Archive of Our Own ^beta

The frat house was alive in the way a wildfire was ravenous, unstoppable, eating through everything in its path. The music wasn’t music so much as it was a presence , a force that pulsed through the floors and walls, rattling the air itself. It was all bass, heavy and unrelenting, a heartbeat too big for the house that contained it.

She hadn’t wanted to come.

Her roommate had grinned at her, eyes bright with something between mischief and insistence. “You have to go at least once. It’s, like, a rule. Otherwise, you’re just some shut-in who doesn’t exist.”

She had rolled her eyes but let herself be dragged out anyway.

Now, standing in the middle of the chaos, she was beginning to regret it.

The house was packed shoulder-to-shoulder bodies, the air thick with sweat, liquor, and the chemical sting of vape smoke. She moved carefully, slipping through gaps in the crowd, avoiding the places where the floor was sticky with spilled beer.

The dining room had been turned into a makeshift game hall. A pool table stood in the center, its green felt littered with half-empty cups as a group of guys took turns smacking balls across it with a little too much force. The Foosball table wasn’t much better, someone was already slamming the handles, muttering bullshit under his breath after missing a shot.

She barely heard any of it over the music.

This wasn’t her scene. She knew that much already.

But the kitchen was quieter. Not by much, but enough.

She stepped inside just as a girl with smudged mascara and hoop earrings poured liquor into a red cup, her movements practiced, like she’d been doing it for years.

“Want one?” the girl asked, already grabbing another cup.

She hesitated.

The logical part of her, the part that lived in textbooks and annotated margins, told her to say no. But the part of her that had already agreed to this night, the part that was trying to find out if there was anything worth experiencing in all this, made her nod.

The cup was cold in her palm. The first sip burned under all the sweetness.

And from across the room, Caleb saw it.

He wasn’t pressed into the crowd or hunched over a game like the others. He leaned against the far counter, one hand in the pocket of his hoodie, the other wrapped lazily around his drink.

He wasn’t watching her the way most guys watched girls at these parties. He wasn’t scanning her up and down, sizing her up, waiting for the right moment to insert himself into her space.

He was just… observing.

Curious.

He could tell she was new, not just to the party, but to this kind of night. There was something careful about the way she stood, how she held her drink without clutching it too tight, how she kept to the edges instead of throwing herself into the rhythm of the room.

Most people here weren’t thinking . They were reacting,drinking because everyone else was drinking, moving because the music told them to move, laughing at jokes that weren’t funny because that was just what you did in a place like this.

But her ?

She was thinking.

And Caleb found that interesting.

He took a slow sip from his own cup, his posture relaxed, his gaze steady. He wasn’t in a hurry. Wasn’t planning anything.

He just… watched.

It took him longer than expected to break.

He was patient. Always had been. But watching her stand there,half in, half out of this party, sipping her too-sweet drink with the kind of thoughtful hesitance that didn’t belong in a place like this,had wound a quiet, insistent curiosity through his veins.

He’d seen plenty of freshmen at their first party. Some threw themselves in too fast, trying too hard to prove they belonged. Others hovered near the exits, shrinking into their own uncertainty. But her ? She wasn’t trying to be part of it, and she wasn’t trying to escape it, either.

She was watching . Thinking.

And that, more than anything, made him want to talk to her.

So he did.

He didn’t make a show of it. Didn’t down his drink for liquid courage, didn’t adjust his posture or psych himself up. He didn’t need to.

He just pushed off the counter and closed the space between them with an ease that came naturally, slipping into her orbit like he’d always been there.

"That drink’s terrible, isn’t it?"

His voice cut through the noise, smooth, easy, just loud enough to be heard over the music. His mouth curled into a smirk, but it wasn’t the cocky kind that expected something from her. It was inviting , like he was letting her in on some inside joke, offering her an out from whatever uncertainty she might have been feeling.

She turned to him, guarded but not hostile, her fingers tightening just slightly around the cup.

She wasn’t used to this, him ,but she wasn’t shutting him out, either.

"That obvious?" she asked, arching a brow.

"A little," he admitted, tilting his own cup toward her like a silent toast. "You made the rookie mistake of accepting a drink from someone who enjoys suffering."

She exhaled a small, amused breath. Not quite a laugh, but close enough.

"Noted."

He grinned, taking a slow sip from his own drink before nodding toward her.

"New, right?"

It wasn’t really a question. He already knew the answer.

"That obvious too?" she said, echoing her earlier words.

"Only to me," he said, and he meant it. Most people here were too wrapped up in themselves to notice the details, but Caleb had always been good at reading the room. Reading people.

She studied him for a second, like she was trying to decide whether or not to engage. He didn’t rush her. Just waited, easy and patient, letting the conversation balance on the edge of something.

Finally, she sighed, tipping her cup slightly in his direction.

"Freshman," she admitted. "Literature major."

He nodded, like that made perfect sense.

"Explains the whole ‘standing on the outside, narrating everything in your head’ thing you’ve got going on," he teased, watching for her reaction.

She blinked, caught off guard for half a second, then huffed out something that was almost a laugh.

"So I’m that obvious?"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "Most people just don’t pay attention."

She took another sip of her drink,probably more for something to do than because she actually liked it. Then, shifting slightly to face him, she asked, "What about you?"

"Caleb," he said, offering his name like it was a casual afterthought. "Sophomore. I’m here on a scholarship for aeronautical engineering, but I play basketball for fun."

Her brow furrowed. "Wait, for fun ?"

He grinned. "Yeah. They need me more than I need them."

He didn’t say it with arrogance. Just certainty .

"Must be nice," she said, a little skeptical but not unimpressed.

"It has its perks." He took another sip of his drink, watching her over the rim of the cup. "Where you from?"

"Linkon."

His grin widened.

"No shit?" He tilted his head. "Me too. Where’d you go to school?"

She told him. It was one of the other big schools in the area, one his old team had played against a few times, but not one he had any real connection to.

"Guess we just barely missed each other," he mused, eyes scanning her like he was slotting a new piece into a puzzle. "Small world."

She shrugged. "Or just a small town."

"Fair point."

The conversation was easy. Smoother than she’d expected.

He had a way of talking that put people at ease, not because he was trying to, but because he just was . He was confident without being overbearing, playful without being obnoxious. He knew he was attractive, knew he was good at what he did, but it didn’t hang over him like some suffocating need for validation. It was just a fact.

"So," he said, shifting slightly closer, but not in a way that invaded her space, just enough to make it clear he was interested. "Since we both made it out of Linkon, any idea what there is to do around here that doesn’t involve frat parties?"

She gave him a look, one that was half amused, half skeptical.

"You’re asking me ?"

"Sure. You’re a literature major. You probably know all the cool, obscure spots."

"Yeah, for books ."

"That counts," he said easily. "C’mon, hit me with something. Best coffee shop for pretending to study while actually people-watching?"

She rolled her eyes but played along. And just like that, the conversation kept flowing, shifting from hometown familiarity to campus haunts, from books to basketball, from the things he loved about the game to the things she loved about not being at this party.

–

It started with one text.

A number she hadn’t saved yet.

[ Caleb ] Hope you don’t have plans. You’re getting the deluxe campus tour today.

She blinked at her phone, still groggy from sleep.

[ Her ] I already got a campus tour.

His response was immediate.

[ Caleb ] Yeah, the official ones suck. This one has personality.

She stared at the screen, half considering ignoring him, but before she could decide, another text popped up.

[ Caleb ] Be outside in 10. If you’re not, I’m coming to find you.

And for some reason, some inexplicable, completely irrational reason,she found herself rolling out of bed and throwing on the first halfway decent outfit she could find.

[ Her ] Where’d you get my phone number?

Caleb was already waiting when she stepped outside, leaning against a sleek black bike,not a motorcycle, but the kind of expensive road bike that only someone who actually knew what they were doing would own. He had a helmet hooked around one wrist and a smirk that could’ve belonged to a devil or a saint, depending on the lighting.

“Alright, Lit Girl,” he drawled, eyes sweeping over her in that sharp, assessing way he had, like he was mentally cataloging details. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She frowned, hugging her jacket closer against the morning chill. “What I’ve got?”

“The tour. You’re in charge now. Show me something interesting.”

“I thought this was your deluxe tour.”

“Yeah, well, I just decided it’s a collaborative effort.” He gave her a look, somewhere between a challenge and an invitation. “Don’t tell me you’re just gonna let me run the whole show.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes, but there was something dangerously infectious about the way he spoke,so casual, so sure of himself, like everything was just a game and he was inviting her to play along.

“Fine,” she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “You like basketball, right?”

He raised a brow. “Obviously.”

“Then let’s start with the court.”

She half-expected him to argue, but instead, his grin widened, and he nodded toward the bike. “Think you can keep up?”

“Think you can handle a walking tour?”

He laughed, kicking up the bike stand. “You’re lucky I’m in the mood to take it slow.”

They made their way across campus at an easy pace, their footsteps crunching over the last of autumn’s fallen leaves. The air still had that crisp, early-morning sharpness, the sky a watercolor blur of grays and blues, not quite overcast but not fully bright either.

“So,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Literature major. What’s your poison? Poetry? Gothic horror? Pretentious Russian novels?”

She smirked. “Pretentious Russian novels.”

“Knew it.”

“Oh, come on,”

“Don’t try to defend yourself, Lit Girl. I can see it already, curled up in some coffee shop, scribbling dramatic annotations about the inevitable decay of the human condition.”

She gasped, hand to her chest in mock offense. “I do not scribble.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“And what about you?” she shot back. “Aeronautical engineering, right? That means you’re one of those guys who actually enjoys physics.”

He tilted his head in a conceding motion. “I wouldn’t say ‘enjoys’ so much as ‘understands better than most people.’”

“Translation: you enjoy it.”

He shrugged. “It’s like basketball. If you learn the rules, you can play the game.”

“Oh my god,” she groaned. “You really see the whole world as one big game, don’t you?”

His grin turned sly. “Only the parts that matter.”

By the time they reached the outdoor basketball courts, the campus had started to wake up, students trickling across the walkways in slow-moving clusters. The courts were mostly empty, save for a lone player shooting free throws in the far corner. Caleb dropped his bike against the fence and stretched, rolling his shoulders like a boxer about to step into the ring.

“Alright,” he said, nodding toward the hoop. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She stared at him. “I literally never said I played.”

“And I never said you did.” He tossed her the ball before she could protest, the weight of it unexpectedly solid in her hands. “Come on, Lit Girl. Show me your form.”

She narrowed her eyes. “This is a setup.”

“ Obviously .”

Still, she stepped up to the free-throw line, adjusting her grip on the ball. Caleb watched, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his gaze.

She took a breath. Bent her knees. Released.

The ball soared,wobbly, imprecise, nowhere near the clean arc she’d intended. It smacked against the backboard, then ricocheted off the rim before bouncing away, rolling to a stop near Caleb’s feet.

