He opened the door.

The house was silent.

Almost empty.

Empty…

The empty table. The empty living room. The empty bedrooms. The empty nursery. It was as if the house had reversed to its first day Caleb had moved in, where every inch was shrouded by plastic wrap and packed in cardboard. When no life had been breathed into his home.

A home without love is just a house, after all. How long had Caleb been trying to change that?

How long had he stayed, in denial, that his goal had actually been long fulfilled?

Where are the people who made his house a home?

“[name]?” Caleb called out. “[name]? Where are you?”

A prickling feeling creeped up against his spine as Caleb made his way back into the kitchen, where you had the fight just before he left. The plates had been cleared away, leaving only a sticky note taped onto the table.

You finally got your dream. I hope you can be happier with MC and your family with her. It’s all for the best. Love, [name] :)

Caleb fell to his knees.

A choked cry echoed through the house.

What dream? What family? 

What had he forsaken to chase after his selfish needs?

He wasn’t happier. Not even a little.

Not at all.

imagine the old and shabby town you were living in was replaced by something greater. a city you’ve only seen in still shots, a city you’ve gotten accustomed to through background sketches…

in your favourite otome game, love and deepspace.

“no fucking way.”

imagine you spent the first hour just looking around the apartment, then the rest of the evening was given to the city skyline, watching the ginormous buildings, the futuristic architecture, the holographic billboards for brands you’ve never heard before.

imagine you pieced it together slowly, restoring the life you’ve been given with the help of your phone. you were transported into love and deepspace, but not as emcee; there was no glowing evol, no sign of a hunter career, no trace of the five love interests.

you were just… you. an extra. a background npc with a forgettable face, working as a barista at destiny café.

and that was perfect.

you did not wish to get entangled with the love interests, and you definitely wanted to stay away from emcee — their world was too dangerous, too unpredictable. and no matter how much you knew about the game, how many hours you’ve spent collecting memories and reading the lore of the characters, you couldn’t shape your future steps with certainty.

so you made a quiet pact with yourself: you would not interfere with anyone. you would only play your part, watching the main characters from afar.

that in itself was enough — seeing them all interact, seeing them all be happy.

imagine you saw her for the first time exactly the next day. emcee entered the café with tara sometime during the day, and you tried your best to act natural as you took their orders with shaky hands.

then, gradually, you saw them all.

you observed rafayel and emcee taking a walk along the shore, the sound of the waves chiming in tune with their giggles. you watched zayne pause mid-step to tuck a strand of hair behind emcee’s ear near the hospital area. you saw xavier fall asleep against her shoulder on a park bench, his face soft and content. you even caught a glimpse of sylus’s unmistakable silhouette in a secluded alley, helmet visor raised, and even caleb’s boyish grin as he ruffled emcee’s hair outside a convenience store.

you never spoke to any of them. you didn’t need to. just seeing it all was enough for you.

you were their watchful eye.

but imagine something was off.

imagine you started to notice the scribbles that were woven into the buildings around town, curious graffiti drawings taking over otherwise blank surfaces.

at first, it seemed like random vandalism — sloppy spirals, nonsense symbols, an array of colours that made people stop only for a second. but then… it became strange.

letters and words bloomed on the outer walls, graffiti now taking more eloquent forms.

that was the problem. that was what made you stop dead in your tracks, skin covered in prickling goosebumps.

you saw a word in your native language.

“HELLO.”

you stood frozen, pulse stuttering. people were already scrubbing at it, muttering on and on about vandals, but you just stood there, trying to make sense of the graffiti.

imagine you moved on with your routine, but the messages followed along.

a scribble on the side panel of the garbage chute: “KNOW.” a flash of green paint on a train station pillar: “UNDERSTAND.” an elegant curvature on your favourite convenience store: “SEE”.

each one in your mother tongue, each one making you more and more paranoid.

you told yourself it was a prank, a coincidence, a glitch in your own panicked mind.

it couldn’t be anything else, really.

imagine the messages escalated beyond singular words, becoming phrases that clawed directly into that anxious brain of yours. a week after the first “HELLO”, you saw it on the side of a delivery truck waiting at a red light:

“YOU UNDERSTAND.”

your blood went cold, starting in your thumping chest and creeping down to your fingertips. you stumbled back from the crosswalk, clutching your bag like a shield, terrified by the perfect syntax.

it wasn't the language that scared you; it was the wording. whoever was doing this knew things they absolutely should not know.

they knew you were not from this world, they knew you were an outsider that had no business being here.

imagine you started taking different routes to destiny café, weaving through back alleys and less crowded areas, your head perpetually low.

the city, once a breathtaking panorama of your favorite fictional world, now felt like a cage lined with watchful eyes. the holographic billboards that had once charmed you now seemed to flicker ominously.

you avoided looking at reflective surfaces — shop windows, polished cars, the dark screen of your phone. you were terrified of seeing someone standing right behind you, someone that shouldn’t know you were in linkon city.

imagine the paranoia began to manifest physically. you were sleeping less, picking at your food, flinching at sudden noises. the cheerful chime of the café door sounded like a warning bell.

heck, the friendly chatter of customers felt like a coded message, and you somehow convinced yourself everyone was discussing you.

you were slowly losing your mind.

and imagine you saw emcee that day. she walked up to the counter with her familiar smile, ordering her usual, overly complicated coffee concoction. you focused on her, trying your best to loosen up. make small talk. act normal.

you are a barista. she is a customer. this is a transaction.

nothing bad was going to happen.

she is emcee. she is safe. and so are you.