He picked it up, spinning it in his hands. “Not bad.”

She scoffed. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not! Your stance was decent. Just gotta work on your follow-through.” He spun the ball once more, then passed it back. “Try again.”

She huffed but took the ball anyway, shaking out her shoulders.

This time, he stepped in closer, his voice lowering into something almost instructional. “Alright. Knees slightly bent. Keep your elbow under the ball. Let your fingertips do the work.”

She adjusted, hyper-aware of the way he was watching her,attentive but not pressuring, like he genuinely wanted to see her improve.

She shot again.

The ball hit the rim and bounced in.

She blinked.

“Well, well,” Caleb murmured. “Look at that.”

She tried not to grin. “Beginner’s luck.”

“Mm-hmm.” He retrieved the ball and stepped back, spinning it on his fingertips. “Alright, Lit Girl. One-on-one. First to five.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Why? Afraid of losing?”

“No, I just know I will lose.”

He laughed. “Good. That means you’re prepared.”

She groaned but let him talk her into it anyway.  Somehow, despite knowing she was about to get absolutely annihilated, she didn’t hate it.

—

The knock at her door came sharp and insistent, breaking through the otherwise quiet hum of her dorm room. She barely looked up from her notes, assuming it was one of the girls down the hall needing something trivial,hair ties, charger, maybe even gossip. Instead, her phone vibrated a second later, flashing a message from the last person she expected to be standing outside her door.

[ Caleb ] Open up. Your favorite upperclassman is here.

She frowned, glancing at the time. It was late enough that the dining hall was closed, but not so late that she’d expected company. She hadn’t heard from Caleb all day, which,given their recent pattern,was kind of unusual. Usually, he’d find her between classes or steal the seat across from her in the library just to flick at the pages of her book until she acknowledged him.

With a sigh, she set her highlighter down and made her way to the door, opening it just as Caleb raised his fist to knock again.

“Oh good,” he said, grinning. “You’re alive.”

She crossed her arms. “Barely.”

His gaze flicked over her, taking in the sweatshirt that was probably two sizes too big and the lopsided bun barely holding together. He lifted the takeout bag in his hand, shaking it lightly. “Figured as much. That’s why I brought reinforcements.”

She blinked at the bag, catching the unmistakable scent of greasy, delicious food. Her stomach betrayed her before she could pretend she wasn’t interested, letting out a low, traitorous growl. Caleb smirked.

“See?” He pushed past her before she could protest, toeing off his sneakers and dropping onto her roommate’s empty bed with the kind of ease that suggested he was making himself at home. “Neglect me all you want, Lit Girl, but neglecting food? Now that’s just cruel.”

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Caleb, I was studying.”

“You were over-studying,” he corrected, already unpacking the food like he lived there. “If I hadn’t come to save you, you’d probably be up all night highlighting every word in your textbook.”

“I do not highlight every word.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, passing her a container. “Tell that to your rainbow-colored notes.”

She rolled her eyes but took the food anyway, plopping into her desk chair as he leaned back against the pillows, stretching out like he owned the place. The dorm felt bigger without her roommate around, but with Caleb here, it was something else entirely,less empty, more alive. He had that effect.

She lifted the lid, inhaling deeply. “Wait, is this from-?”

“Yup.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you,”

“I have my ways,” he said, smug. “Besides, I needed an excuse to show up unannounced.”

She arched her brow. “You couldn’t just text me?”

“I did.”

She squinted at him. “That doesn’t count.”

He grinned. “Sure it does.”

She sighed but gave up arguing, too hungry to waste time pretending she wasn’t grateful. They ate in a comfortable lull, the only sound being the occasional rustle of wrappers and the low hum of conversation from the hallway.

It wasn’t until she was halfway through her food that Caleb finally spoke again, tilting his head slightly. “So, how bad is it?”

She blinked. “How bad is what?”

“Your brain. I can see the stress from here.” He waved his chopsticks vaguely in her direction. “You look like you’re two wrong answers away from an existential crisis.”

She huffed. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am.”

He gave her a pointed look.

She sighed, nudging a stray noodle with her fork. “Okay, maybe I’m a little stressed.”

“There it is.”

“It’s just,” She hesitated, pushing her food around. “This is my first big set of exams, and I feel like I should be more prepared. Like, no matter how much I study, there’s still more I could be doing.”

Caleb nodded, like he understood completely. “Yeah, I was the same way.”

She glanced up, surprised. “You?”

He snorted. “What, you think I just came out of the womb knowing how to balance equations and build hypothetical spacecraft?”

“I mean,” She gestured at him. “You’re so… confident about it now.”

He shrugged. “That’s ‘cause I’ve been through it already. Freshman year, I was a wreck. Spent way too much time second-guessing myself. Thought if I wasn’t constantly studying, I’d fall behind and never recover.”

She blinked. “What changed?”

“Realized half the battle is trusting what you already know,” he said, stealing one of her fries. “And getting some damn sleep.”

She swatted his hand. “Hey.”

He popped the fry into his mouth anyway, grinning around the bite. “What? I brought the food. That means I get a tax.”

She gave him a flat look. “That is not how taxes work.”

He smirked. “Sure it is. Engineering major, remember? We know everything.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, tossing a wink, “you haven’t kicked me out.”

She scoffed, but he wasn’t wrong. As much as she had planned to spend the night buried in notes, she had to admit,this was better. The weight in her chest felt lighter, the stress a little less suffocating.

Caleb stretched, letting out a satisfied sigh. “Alright, study goblin. I’m officially clocking you out.”

She raised a brow. “Study goblin?”

“Yes.” He gestured at her desk. “You’ve been hunched over those notes like some cave-dwelling creature. It’s unhealthy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Mm-hmm. That’s why you inhaled that food like you hadn’t eaten in days.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again, because,okay, maybe he had a point.

“Exactly,” he said, reading her silence. “So, here’s the deal. We finish eating, we chill for a bit, and then,if you absolutely insist, you can go back to your nerd rituals.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And you?”

He smirked. “I’m gonna sit here and keep you company.”

She exhaled through her nose, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Just reluctant acceptance.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if you fall asleep in my bed, I’m pushing you onto the floor.”

He grinned. “Fair trade.”

And just like that, he stayed.

--

Caleb had been texting like nothing was wrong. Short, lazy replies, mostly teasing, but she knew him well enough by now to recognize the gaps, the unusual delays between messages, the way his usual easy charm had dulled around the edges. So when he hadn’t shown up to their usual spot at lunch, she didn’t buy his excuse.

[ Caleb ] Overslept. No big deal.

[ Her ] You never oversleep.

[ Caleb ] First time for everything.

Yeah, she wasn’t buying that either.

Which was why, barely an hour later, she was standing outside his dorm with a bag of supplies,a steaming container of soup from the dining hall, a bottle of medicine, a few sports drinks, and some crackers for good measure.

The second she knocked, she could tell.

No answer.

She knocked again, a little firmer this time. Still nothing.

Her stomach twisted. “Caleb?” she called, pressing her ear against the door. Silence. Then, after a long pause, the muffled sound of shifting blankets and a weak, barely audible groan.

Oh, hell no.

She tried the handle. It was unlocked. Of course it was, this was Caleb. The same guy who let himself into her dorm like he lived there, who treated boundaries like gentle suggestions. She stepped inside without hesitation, shutting the door behind her.

The room was dim, the blinds half-closed, letting in just enough daylight to illuminate the mess. Clothes piled on his chair. Empty snack wrappers scattered across his desk. His basketball shoes abandoned haphazardly near the door, one tipped over like he’d barely had the energy to kick them off before collapsing. The air smelled vaguely of sweat and sickness, the unmistakable stale scent of someone who had been marinating in fever for too long.

He hadn’t been oversleeping. He had been suffering.

Caleb was barely a shape under the blankets, curled in on himself, his usually broad, athletic frame shrunken by the weight of whatever flu had wrecked him.

She sighed, shaking her head. “Idiot.”

There was no response. Not that she expected one.

He was out cold.

Which gave her time to fix this.

She dropped her bag onto his desk and got to work, moving quietly as she picked up the stray clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket. The mess of snack wrappers went straight into the trash, followed by a few water bottles that had been drained dry. She found a pack of tissues shoved between his textbooks and moved it to the bedside table, placing a fresh trash can beside the bed so he wouldn’t have to drape used tissues over the floor like some kind of feral animal.

By the time she was done, the room looked significantly less like a disaster zone. Caleb hadn’t stirred once.

She turned back to the bag of supplies, pulling out the soup and pouring some into a bowl, the warmth seeping through the ceramic as she carried it carefully toward the bed.

"Caleb," she murmured, nudging the mattress gently with her knee.

Nothing.

She sighed, setting the soup down on his desk and leaning closer, pressing the back of her hand lightly to his forehead. He was burning up. Too hot, even for someone as naturally warm as he was.

"Caleb," she said again, firmer this time, pressing a cool bottle of sports drink to his cheek.

He groaned, shifting sluggish, his eyelashes fluttering before cracking open. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, heavy-lidded with fever. It took him a second to recognize her.

His brow furrowed. "...Lit Girl?"

She huffed. “You sound worse than you look. And considering how you look, that’s saying something.”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk, but it barely had the energy to form. “Harsh.”

“Honest.” She grabbed the bottle, twisting off the cap before handing it to him. “Drink.”

He didn’t argue, which only proved how bad he really was. Caleb never passed up the opportunity for a comeback. He took a few slow sips before sagging back into his pillow with a groan.

“Seriously,” she muttered, dipping a spoon into the soup. “Why didn’t you tell me you were this bad?”

“Didn’t wanna bother you,” he mumbled, voice hoarse.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because showing up unannounced at my dorm with takeout isn’t bothering me at all.”

He made a soft noise, something that might have been a laugh if he had the strength for it. His fingers flexed weakly against the blanket. “Didn’t think it was this bad.”

She scoffed. “Well, it is. So congratulations, you win the award for ‘Worst At Taking Care of Himself.’”

He smirked faintly, eyes slipping shut again. “Prestigious.”

She sighed, nudging him lightly.

“Hey,” she said, nudging him again, a little firmer this time. “None of that. You need to eat.”

Caleb groaned softly, rolling onto his side, his face half-buried in the pillow. “Not hungry.”

“Too bad.” She lifted the spoon, blowing gently on the broth before pressing it to his lips. “C’mon, open up.”

His brow furrowed, but his mouth parted just enough for her to slip the spoon between his lips. He swallowed slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as the warmth settled in his throat.

“See?” she murmured. “Not so bad.”

He cracked one eye open, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the edges of his fever-flushed face. “So bossy when I’m dying.”

She snorted. “If this is you dying, it’s the most dramatic death I’ve ever seen.”

He hummed, low and lazy, eyes slipping shut again. “Least I’ll go out with a cute nurse.”

She rolled her eyes, but her stomach did something stupid at the words, something she refused to acknowledge. Instead, she lifted another spoonful, waiting expectantly.

He sighed, opening his mouth just enough to accept it, and she fed him in slow, careful spoonfuls, making sure he actually swallowed between each one. His head lolled against the pillow, every movement sluggish, his body drained of its usual energy. It was strange,seeing him like this. Caleb was always in motion, always teasing, always pushing up against the edges of whatever space he occupied like he couldn’t stand being still. Now, though, he was utterly wrecked. Small, in a way she wasn’t used to.

Not that she’d ever tell him that.

“You’re gonna feel a lot worse tomorrow if you don’t take this medicine,” she said, setting the empty bowl aside and shaking out a dose of liquid cold relief.

Caleb groaned. “Tastes like death.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want the flu instead?”

He cracked an eye open, barely managing a glare before groaning and dragging a hand over his face. “You’re cruel.”

She held out the tiny plastic cup of medicine, unimpressed. “And yet, here I am, taking care of your dumb ass.”

He exhaled through his nose, then took the medicine, swallowing it quickly before chasing it down with a sip of sports drink. His face twisted in disgust, and she bit back a smile.

“Happy?” he muttered, voice scratchy.

“Ecstatic.” She stood, brushing her hands against her thighs. “Now, get some actual sleep. Not whatever fever-induced hallucination sleep you’ve been having.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t have the energy to. Instead, he blinked at her, something softer in his gaze now, something unguarded, hazy from exhaustion but still unmistakably him .

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he murmured.

She huffed. “Yeah, well, you didn’t have to show up at my dorm with food when I was studying, but here we are.”

He grinned, small but real. “So we’re even?”

She smirked. “Not even close.”

Caleb chuckled, a low, rough sound, but before he could find another comeback, his body betrayed him, pulling him under. His breath evened out, his features slackening as sleep took him again.

She sighed, shaking her head as she grabbed the extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed and draped it over him. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t wake.

She should leave. She had her own dorm, her own things to do. But as she stood there, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, something rooted her in place.

Just for a little while, she told herself.

Just until he was okay.
–
The library was quieter than usual, the late hour chasing away the usual buzz of students. Most people had packed up for the night, but she and Caleb remained, their table covered in an unholy mess of textbooks, notes, and an alarming number of empty coffee cups.

Caleb sat across from her, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, one hand spinning a pen lazily between his fingers while the other gestured toward the diagram in her biology book. His voice was steady, even, explaining something about cellular functions,mitochondria, or ribosomes, or maybe something else entirely.

She wasn’t listening.

Not really.

Not the way she was supposed to.

Because as much as she wanted to absorb the information, all she could focus on was him.

The way his brows furrowed slightly when he was deep in thought, the way his fingers drummed absentmindedly against the edge of the table. The way he spoke, confident, fluid, as if the knowledge lived under his skin, ready to be pulled out at will. There was no hesitation in his words, no second-guessing.

She envied that.

Admired it, and if she was being completely honest with herself, maybe she liked it a little too much. His eyes flicked up mid-sentence, catching her staring. She barely had time to look away before he smirked.

“You get all that, Lit Girl?”

Shit.

She scrambled, looking down at her notes like she could somehow summon the information through sheer willpower.

“Uh, yeah. Totally.”

Caleb snorted, leaning back in his chair. “You are a terrible liar.”

“I am not.”

“You so are.” He grinned, tilting his head. “What’d I just say?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

He raised a brow.

“I hate you,” she muttered, flipping the page like it would somehow save her.

“No, you don’t.”

Cocky bastard.

She exhaled through her nose, trying to get away from the heat creeping up the back of her neck. “Okay, maybe I zoned out for a second.”

He hummed, amused. “Oh yeah? What were you thinking about?”

She glanced at him, and for the first time, the usual teasing glint in his eyes was edged with something else. Something she didn’t quite know how to name.

It threw her off.

Flustered, she reached for the first excuse she could find. “I was thinking about –,” She glanced down at the textbook, eyes landing on the nearest heading. “Lysosomes.”

Caleb blinked. Then, very slowly, a smirk crept across his face.

“Lysosomes?” he echoed, skepticism thick in his voice.

She cleared her throat. “Yep. Big fan. Love those little guys.”

He leaned forward, arms braced on the table, watching her like she was the most amusing thing he’d seen all week. “Alright, genius. Tell me what lysosomes do.”

She stared at him.

Then at the book.

Then back at him.

Caleb grinned. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”

She groaned, dropping her forehead against the open pages. “I swear to God, I actually do study.”

“I’m sure you do,” he said, still clearly entertained. “But not when you’re looking at me like that.”

Her breath hitched.

She lifted her head slowly. “Like what?”

He shrugged, but there was something knowing in his gaze, something sharp and a little dangerous, like he had her figured out. “Dunno. You tell me.”

Her pulse stuttered.

For a second, neither of them spoke. The library, the textbooks, the forgotten coffee cups,it all faded, like the only thing anchoring her to the moment was the way he was looking at her.

Then, with practiced ease, Caleb leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. “Anyway,” he said, all casual, like he hadn’t just completely wrecked her train of thought. “You were totally gonna fail that question, so let’s go over it again.”

She exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down her face. “You are impossible.”

He winked. “And yet, you keep me around.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite behind it because he wasn’t wrong.

Though, he doesn’t find it as funny when it happens to him. Caleb wasn’t sure when the words had stopped registering.

One second, he was following along just fine,nodding at the right moments, tossing in the occasional huh or yeah, that makes sense like he was fully engaged. But somewhere along the way, the actual meaning of what she was saying faded, and all he could do was watch her.

She was in it , completely absorbed, gesturing slightly as she spoke, her fingers tapping lightly against the open pages of her notebook. Her voice had this particular rhythm when she was explaining something she cared about, steady, certain, carrying just the right amount of passion to make him forget that To Kill a Mockingbird had never been high on his list of must-reads.

She wasn’t just reciting facts.

She was building something, pulling ideas from the book, weaving them into context, explaining how the novel had shaped perspectives when it was first released, how its themes still held weight, how literature had the power to shift culture and crack open conversations that people were too afraid to have otherwise.

He should be absorbing all of this.

Should be nodding, asking questions, keeping up.

But instead, he just...d amn.

His elbow rested against the desk, his fingers curled against his temple, but he barely felt the weight of his own head. His attention was completely locked on her,the way her eyes gleamed with focus, the slight crease in her brow when she was deep in thought, the way her lips pursed slightly before shaping around her next words.

She always pretended like she didn’t care about stuff like this. Always shrugged off her own intelligence, acted like it wasn’t a big deal. But watching her now, fully in her element? It was a big deal.

And Caleb was completely, hopelessly caught in it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small, rational part of him was screaming, Hey, idiot, you’re staring.

But he couldn’t stop.

He didn’t want to stop.

Not when she looked like that ,so sure of herself, so effortlessly brilliant, completely unaware of how goddamn captivating she was when she talked about something she loved.

It wasn’t until she trailed off, blinking at him expectantly, that he realized she’d asked a question.

Shit.

“Uh.” His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “What?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

Caleb could bullshit his way through a lot of things. Hell, half his grades were probably built on last-minute confidence and smooth talking, but not now.

Not when she was looking at him like that,suspicious, amused, waiting and definitely not when his brain was still trying to reboot after fully short-circuiting on holy shit, I think I’m in trouble.

So, instead of lying, he just dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “Okay, no. I got, like… the first half. Maybe.”

She blinked, then snorted. “ Maybe? ”

“Listen.” He sat up, shaking his head, like that would somehow reset whatever the hell just happened. “It’s not my fault. You,” He gestured vaguely at her. “,just kept going , and I,” Another gesture, this time toward himself, as if that explained anything at all. “,got distracted .”

Her brows lifted. “Distracted?”

Caleb exhaled sharply, tipping his head back toward the ceiling. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I suck at studying, let’s all laugh at the dumb jock,”

“I didn’t say that.”

He stilled.

When he looked at her again, she was still watching him, something softer in her expression now.

He cleared his throat. “I, uh,” He scratched the back of his neck. “You just, really know your shit, you know that?”

Her lips parted slightly, caught off guard and suddenly, Caleb felt like he was the one on the spot, which was not a position he was used to.

He shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s, uh… cool. That’s all.”

A slow smile spread across her face, teasing but warm. “Caleb, are you complimenting my nerdiness right now?”

He groaned. “Shut up.”

She grinned. “I knew it.”

“No, you didn’t .”

“Did too.”

He slumped back in his chair, pressing a hand over his face. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

“Nope.”

He groaned again, but there was no real bite to it,just the unmistakable, undeniable feeling that he was fucked.

Though maybe… he didn’t mind.
—
Caleb wasn’t all there. He’d been sharp on the court, his body running on instinct, but now that practice was over, the exhaustion had settled into his bones. Not the kind from drills and scrimmages, but the kind that came from his brain working overtime on something—or rather, someone—he shouldn’t be thinking about so much.

And his teammates? They had noticed.

"Okay, I gotta ask," Jamal said, toweling sweat from his neck as they trudged toward the locker room. "What the hell is up with you?"

Caleb barely glanced at him. "What?"

"You. You’ve been weird."

"You played fine," Jordan added, pulling off his jersey, "but you were quiet. Focused but not focused, you know?"

Caleb frowned. "That doesn’t even make sense."

Jordan shrugged. "Doesn’t mean I’m wrong."

That’s when Diego grinned, stretching lazily as he leaned against the lockers. "It’s that girl, isn’t it? The pretty one?"

Caleb stiffened immediately. "Shut up."

"Knew it," Diego crowed, smacking Jamal’s shoulder. "You’ve been weird ever since she started hanging around. Why haven’t you asked her out yet?"

Caleb slammed his locker open harder than necessary. "Because I don’t need to."

"Uh-huh." Jordan snorted. "That’s really convincing, dude."

"You do realize she obviously likes you, right?" Jamal added, kicking off his sneakers. "Or else she wouldn’t keep your stupid ass around."

Caleb shot him a glare, but it lacked heat. The worst part was that they weren’t wrong. Lit Girl—God, even in his head, he still called her that—had become a fixture in his life. She wasn’t at his games yet, sure, but she was everywhere else. The library, the coffee shop, the steps outside the engineering building when he got out of class. Always popping up, always there.

And he let her be.

He liked it.

Which was exactly the problem.

"You’re thinking about her right now, aren’t you?" Diego asked, smug as hell.

Caleb yanked his practice jersey over his head and threw it in the laundry bin. "No."

"Yeah, you are," Jordan said. "You got that face."

"What face?"

"The ‘I’m being stupid about a girl but I don’t want to admit it’ face," Jamal supplied.

"Man, shut the fuck up."