“rough day?” she asked when she returned at the pick-up station, tilting her head, scanning your face with genuine worry.

you managed a weak laugh, wishing to conceal your uneasiness, hands pushing forward the iced cup of coffee. “just tired. here’s your drink.” you muttered back, holding up her mug for her to take.

but imagine you were wrong.

imagine something bad did happen.

as you looked at emcee, you saw it: the entire wall of the building directly across the street was no longer the muted gray you remembered. it had been transformed overnight into a single, massive mural, clearly visible through the huge window of the café.

it wasn't art.

it was a sentence, painted in dripping, blood-red letters, so large you could read them from behind the counter, from the depths of your own impending doom.

the letters were in your mother tongue.

 “I’M WATCHING YOU.”

followed by your actual name.

the coffee cup slipped from your grasp.

the ceramic shattered against the tile floor with a powerful crack, sending a hefty quantity of iced coffee on your apron and the lower half of the counter. the sound was deafening in the cheerful bustle of the café, putting everything on pause.

every conversation halted. every head turned. emcee flinched, her smile dissolving into confusion.

all eyes were on you.

imagine the sudden weight of all those eyes, all focused on you. the words from the graffiti echoed louder and louder in your skull, syncing with each panicked beat of your heart.

watching. they were all watching.

your coworkers, the customers, the old woman by the window, the child tugging at her mother's sleeve. emcee, her hand halfway to her mouth, her brow furrowed in concern.

were they in on it? were they aware you were fake? an outsider?

the walls felt like they were closing in, the cheerful café lighting suddenly harsh and interrogatory. the message wasn't just on the building anymore; it was in the glint of every eye pinned on your trembling form.

i’m watching you. i’m watching you. i’m watching yo–

imagine emcee took a step towards you, her expression shifting into concern. “hey, are you okay? you look really pale–”

you didn't hear the rest of her sentence. you couldn't breathe. you couldn't think. your mind was screaming at you to get away.

get away. they can see you. they know you.

you shoved through the swinging staff door, not stopping until you reached the back door leading outside. you collapsed against the closest wall, sliding down next to the stuffed garbage bins and curling into yourself, pushing your face between your knees and letting it all out.

imagine the sobs came in gasping, ugly cries that you muffled with your stained apron, fear shaking through you.

you were not safe. your decision to keep your distance, your role as a background extra — it was all an illusion.

someone had been tracking you, studying you, learning your secrets.

you were not an observer anymore. you were the observed. you were a target in a story you thought only you watched from outside, but you were proven wrong.

he knows of your existence, but you didn’t know of his.

“bring her to me. quietly.”

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

You blink at him, eyes wide as you process who he is. He's seen you once or twice around the base. Usually with all the other lab employees, and usually with your head shyly peering at the shoes of people walking by. So he's not very surprised when you shriek and nearly drop the project you've been working on for months.

He barely catches it with his evol in time.

It must be the fact that you look like a scared cat as you sit him down at the desk. It must be that your hands seem too afraid to get close to him with your tools. It must be that in the hour that he spends sitting just a foot away from you, you only meet his eyes once. But for some odd reason, he lets you repair his arm in a comfortable silence.

And it must be the proud smile adorning your lips once his arm starts working again, that he seems to notice you a bit more after that.

He's more than aware that you're at least a tad afraid of him. Most people at the base are, and he doesn't blame any of them given that all he does is glare or command. It hasn't bothered him in the past. But he finds that he doesn't love when you spot him in the halls, and it sends you immediately scurrying the other direction.

Caleb returns again a month later for another repair. And then another. Until it becomes a routine for him to show up at the dead of night, when it seems like you're the only ones still awake in Skyhaven. The soft whirring and clicking from the work you're doing on his arm is all that echoes in the empty lab, so that all he can focus on is the way your hair grazes over the surface of his synthetic skin to look closer.

He curses his inability to feel through the arm. He curses the damn thing over and over again.

The third repair, you beam at him brightly when he tells you his thanks in a soft murmur. It still appears stiff, but it's the kind of smile that he doesn't see often in his work.

By the fifth, you smile at him as he enters the lab.

By the sixth, you stop avoiding him in the halls.

By the eighth, he starts to take the route to his office that passes by your lab, even if it takes longer.

As you work, he watches you hold his bionic arm in your hands, examining the wires like they're the most interesting thing in the world. He can see your fingertips gently touching his skin, and he thinks he can almost feel them. You fuss, insisting he needs to start using the more certified mechanics, but he's barely listening.

When you notice that he's not speaking and simply staring at you with a gentle gaze, you freeze. His eyes lock with yours. They're a nice shade, he thinks, especially up close. You're so close that he can see his own reflection in your irises. Your hand falls from his arm slowly, and he intertwines his with yours when it gets close.

Caleb flexes his fingers between yours. "Why would I go to someone else when you can fix me up this well?"

He half expects you to pull away. He wouldn't blame you either. But after a beat of silence that feels like an eternity to him, you just smile. Something he's come to grow too fond of.

And when you squeeze his hand back, he wonders if the arm isn't so bad. An ugly reminder, sure. He still despises that he can't even feel you squeeze back. But he thinks that if you work on it long enough--if you fix him enough--he'll grow somewhat grateful for it. Perhaps it'll become a part of him. Never quite a part of his flesh, but his being.