Diego grinned wider. "Ohhh, we’re so right."

"You’re so wrong."

"So, what’s stopping you?" Jamal pressed. "She’s single, right?"

Caleb hesitated, jaw tightening. "Yeah."

"And you want her."

He didn’t answer.

Jamal laughed. "Dude. That’s a yes."

Diego nudged Jordan. "He’s cooked."

Caleb rolled his eyes. "I’m not cooked."

Jordan just shook his head. "You are one good game away from realizing you’re in love with her."

Diego gasped dramatically. "Oh my God. Do you think she’ll actually come to a game?"

Jamal snickered. "What if she doesn’t?"

Caleb scowled. "She doesn’t like sports."

"Yeah, but she likes you."

And fuck, that’s what kept getting to him, wasn’t it?

Because she did like him. She let him get away with things—stealing her fries, taking over her study table, teasing her about her book choices. And she gave it right back, rolling her eyes, shoving at his shoulder, calling him an arrogant asshole with a smile she didn’t try hard enough to hide.

She let him close.

But close wasn’t enough anymore.

Jordan clapped him on the back. "Look, man. If she shows up to one of your games, that’s it. She’s yours."

"And if she doesn’t?"

"Then you’re gonna have to stop being a coward and just ask her out."

Caleb scoffed. "I’m not a coward."

Jamal smirked. "Then prove it."

Caleb slammed his locker shut and rolled his shoulders.

Maybe he would.

---

The energy in the arena was electric, a low, thrumming pulse that filled every inch of the space. Sneakers squeaked against polished wood, the bass-heavy music from the speakers blending into the murmur of the crowd, the occasional sharp whistle cutting through the chaos.

She wasn’t much of a sports person,never had been,but tonight, she wasn’t just watching basketball.

She was watching him .

Caleb had made sure of it.

He’d slipped her the ticket days ago, all casual, like it was an afterthought. Front row, Lit Girl. No excuses.

She’d rolled her eyes, had half a mind to tell him she had studying to do, but then he’d just looked at her, smug and expectant, like he already knew she was going to say yes. And, annoyingly, she had.

Now, sitting just a few rows back from the court, she realized there was something different about seeing him here,on the floor, in his element.

Caleb wasn’t just playing.

He was commanding .

She had watched him in the library, in the dining hall, sprawled across her dorm bed eating takeout, making himself at home in every space he occupied. But here? Here, he owned the space.

From the second he stepped onto the court, everything about him sharpened,his focus, his movements, the way his muscles tensed and coiled under the bright, overhead lights. His usual lazy confidence had been stripped away, replaced with something ferocious .

And she was riveted .

The game started fast, the opening whistle barely cutting through the roar of the crowd before Caleb had the ball in his hands.

She had watched him move before,long strides across campus, the lazy sprawl of his body when he stretched in his chair, the effortless way he leaned into people’s spaces like he belonged there. But this was different. This was power and control, all at once.

He dribbled up the court, body low, shifting seamlessly between defenders before stepping back, quick, precise,then launching the ball into the air.

It arced cleanly, every muscle in his body taut with anticipation, and then,

Swish.

The crowd exploded.

She barely registered the sound, too focused on the way Caleb grinned, sharp and unrelenting, before jogging back on defense, slapping his teammate’s hand as he passed.

The other team came back hard, cutting through the court with aggressive speed, but Caleb was already there,blocking, stealing, pushing forward again. Every move was calculated, every play shifting like he had already seen it in his head ten seconds before it happened.

And she got it , suddenly.

She got why he loved this.

Why he was so good at it.

It was like watching someone solve an equation at lightning speed, every variable accounted for, every possibility anticipated before it could unfold.

And the whole time, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

There were moments, tiny ones, barely noticeable in the chaos of the game,where she swore he glanced toward her seat.

A split second after sinking a shot.

Right before a free throw.

Just before running back down the court.

She told herself she was imagining it, but then,

Final quarter.

Tie game.

The energy in the arena had shifted,tighter, heavier, like every breath was being held at once.

Caleb was at the top of the key, the shot clock winding down, a defender pressing in too close. She could see the gears turning in his head, the slight roll of his shoulders, the flicker of something daring in his expression.

And then,

He moved.

Exploded past the defender, cutting inside, faking one way before pivoting the other. Another player rushed him, too late.

Caleb rose , twisting mid-air, the ball leaving his fingertips just as another defender lunged.

The buzzer blared. The ball sank.

The arena erupted.

She jumped to her feet before she even realized what she was doing. The team swarmed him, arms wrapping around shoulders, jerseys pulling at jerseys, bodies colliding in chaotic celebration. Caleb disappeared into the mess of it, fists pumping, face lit up in something wild .

Her heart was pounding.

It wasn’t until the noise settled that she realized he was looking right at her.

His teammates were still buzzing, still riding the high, but Caleb, sweaty, flushed, breathless, had turned eyes locking onto hers.

And then he grinned .

Not the cocky, teasing smirk he usually wore.

Something else. Something that sent heat curling in her stomach.

Something that told her, 

Oh.

Oh, shit.

She swallowed, pulse still racing from the game, but now for an entirely different reason. Caleb was still looking at her, even as his teammates jostled him, even as the announcer’s voice boomed overhead with final game stats, even as the crowd roared around them.

And that grin , wide and breathless, like he knew .

Like he saw something in her face, in the way she had just felt that entire game down to her bones, in the way she had leapt to her feet before she even thought about it.

Like he knew he had her. Her stomach flipped violently, and she tore her eyes away, suddenly hyper-aware of how warm her face was.

This was stupid.

It was Caleb .

The same Caleb who stole her fries when they ate together, who draped himself over her dorm bed like he paid rent, who teased her mercilessly but still sat with her for hours in the library, walking her through biology notes like it wasn’t a big deal.

The same Caleb who had been worming his way into her life for months, like he belonged there and now, she was sitting here, standing here , rather,feeling things she was not prepared to name.

Jesus Christ.

She forced herself to sit back down, staring hard at the court as if the polished wood could somehow ground her. Players were still shaking hands, coaches shouting final words, the student section losing their minds over the last-minute win.

She should leave.

Should get up, slip out while she still had the chance.

But before she could even think about moving, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She pulled it out, eyes flicking to the screen.

[ Caleb ] Hope you didn’t faint from excitement, Lit Girl.

She exhaled sharply, her lips twitching. Of course he was texting her from the court.

Her thumbs hovered for a moment before she typed back.

[ Her ] I don’t know, it was pretty touch-and-go there for a second. Thought I might have to write your eulogy when you went for that last shot.

She barely had time to put her phone down before it vibrated again.

[ Caleb ] Yeah? Would you have made it good?

Her breath caught slightly, fingers curling against the phone.

She shouldn’t.

She shouldn’t .

[ Her ] Pulitzer-worthy.

There was a pause.

[ Caleb ] Damn. Kinda wish I had died now.

She snorted .

“Alright,” came a familiar voice, this time too close , and she barely had time to react before Caleb was suddenly right there, in front of her , still in his jersey, still drenched in post-game sweat, still smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

“Oh my god,” she groaned, shoving her phone into her pocket. “You stink .”

“You love it.” He leaned in slightly, like he was trying to make it worse.

She shoved at his shoulder, and he laughed , grabbing her wrist before she could push him again. “Careful,” he teased, squeezing lightly. “I just scored the game-winning shot. You wouldn’t want to injure the MVP.”

“Oh, please ,” she said, rolling her eyes, but it was impossible to ignore the way he was holding her wrist,casual, easy, but lingering .

And suddenly, the air between them wasn’t so light anymore.

His fingers flexed slightly against her skin, his grin settling into something quieter, something almost thoughtful .

Something that sent her heartbeat straight into her throat.

She swallowed.

“Good game,” she said, voice not quite steady.

Caleb’s thumb ghosted once over the inside of her wrist before he let go.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “It was.”

But the way he said it,the way he looked at her when he said it,made her wonder if they were still talking about basketball.

—

The dorm room was quiet, except for the soft scratching of a highlighter against textbook pages and the rhythmic clicking of Tara’s pen as she tapped it against the desk. Outside, the faint echoes of campus life trickled through the window—laughter, footsteps, the distant roar of a car engine—but inside, there was an air of anticipation. Or maybe that was just Tara.

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, chin propped in her palm, staring.

"Where’s Caleb?" she asked, her voice too casual to actually be casual.

"Uh," she blinked, shifting her focus from the highlighted passage in her book. "Not sure. Probably with his friends or something." She shrugged, flipping the page like the answer didn’t matter. Like she hadn’t spent half the night replaying that stare across the court, feeling the weight of it settle into her ribs.

A long silence stretched between them. Too long.

When she glanced up, Tara was still staring. Unblinking.

"What?" she laughed, a little nervously.

Tara narrowed her eyes. "Well, he’s usually here."

"So?"

"So," Tara dragged the word out, sitting up straighter, "did something happen?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

Tara gave her a look. The kind that cut through bullshit with surgical precision. "Come on, give me something… ANYTHING!"

She groaned, letting her head drop back against her chair. "You’re being dramatic."

"No, I’m being impatient." Tara leaned forward, her expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. "You went to his game. You’ve been avoiding talking about it all night. And now, Caleb is mysteriously absent from his usual spot on our floor, draped across your bed like he pays rent. You tell me, am I reaching?"

She pressed her lips together, gripping her highlighter a little too tightly. She should’ve known Tara would catch on. Of course she did.

Something had happened.

But not in the way Tara was hoping for.

It wasn’t some big, dramatic confession. There was no grand realization, no earth-shattering moment of clarity. But there was that look.

That stupid, lingering, everything-is-different-now look across the court.

She could still feel it. The way the noise of the crowd had dulled in the background, the way the celebration had blurred around him, the way Caleb’s gaze had locked onto hers and didn’t move.

Like he had been waiting.

Like he knew something had shifted.

Like maybe he had been waiting for her to realize it, too.

Tara flopped back onto her pillows with a dramatic sigh. "God, I hate you guys."

She snorted. "Thanks."

"I mean it! This whole we’re just friends but we’re totally obsessed with each other thing has got to stop."

"We are not obsessed with each other."

Tara gave her the flattest, most unimpressed look she had ever seen. "You’re insane. Actually insane."

She huffed, rubbing her temples. "It’s just… complicated."

"It’s really not," Tara argued. "You like him. He obviously likes you. What’s the holdup?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Because what was the holdup?

She thought back to the way he had looked at her, the way her heart had slammed against her ribs in response. The way she knew that if she had gone to him after the game, he wouldn’t have just stood there and waited for her to talk.

He would have done something.

Said something.

Because Caleb was never afraid to take up space. Never afraid to get what he wanted.

So maybe… maybe he was waiting for her to meet him halfway.

Tara was still watching her, waiting for an answer.

"I don’t know," she admitted, voice quieter now. "I just… don’t want to mess this up."

Tara sighed, softer this time. "And what if you’re messing it up by not doing anything?"

That thought settled heavy in her chest.

--

She doesn’t think about it. That’s the rule. If she doesn’t think about it, if she doesn’t give it a name, then it isn’t real.

That electric feeling at the basketball game? Nothing. Just adrenaline, just the natural high of a close game, just the atmosphere. Nothing to do with Caleb,nothing to do with the way his eyes found hers in the crowd, the way his grin had stretched wide and breathless, the way her pulse had stuttered in her throat when she realized he had played that last quarter like he wanted her to see it.

She doesn’t think about it.

And Caleb doesn’t talk about it.

He doesn’t ask why she was there, doesn’t needle her the way he normally would, doesn’t even throw a single cocky, self-satisfied, I saw you watching me, Lit Girl into their conversations. And that’s how she knows.

Because Caleb teases her about everything.

Everything.

But not this.

Which means he’s avoiding it, too.

So it stretches between them, this unspoken thing, settling in the quiet moments, the pauses between sentences, the lingering beats between texts, the split seconds where she catches him looking at her like he wants to say something but won’t.

It stretches through the rest of her freshman year, through summer, through the first few weeks of her third semester.

By now, she’s almost a sophomore.

And by now, Caleb is, somehow, always around.

It starts small. He keeps showing up,outside her dorm, outside her classes, outside the coffee shop she started frequenting just to get away from him (which, clearly, did not work). Then he starts cutting back on his coursework, dropping an extra class here, easing up on his workload there.

“Didn’t think you were the type to slack off,” she had said once, arms crossed, suspicious.

He had just grinned, leaning against the wall beside her, looking unbothered. “I’m not. Just pacing myself.”

She hadn’t questioned it.

She should have.

Because she doesn’t know that he’s balancing on the razor’s edge of his scholarship just so he can have more time. More time for his friends, sure, but mostly? More time for her.

Not that he’d ever say it.

Because if he says it, then it’s real.

And they don’t talk about it.

Even when she starts finding small, inexplicable signs of him in her space,his sweatshirt slung over the back of her chair, his coffee order saved in her phone, the way her friends have stopped asking why he’s always around and just started assuming he will be.

Even when she catches him watching .

Not in the way other guys do. Not like he’s waiting for something, or expecting something.  Just watching.

Like he already knows and maybe that’s the worst part because she knows, too.

She knows it when he stands just a little too close, when his hand brushes against her back as they weave through crowds, when he pulls her into his side absentmindedly, like it’s second nature.

She knows it when he gets that look, sharp and assessing, like he’s already decided to wreck any guy who so much as thinks about getting close to her. And she should be annoyed.

But she isn’t.

And maybe that’s why she never stops him.

Because, as much as neither of them want to admit it,

They belong to each other.

Even if the words are never said out loud.

The first drop hits her nose.

She barely has time to blink before the sky erupts .

Except, it isn’t the sky. It’s the goddamn sprinklers.

The sudden blast of water slams into them like a tidal wave, ice cold and merciless. She shrieks, stumbling back as the shock rips through her system, her entire body jolting like she’s been electrocuted.

Caleb’s reaction is pure instinct, one second he’s walking beside her, the next he’s grabbing her, yanking her toward him as he turns them both out of the direct path of the spray.

But it’s too late.

They’re soaked . Like, drenched .

Water drips from her hair, her sweater clinging to her skin like a second layer, jeans suddenly five pounds heavier. She gasps, shoving wet strands out of her face, already shivering.

“Oh my God ,”

Caleb throws his head back and laughs .

Not a little chuckle. Not some quiet, amused exhale. A full-bodied, chest-deep laugh , loud and reckless, like this is the single funniest thing that’s ever happened to him.

She glares at him through wet lashes. “This is not funny.”

Caleb grins, water trailing down his cheek, soaking into the collar of his hoodie. “Are you kidding ? This is hilarious .”

“You’re psychotic ,”

And then the sprinklers double down .

A fresh wave of icy water slams into her back, and she yelps , lurching forward straight into Caleb’s chest.

His arms snap around her, steadying her even as he shakes with laughter.

"Alright, alright," He tugs her out of the line of fire, pulling her toward the archway near the building’s entrance. “Come on, before you get hypothermia or something.”

They reach shelter a few seconds later, stepping under the stone archway, finally out of the downpour. The sudden lack of water feels jarring , like stepping out of a warzone.

They stop.

Blink at each other.

And then,

" Jesus Christ ," she breathes.

Caleb loses it .

His laughter is contagious , ripping through him in waves, shaking his entire frame. And maybe it’s the sheer ridiculousness of it all, or maybe it’s the way his smile is so stupidly big , but before she can stop herself,

She’s laughing, too.

Her ribs ache, her breath coming in gasping bursts between hysterical giggles. She swipes at her face, trying to rid herself of the water dripping from her bangs, but it’s pointless .

“This,” she wheezes, shivering violently, “,is the dumbest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Aw, come on,” Caleb teases, his grin sharp, eyes bright with amusement. “You love it.”

She shoves him.

Her palms smack against his chest, water squelching under her touch, and the second she makes contact, she realizes .

How close they are.

She freezes.

So does he.

His laughter cuts off, but the smile lingers,just slightly, just enough. His breath is warm, despite the chill seeping into their clothes. The air between them isn’t just thick with the scent of wet concrete and damp fabric. It’s charged .

The moment stretches.

Caleb watches her, water trailing down the curve of his jaw, sliding over his throat. His hoodie clings to his frame, fabric darkened and heavy with water, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

She should step back.

She doesn’t.

Instead, her fingers twitch against his hoodie, barely noticeable, just a fraction of movement but it’s enough. His gaze flickers down, catching the hesitation, and something shifts.

The amusement in his eyes dims, not gone, just... softened. Muted.

Something else takes its place.

Something dangerous .

“You okay, Lit Girl?” he murmurs, voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

She swallows.

She should say something . Crack a joke. Call him annoying. Anything to break this thing wrapping around them, tangling them up in a way that feels both completely new and somehow terrifyingly familiar .

But she doesn’t.

Because she can’t.

And neither can he.

So they just stand there.

Soaked. Shivering. Stuck.

The world narrows.

She can still hear the sprinklers in the distance, the distant shouts of people scrambling to avoid the unexpected downpour, the muted hum of campus life continuing just beyond this small, sheltered space. But none of it registers.

Not when Caleb is looking at her like that.

Like she’s something undeniable .

Like he’s been holding back for too long.

Her breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, her ribs struggling against the frantic rhythm of her heart. Water drips from her hair, from his, from the edges of their clothes, pooling at their feet, but she barely feels the cold anymore.

All she feels is him .

The intensity in his gaze, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s trying to steady himself, like he knows, knows that this moment is tipping past the point of no return.

She should say something.

A quip, a deflection, anything to pull them back from the edge before it’s too late.

But she can’t.

Not when Caleb is looking at her like he’s already made up his mind .

His jaw clenches, his hands twitching at his sides, his breath a slow, measured inhale, like he’s trying to buy himself a single extra second of control.

Then his resolve breaks . His backpack slips from his shoulder, hits the ground with a muted thud , forgotten. His fingers find her jaw, rough and warm against the cold dampness of her skin, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek like he’s memorizing it.

His breath ghosts across her lips, the space between them razor-thin, fragile.

“I don’t want to ignore this,” he whispers, voice wrecked, pained, like the words are being pulled straight from his chest. “Not anymore. I can’t .”

The last syllable barely makes it past his lips before he kisses her .

It’s not careful.

Not hesitant.

It’s desperate , like something years in the making, like something he’s been dying to do, like something he’s already lost control of .

His lips are warm despite the cold, firm despite the way his breath shakes against hers. He tilts his head, deepens the kiss like he needs more, like he can’t stand the thought of letting her go.

She doesn’t resist, doesn’t overthink.

Doesn’t breathe . She just falls .

Her hands curl into his soaked hoodie, fingers gripping , anchoring herself to the only thing in the world that feels real. Caleb makes a soft, frustrated sound against her mouth, like he’s mad at himself for waiting this long, mad that they’ve spent months pretending, mad that they ever thought they could keep this unspoken.

His other hand finds her waist, palm firm against the wet fabric of her sweater, pulling her closer .

Like he wants all of her.

Like he’s done pretending he doesn’t.

Her body pressed into his, water still dripping from them both, but she doesn’t feel cold anymore.

Only him .

The kiss slows, softens, but the hunger still lingers, crackling between them, curling at the edges of every breath.

When they finally break apart, her forehead rests against his, her hands still clutching his hoodie, her pulse pounding so hard she swears he can feel it.

Caleb exhales, eyes flickering down to her lips like he’s debating going back in .

And maybe,

Maybe she’d let him.

No, she knows she would because there’s no going back now. They’re past the point of no return and don’t even try to go to class.

The moment they step out from under the archway, dripping wet, their hearts still hammering from whatever the hell just happened , they know. There’s no way they can sit through a lecture like this, soaked to the bone, shivering from the cold and from something else , something deeper, heavier. There’s no way she can sit still, pretend to take notes, pretend she’s absorbing anything when the only thing she can still feel is the ghost of Caleb’s mouth against hers.

So when he jerks his head toward the path leading to his dorm, closer than hers, easier, she just nods, her throat too tight to argue.

The walk is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s an awareness between them now, something that hums beneath the steady rhythm of their footsteps, something neither of them names but both of them feel . Every movement feels loaded ,the brush of his knuckles near hers, the way their shoulders almost touch when he steps just a little closer to block her from a gust of wind.

By the time they reach his dorm, she’s grateful. Not just for the chance to change out of her soaked clothes but for something to do . Something to break this tension curling in her stomach, something to keep her hands busy before she does something stupid like reach for him again.

Caleb kicks open the door, stepping inside like he always does, casual, easy, completely unbothered. The second he shuts it behind them, he grabs the hem of his hoodie and tugs it off, the wet fabric peeling away from his skin. And before she can even brace herself, he’s pulling his shirt off next, shaking out his hair like this is just another normal afternoon.

Like he didn’t just kiss her senseless ten minutes ago.

Like he isn’t standing there half-naked, drops of water trailing over his collarbones, down the defined cut of his abs, disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweats.

She is not prepared for this .

Her breath catches , heat rushing straight to her face as she whips around, eyes locking onto the farthest corner of the room like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. It’s stupid , because she’s seen him like this before,on the court, after games, that one time he’d been sick and too fevered to care. But now ?

Now it feels like too much .

Like her skin is suddenly three sizes too small.

She shoves her hands into the sleeves of her soaked hoodie, busies herself wringing out the cuffs, anything to keep herself from looking .

Caleb chuckles behind her, voice low, amused. “You act like I’m naked or something.”

She doesn’t turn. “You might as well be .”

That earns her a laugh, deep, warm , like it’s still wrapped in the edges of the kiss they haven’t talked about yet.

She keeps her back to him, determined to breathe through whatever is happening inside her chest, when she feels the lightest tap on her shoulder.

When she turns, Caleb is right there, holding out a set of clothes.

“Here,” he says, voice softer now. “Don’t want you sick.”

She swallows hard, hesitating before taking them from him. His T-shirt is still warm from where he grabbed it, the fabric soft, worn in. The shorts are definitely too big, but the drawstrings will fix that.

But it’s not the clothes that get to her.

It’s him.

The way he’s looking at her, relaxed,  like nothing about this rattles him at all . Like he’s just content to stand here, offering her a dry shirt, a warm place to change, and not falling apart the way she is.

How?

How is he so calm when she’s a mess of nerves, when her stomach is still twisting itself in knots, when her mouth still feels bruised from the weight of his kiss?

She forces herself to nod, gripping the clothes a little tighter. “Thanks.”

Caleb just smiles, tilting his head slightly, watching her too closely.

Then, after a beat, he exhales and steps forward.

“We’ll talk about it once you change,” he murmurs, dipping his head just enough to catch her eyes. His voice is steady, even, like he knows she’s spiraling, like he’s trying to reel her back in. “Don’t be nervous.”

She wants to tell him she’s not . Wants to tell him she’s totally fine, that she’s not standing here overthinking everything , that she hasn’t spent the last fifteen minutes replaying the way his hands felt on her face, the way his mouth moved against hers .

But she doesn’t.

Because it would be a lie .

And Caleb would see right through it.

Instead, she does nothing. Says nothing. Just stares at him, fingers curled so tightly around the fabric in her hands that her knuckles ache.

And that’s when he leans in .

Not to kiss her.

Not this time.

Just enough to press a soft , lingering kiss to her forehead, his lips warm despite the cold still clinging to them.

She barely has time to process it before his hands slide down her arms, rubbing warmth into her skin before he nudges her toward the bathroom.

The door clicks shut behind her.

And she exhales .

What the fuck .

For a long moment, she just stands there, gripping the bathroom sink, staring at her own reflection like she expects to see a different person in the mirror. Her hair is still damp, her cheeks flushed , her lips,

She touches her fingertips to them, stomach flipping at the memory of his mouth against hers.

It’s not the first time she’s been alone with him.

So why does it feel like the first time ?

Like she’s standing on the edge of something dangerous, something massive, something she can’t take back once she steps forward?

She takes another breath, closes her eyes for a second, then shakes it off and starts changing.

His clothes are big , the shorts nearly slipping off her hips before she tightens the drawstrings enough to keep them in place. The shirt is softer than she expected, slightly stretched, the fabric hanging loose around her frame. It smells like him , and she hates that she notices.

When she finally steps out, Caleb is sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor like he’s thinking.

When he looks up,

Something shifts .

The usual teasing glint in his eyes dims,not gone, just… quieter .

He takes a breath, slow and measured. Then, finally, he pats the spot beside him.

And they talk .

Caleb watches her as she crosses the room, his gaze steady, unreadable. She hesitates for only a second before sitting beside him on the edge of the bed, keeping just enough space between them for her to breathe .

It doesn’t help.

Because she’s still in his clothes, still warmed by the kiss he left on her forehead, still hyper-aware of every breath, every shift, every inch of space that isn’t really space at all.

Caleb’s fingers twitch against his thighs, like he’s holding something back. Then, quietly, he asks, “Are you okay with this?”

She doesn’t hesitate.

She nods, because of course she is. She’s more than okay with it. Even if it still has her heart slamming against her ribs, even if she doesn’t quite know how to name whatever just changed between them,she wants this.

“Yeah,” she says, voice soft but certain. Then, because she knows he’ll see straight through her if she tries to brush it off, she exhales, tucking a knee up onto the bed to face him more fully. “I just… we’ve been ignoring it, haven’t we?”

Caleb huffs a quiet laugh, tipping his head back slightly before dragging a hand through his still-damp hair. “Yeah,” he admits, his lips twitching in something that isn’t quite a smile. “Yeah, I think we have.”

A beat passes.

The weight of it all settles between them, months of unsaid things, of stolen looks, of pretending that what they had was just friendship when it was anything but .

She wets her lips. “Why?”

Caleb’s brows lift slightly, like he wasn’t expecting the question. He breathes in through his nose, exhales slowly. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower, more careful.

“I guess… I didn’t want to screw it up,” he admits, glancing down at his hands, his fingers pressing lightly against his knee. “I didn’t wanna push you into something before you were ready. I figured if I just waited, if I let you come to me first, then I’d know.”

“Know what?”

His jaw tightens, then releases. His fingers flex against his thigh. “If you wanted me like I wanted you.”

Her stomach flips .

It shouldn’t shock her. Not after everything,after the way he’s always been there , after the way he looks at her, after the way he kissed her like he was starving for it. But hearing him say it out loud?

That does something dangerous to her.

She swallows. “And now?”

Caleb lifts his head, eyes locking onto hers. His gaze is dark, intent, but there’s something else in it too,something unguarded .

“Now I can’t pretend anymore.”

Her pulse stutters .

She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if she can say anything with the way her throat is closing up, with the way his words sink into her skin, heavy and real .

“I like you, Lit Girl.” His voice is rough, honest, like it’s been clawing its way out of him for months . “Not just as a friend. Not just in the way we’ve been pretending. I like you, and I’m done acting like I don’t.”

Her breath catches.

She should say something. Anything. But all she can do is look at him , heart pounding against her ribs, every inch of her aware of the fact that they’re sitting close enough that if either of them moved, just slightly ,

Caleb exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I just,” He stops, dragging a hand down his face. “I just need to know where you stand . Because if this, if that kiss meant something to you, then I’m all in . But if it didn’t,”

“It did ,” she blurts, louder than she means to.

Caleb freezes.

She sucks in a breath, fingers curling into the fabric of his borrowed shirt. “It did mean something,” she repeats, softer this time. “I just… I don’t know how to do this .”

His lips press together, something flickering behind his eyes. “Do what?”

She gestures vaguely between them. “ This. Us. I don’t ,I’ve never,” She huffs, shaking her head, frustrated that she can’t seem to string together a coherent sentence when it matters the most. “I’ve never had this before, Caleb. Not like this. Not where it actually mattered.”

His expression shifts, softens, deepens . Then, before she can spiral any further, he reaches for her hand.

His fingers slide against hers, warm and solid, giving her the choice to pull away if she wants to.

She doesn’t.

Her fingers tighten around his, and something in his shoulders relaxes .

“We don’t have to rush anything,” he says, voice steadier now. “We don’t even have to figure it all out right now. But I need you to know, ” He squeezes her hand lightly. “I want you. However this looks, however long it takes. I want you, and I’m not gonna pretend otherwise anymore.”

Her chest aches , not with uncertainty, not with fear, but with something too big for her to name.

So she doesn’t name it.

Instead, she exhales, her fingers still tangled in his, and whispers, “Okay.”

Caleb watches her, eyes scanning her face, waiting,making sure she means it.

Then, slowly, his mouth curves into a smile.

“Okay,” he echoes, and somehow , just like that everything makes sense .

--

If she thought Caleb was clingy before, it’s nothing compared to now.

Now, it’s tenfold .

Now, he is relentless in the way he takes up her space, in the way he demands her attention, in the way he reaches for her without hesitation, without any of the restraint he used to pretend he had.

And the thing is?

She loves it.

Loves how greedy he is with her time. Loves the way he’ll find her no matter where she is , in the library, at her dorm, outside her lecture hall, just to be there , just to steal a moment, just because he can . Loves the way he pulls her into his side without thinking, the way his hands always find her, fingertips grazing her waist, palm resting at the small of her back, fingers slotting so easily between hers when they walk.

And when their friends find out ?

They groan , loud, exasperated, dramatic.

“ Finally ,” her roommate had muttered, tossing a pillow at her.

“You two have been gross for months already ,” one of Caleb’s teammates had complained, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it had taken this long.

The teasing is relentless , but it doesn’t matter because this? This is good .Their relationship is good .

It’s right .

And now, when Caleb wins games, he finds her first .

Right after high-fiving his team, right after celebrating on the court, his eyes find hers , and then he’s there , pulling her into him, kissing her in front of everyone . Unashamed, unapologetic , like it’s the most natural thing in the world .

Like he needs her to know that he’s hers .

Like he needs everyone else to know, too.

Now, when they walk to class, they hold hands .

Now, when she sits beside him, he pulls her closer .

Now, when she shifts away, just for a second, just to grab something, he follows , like he can’t stand the thought of too much space between them.

Now, she’s in his dorm, laying with him in his bed, her cheek resting against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear.

The room is quiet, soft , the kind of comfortable silence that settles in the spaces between words, the kind that makes everything feel easy .

Caleb has one arm tucked under her head, fingers absentmindedly playing with her hair, twisting a few strands before smoothing them out again. His other hand is tangled with hers , their fingers brushing, linking, separating , like he’s memorizing every inch of her touch.

She shifts slightly, tilting her head to look up at him.

He smiles .

“Comfy?” he murmurs, voice warm, lazy.

She nods, lips curving.

“It’s nice,” she says softly. “Having this.”

His chest rises and falls beneath her, a quiet sigh escaping him. He loves hearing that. She knows he does. Because if there’s anything about Caleb that’s undeniable , it’s that he wants her close .

Always.

His hand drifts, sliding from hers, brushing up her arm before settling against her jaw. His fingers cup her face, warm and steady, his thumb tracing the delicate skin just below her cheekbone.

And then he moves .

Shifts just enough so that she’s slightly beneath him, his weight pressing down in a way that’s solid , grounding. His eyes flicker over her face, lingering on her lips before he finally closes the space .

His mouth meets hers,soft, slow, like he has all the time in the world .

He wants to savor it .

Her fingers tighten in his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he groans quietly against her lips, shifting further over her, bracing himself on his elbows so he doesn’t crush her completely.

The kiss deepens. What starts as something gentle , something sweet morphs into something more .

Something needy .

Like him . Like the way he is with her in everything, never quite satisfied , always wanting more .

His fingers tighten against her jaw, his body pressing , his mouth taking , slow, deep, thorough , like he never wants to stop .

She lets him, b ecause she wants it too, she wants him and s he’s never wanted anything more .

--

It’s been two months .

Two months since they stopped pretending. Two months since they let their friends tease them mercilessly about how obvious it had been. Two months since she started waking up to his texts first thing in the morning, since he started grabbing her hand without a second thought, since he started pressing kisses to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth just because he could .

Two months of waiting .

And right now?

She’s wondering what the fuck they were waiting for.

She’s in the backseat of his car, straddling him, her knees sinking into the worn leather, her hands sliding over the firm planes of his chest, and Caleb is kissing her like he’s making up for lost time.

His hands grip her hips, tight , guiding her into a slow, frustrating rhythm against him, his fingers pressing into the curve of her waist like he wants to leave marks . His mouth is insatiable , stealing breath after breath, his tongue licking into her mouth in deep, hungry strokes that have her melting against him.

Everything is charged .

Every touch, every sound, every shift of their bodies.

She can feel him beneath her, hard and thick , pressing up into the center of her, only the barrier of their clothes keeping her from truly feeling him. And she wants to .

Wants to see him. Wants to touch him. Wants to know exactly how big he is, how he’d feel in her hand , in her mouth , between her legs .

But then Caleb pulls back, his lips swollen, his breath coming heavy, and his hands tighten against her hips.

"We’re just kissing," he tells her seriously.

She blinks, dazed. " Hm ?"

Caleb groans, resting his forehead against hers for a second, his grip flexing. "I’m not gonna have you for the first time in the back of this piece-of-shit car." His voice is soft , but there’s something determined beneath it, something controlled even when he’s anything but .

The words send a sharp pulse of heat through her.

Because fuck .

She wants him now .

But he won’t .

And it should frustrate her, should make her want to push back, to dare him, to see if she can tip him past that careful control ,but instead?

Instead, she shivers.

Because his restraint is hot .

Because it means he’s thought about it .

That he’s been thinking about it .

That he wants it just as badly as she does, but he’s going to make her wait for it .

Her breath stutters, and before she can think , before she can catch up to any of this, Caleb shifts beneath her,his fingers gripping tighter , his hips rolling up in a slow, thick grind,

And she gasps into his mouth.

His lips are back on hers before she can recover, swallowing every sound, every sharp inhale, every soft, desperate noise that slips out as he repeats the movement, slow and dirty , the friction making her ache .

"But we can practice ," he murmurs against her lips, voice dark with promise .

She whimpers .

Because fuck , does he mean it.

His hips roll up again, pressing against the exact spot she needs, and she shudders , her nails digging into his shoulders, her mouth parting against his.

"Caleb,"

"Shh," he hums, kissing her deeply , his tongue sliding against hers, slow and filthy . His hands guide her down as he rocks up , setting a steady, agonizing rhythm.

It’s too much .

And not enough .

Their clothes are in the way , impeding everything they want, but the grind of his body against hers still has her dizzy , her thighs shaking , her stomach twisting into knots of frustration and need .

She can feel him,big and thick , straining against his sweats, rubbing against the softest part of her, the pressure right but not quite enough .

She wants more.

Wants him bare against her.

Wants him inside her.

But the car is too small , too cramped , too public a nd Caleb is holding the line .

So they keep going, keep pressing, keep rocking, keep making each other suffer until they’re both wrecked and shaking, until his forehead is pressed to hers and his breath is ragged and his fingers are gripping her hips like he’s seconds away from snapping .

And when they finally stop , when they finally still , when she rests her forehead against his shoulder and tries to catch her breath, Caleb lets out a low , wrecked groan.

"Fuck, Lit Girl," he mutters. "You’re gonna kill me ."

She exhales a soft, breathless laugh, her lips brushing against his skin.

"Good," she whispers.

--

The carnival is perfect .

Bright lights stretch across the sky, blinking in dazzling neon colors, the scent of fried food and spun sugar thick in the air. There’s a constant hum of energy,laughter, the whir of rides, the occasional scream from the rickety roller coaster in the distance. The crowd is alive , but not overwhelming, and the night is just cool enough to be comfortable.

Caleb has barely let go of her since they got here.

Not that she minds.

They’ve been through the fun house, taken on the Tilt-A-Whirl, and even let some poor carnie scam them out of twenty bucks trying to win a stuffed animal she didn’t even want ,which had been hilarious , because after his fifth failed attempt, he had grumbled, "This is rigged ," before she stepped up and won on her first try .

He’s still pouting about it.

She tugs him toward the Ferris wheel, her fingers laced with his, and he lets himself be dragged, though he makes a show of sighing like it’s some grand inconvenience.

The second the ride starts lifting them into the sky though, he relaxes.

There’s something calm about being up here. Away from the crowd, away from the noise. The carnival below them is glowing , the lights flickering in wild colors, the distant sound of music and laughter muted by the height.

He turns to her.

And she’s already looking at him.

Her smile is soft , her cheeks flushed from the cool breeze, her eyes shining with the reflection of carnival lights.

"You having fun?" he asks, voice quieter now.

She nods. "The most fun."

He grins, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing along her cheek. " Good ," he murmurs.

Then, he leans in, and kisses her . It’s slow at first, unhurried, and easy. The kind of kiss that lingers , like he wants to taste this moment, like he wants to memorize it.

Then, she tilts her head, presses in closer , and his fingers tighten around hers, his other hand slipping to the back of her neck. The kiss deepens ,not rushed, but full . Like he needs this, like he needs her , like he’s been waiting all night just to do this . When they finally pull apart, her breath is a little unsteady, her lips tingling.

Caleb smirks, "that was a solid Ferris wheel kiss," he teases.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning as she shoves at his chest. "Shut up."

He just laughs, pulling her into his side as the ride starts to lower them back toward the ground.

They take photo booth pictures next, and she is absurdly giddy about them.

Caleb just watches her with that soft , slightly amused look on his face, like she’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. And maybe he teases her about it a little, but when she insists on getting doubles so she can give him a strip to keep in his wallet, he doesn’t argue.

He just tucks it into his pocket.

And later, when she isn’t looking, he smiles at it.

They share a funnel cake, and he refuses to let her have the last bite, which turns into a very dramatic argument until she steals it while he’s distracted.

" That was mine! "
" You hesitated. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Caleb. "

They hold hands as they wander , just existing together, the whole night wrapped up in this ,the carnival lights, the laughter, the lingering weight of that Ferris wheel kiss.

It’s a good date. Probably the best they’ve had.

There’s still one thing.

Six months. Six months , and they still haven’t had sex and it is killing them both . It’s not that they don’t want to .

They do .

Badly.

It’s just that between school, basketball, and her new part-time job (which Caleb had whined about for weeks ), they’ve barely had the time .

"I don’t like this," he had grumbled when she first told him. "You already have a scholarship. You don’t need to work."
"I want to work, Caleb. I want my own money."
"You have your own money."
"No, I have college money. That’s not the same thing."

And while she loves that he’s so stupidly dramatic about it, she also hates that he’s kind of right.

Because between her shifts, his practices, and their classes, they barely get enough time to see each other , let alone be alone long enough to fix this particular problem.

And now, walking through the carnival, her hand snug in his, the weight of it lingers in the air.

Because she wants him, and she knows he wants her, fuck , maybe it’s time they do something about it .

The air between them is thick,heavy with something undeniable, something that’s been simmering for too long. It’s not just tension. Not just attraction. It’s months of restraint unraveling all at once, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but this.

Her.

Him.

And the way he’s looking at her.

Caleb hovers above her, elbows braced on either side of her head, his breath warm against her lips, his body a solid weight pressing her into the twin mattress. He hasn’t moved,not really. He’s just… watching. Like he’s savoring the moment before he takes it, like he’s committing every inch of her to memory.

And fuck, she feels it.

Every nerve in her body is alight, buzzing with anticipation, with want. Her skin feels too tight, too sensitive, like she could shatter under the weight of his touch. She shifts slightly beneath him, and the movement is enough,his resolve cracks, his grip on control slipping through his fingers like sand.

His mouth is on hers before she can take another breath.

It’s not careful this time. Not hesitant. It’s all tongue and teeth and desperation, a kiss that swallows her whole, that makes her forget everything but him. His hands are everywhere,sliding down her sides, gripping her hips, fisting the hem of her borrowed shirt. His body is warm, firm, solid against her own, and she feels the tension in his muscles, the way he’s holding himself back, barely reined in.

She doesn’t want him to hold back.

She wants him to lose control.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him down, pressing him closer, and he groans into her mouth, the sound vibrating through her. He kisses her like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting for this for far too long, like he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

Then, slowly,so fucking slowly,it shifts.

The urgency doesn’t fade, but it deepens.

Becomes something else entirely.

Something that feels like surrender.

Caleb pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, his forehead resting against hers, his breath coming in uneven pants. His hand slides beneath the fabric of her,his, shirt, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against her bare skin. The touch is light, teasing, but it burns.

He watches her closely, his thumb brushing just beneath the curve of her rib cage.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

She nods, but it’s not enough.

“I need to hear you say it.”

Her breath catches.

“Yeah,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “I’m okay.”

He exhales, his lips ghosting over hers, not quite a kiss but close enough to make her dizzy.

“Good.”

And then he moves.

His mouth finds the curve of her jaw, his lips trailing lower, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat. He takes his time, letting his teeth graze over sensitive skin, pausing to suck a mark just below her ear. She gasps, arching into him, and he groans, his fingers tightening against her waist.

His other hand slips beneath the hem of her shirt, pushing it higher, baring more of her skin to the cool air. He palms the soft curve of her stomach, his touch reverent, like he’s worshiping every inch of her. Then, with careful precision, he lifts the fabric over her head, tossing it aside before his eyes trail downward, drinking her in.

“Jesus,” he breathes, his gaze dark, hooded.

She should feel exposed. Self-conscious. But she doesn’t.

Not with the way he’s looking at her.

Like she’s something to be devoured.

His hands skim up her sides, his thumbs tracing the underside of her ribs before his mouth follows, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the center of her chest.

“Caleb...” Her voice is barely a whisper, and it’s not enough.

He hums against her skin, teasing, coaxing, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her. And he does. Of course he does.

His mouth moves lower.

His hands follow.

If his hands had been worshipful before, they are reverent now. Moving over her with a kind of aching patience, a deliberate slowness that should be torturous, should be maddening, but instead only winds the tension between them tighter. Like a bowstring drawn too far back, like a wire humming with the promise of an inevitable snap.

Caleb isn’t in a rush.

And she thinks that might undo her more than anything else.

He presses his weight into her, not crushing, just solid, just there, grounding her as his mouth follows the path his hands have already mapped. He kisses the curve of her collarbone, lingers in the hollow of her throat, before dragging his lips lower, lower, the heat of his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Her hands find his shoulders, fingers digging in,not to push him away, but to anchor herself, to stop herself from floating away on the sheer gravity of this moment, of him.

"Caleb," she breathes, barely recognizing her own voice.

He hums in response, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t hurry. If anything, he slows down further, dragging his lips across the swell of her chest, nipping lightly, his tongue soothing over the spot a second later. She shudders beneath him, a sharp intake of breath that he must hear, must feel, because his grip on her tightens, his fingers flexing where they rest against her waist.

"You're killing me," she murmurs, barely a whisper.

Caleb chuckles against her skin, the vibration of it sending a shiver straight down her spine. He lifts his head just enough to meet her eyes, his gaze molten, dark and unreadable.

"Good," he murmurs.

And then he kisses her again.

It’s different this time. Deeper. Slower. Like he’s savoring her, like he’s drinking her in. His hands slide up her sides, warm and steady, tracing every inch of bare skin now exposed to him. He takes his time memorizing the shape of her, the way she moves beneath him, the way she sighs into his mouth when he presses closer.

She can’t think.

Doesn’t want to.

All she knows is the way her body responds to him, the way she melts under his touch, the way heat pools low in her stomach, insistent and unbearable.

Her fingers move without thought, sliding beneath the hem of his shirt, feeling the taut muscles of his stomach, the dip of his hip bones. He sucks in a breath at the contact, a sharp exhale against her lips, but he doesn’t stop her when she pushes the fabric up.

"Off," she demands, and for once, he listens without teasing.

The shirt is gone in an instant, and then it’s skin on skin, heat on heat. She feels the way his body tenses when she drags her hands over him, the way he shivers under her touch just as much as she does under his.

His belt clinks softly as she works it open, the metal slipping free, and he exhales, shaky, as she makes quick work of the button and zipper.

Her turn.

And if he had been patient with her, she is the opposite with him.

Caleb barely has time to react before she flips their positions, pushing him onto his back, straddling him in one fluid motion. His eyes darken further, his fingers tightening instinctively against her hips, like he wasn’t expecting it. Like he wasn’t expecting her to take control.

She grins down at him, breathless, triumphant.

He exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head.

"You are something else," he mutters.

She leans down, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then lower, following the same path he had traced on her, tasting him the way he had tasted her.

His breath hitches when her lips reach his stomach, and she feels the way his fingers twitch where they rest against her thighs, the way his body tightens, waiting, anticipating.

"Now who's killing who?" she teases.

Caleb groans, dropping his head back against the pillow, his grip on her tightening. "Jesus Christ."

She smirks, trailing her fingers lower, lower and then neither of them are teasing anymore.

Caleb exhales sharply as she strips him down, his sweatpants slipping past his hips, over his thighs, pooling somewhere on the floor,not that either of them care where. She moves with intent, her hands sure, her touch unrelenting, and when she straddles his thigh, pressing herself against him, he knows, he just fucking knows that he’s in trouble.

Her mouth finds his again, slow and deep, like she’s savoring the taste of him, like she’s drinking in his breath, his warmth, the weight of his body beneath hers. And then,fuck,her fingers trace the waistband of his boxers, barely skimming the skin just below his navel, teasing, testing.

His fingers twitch against her waist. His thigh flexes beneath her. His resolve frays. Then she palms him through the thin fabric, and the sound that rips from his throat is utterly wrecked.

He’s hard,half-hard, caught somewhere between soft and aching, between wanting and already lost and she can feel it.

She sighs, a pleased, eager little sound that makes his pulse pound against his ribs. Her breath is hot against his mouth when she whispers, “I need you.”

That’s all it takes, his control snaps.

One second, she’s above him, flushed and wanting, and the next, she’s on her back again, a gasp slipping past her lips as he presses her into the mattress, his weight covering her.

His boxers hit the floor.

When she finally sees him, she stops breathing. She’s tried before, teased and coaxed, attempted to slip a hand beneath the fabric when things got heated, but he had always stopped her. Not yet. Not until we’re ready.

But now? Now, there’s nothing stopping her.

She reaches for him, her fingers wrapping around the solid heat of him, and his whole body shudders.

“Fuck,” Caleb grits out, his head dropping to her shoulder. His muscles go tight, his breath stuttering against her skin. “Next time, promise. Too sensitive.”

The need in his voice sends a fresh wave of heat through her, but she doesn’t argue.

Because he’s already moving.

Already settling between her legs, one strong hand reaching for the nightstand, fingers fumbling for a condom before he rips the foil open with his teeth. She watches, eyes dark, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he rolls it on, as his hand wraps around the base of him, stroking once, twice.

Then he’s there.

Right there.

His cock brushes against the damp fabric of her panties, pressing, teasing, and he groans, low and strained, while she whimpers beneath him, her hips tilting instinctively, chasing the friction.

“You’re teasing me,” she gasps.

Caleb swallows hard. “I’m teasing both of us.” His voice is wrecked, full of something desperate, something barely restrained.

He moves to push her panties to the side, but she shifts beneath him, impatient. “Just take them off.”

His fingers tighten against her hip, his forehead dropping to hers, his breath coming in ragged pants. “No… I…” He exhales sharply, stumbling over his words like it's some kind of dirty secret. “I want to do it like this.”

There’s something about the way he says it, rough and unsure but so fucking certain all at once, that makes her heartbeat stutter.

His cock slides through her folds, the thick head of him pressing, gathering the wetness slicking her thighs, spreading her open inch by inch.

“Caleb,” she gasps, her hands flying to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.

He groans, his jaw clenched so tight she swears it might crack, his fingers bruising against her thighs as he hooks them over his hips, adjusting her, positioning her.

He sinks in. Slow, so unbearably slow.

A sharp, breathless moan tears from her throat as he stretches her, as he fills her, as he pushes deeper, deeper, until he’s fully seated inside her, until there’s nowhere left for him to go.

Caleb curses, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding still, of letting her adjust, of not moving even though every nerve in his body is screaming at him to fucking move.

They don’t breathe, don’t speak - they just feel.

Caleb swears he’s going to take his time.

Swears he’s going to savor this, stretch it out, make it last.

But the second he’s fully inside her, when she gasps, her body clenching tight around him and he knows he’s a liar.

Because nothing could have prepared him for this.

For the way she feels.

For the way her walls squeeze around him, hot and slick and pulsing with every breathless moan she exhales.

His first thrust is slow, deliberate, dragging himself almost completely out before pressing back in, burying himself to the hilt. He groans, his forehead dropping to hers, his fingers digging into the plush curve of her thighs as he does it again, pulling out just enough to make her whimper, before rolling his hips forward in one smooth, deep stroke.

She gasps, her body arching, her hands tightening against his shoulders.

“Caleb,” she breathes, half a plea, half a prayer. Fuck.

His control splinters, frays at the edges. He does it again and again.

Each thrust measured, precise, pushing deep, dragging back, building a rhythm that has her panting beneath him, her nails raking against his back, leaving little half-moons in his skin.

He hisses through his teeth, feeling her everywhere, wrapped around him, pressed beneath him, every shift, every movement sending pleasure sparking through his spine.

His grip tightens against her waist, angling her just a little higher, just a little wider, and when he thrusts this time he finds it.

That spot. The one that has her gasping, her mouth falling open, her body jolting beneath him.

The sound she makes needy, breathless, utterly wrecked and shatters whatever was left of his restraint.

His pace falters. Not slower,harder.

More desperate.

More real.

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenching as he moves faster, grinding his hips against hers, pulling her tight against him as he drives into her with reckless precision.

And then,fuck,she starts meeting him.

Rolling her hips in perfect sync, matching him thrust for thrust, gasping every time he sinks deep, clenching around him in a way that makes his vision blur.

“Goddamn it,” he groans, dropping his head to the crook of her neck, sucking a mark into her skin, dragging his teeth against her pulse.

It’s too much. Not enough.

His hands roam her body, trailing down to grip her ass, tilting her even higher, changing the angle just slightly, and she shatters beneath him.

She cries out, high and keening, her walls clenching around him, squeezing, pulsing, pulling him deeper as she falls apart. Her whole body shakes, her nails dragging down his back, her thighs trembling as she rides out the aftershocks.

Caleb fucking loses it.

His rhythm stutters, his hips snapping forward in short, rough thrusts, chasing the fire burning in his veins, the heat curling tight in his gut.

He’s so close,too close,her moans, her tightness, the way she just fucking broke apart under him,it’s too much.

“Shit,” His voice is raw, wrecked, barely even a word as he slams into her one final time, burying himself as deep as he can go, his body locking up as pleasure explodes through him.

His fingers dig into her hips, his jaw going slack, a guttural moan ripping from his throat as he spills into the condom, his whole body shuddering from the force of it.

The world tilts.

Goes hazy.

Neither of them move.

Their bodies still pressed together, breaths ragged, skin damp, the room filled with the sharp scent of sex and sweat and something else, something deeper, something neither of them have the words for.

Then, slowly,so fucking slowly,Caleb exhales, his arms trembling as he lowers himself just enough to press a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, voice thick, spent.

She breathes out a soft, exhausted laugh, her fingers tracing mindless patterns against his back.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Holy shit.”

And when Caleb grins, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth, she knows,

This was worth the wait.

Caleb had intended to practice.

Really.

He’d told himself this was going to be a serious training session, just him, the ball, and an open court. And then she had shown up , standing at the edge of the court with that little tilt to her head, arms crossed, pretending like she wasn’t waiting for an invite.

And, well, he had no choice but to let her stay.

So now, instead of running drills, instead of practicing free throws, instead of actually getting better at his game, he was goofing off , dribbling just out of her reach, grinning as she huffed in frustration.

"Caleb," she groans, reaching again.

"Mm?" He spins the ball between his fingers, just to show off .

"Give me the ball."

He raises a brow. "What’s the magic word?"

"Give me the ball or else ."

"Ooh, threats ," he teases, dodging her lunge, dribbling back a few steps, smirking as she glares .

She huffs , determined now, and lunges for him again , trying to snatch it from his hands. He steps back—too slow this time, too cocky—because she manages to slap the ball just right, making it bounce away.

Her grin is instant, triumphant, as she makes a break for it.

But Caleb?

Caleb is faster .

He’s on her before she can reach it, grabbing her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her straight off the ground.

She squeals , half-laughing, half-struggling as he spins them in a slow, taunting circle.

"Nice try, Lit Girl," he murmurs against her ear.

She kicks at him—useless, because he’s got her , and they both know it .

"Cheater!" she yells.

Caleb laughs , setting her back down, but he doesn’t let go . Instead, he shifts , arms still wrapped around her, positioning himself behind her, his chest flush against her back.

"You wanna shoot?" he murmurs, voice low and way too smug .

She tilts her head up, her breath a little uneven, cheeks flushed —probably from the struggle, but maybe from something else .

" Yes ," she grumbles.

"Alright, then let me help ."

His hands slide over her arms, guiding her forward, holding her in place . He adjusts her grip on the ball, pressing against her as he aligns their movements.

"Keep your elbow under the ball," he murmurs near her ear, his voice softer now, almost serious . "Let your fingers do the work."

She swallows.

His breath is warm against her skin, his body solid behind hers, his hands still over hers.

This feels like more than just a game.

She takes a breath, adjusts her stance, focuses —not on him, not on the way he feels pressed up against her, but on the shot . She exhales, shifts, and releases. The ball arcs, wobbly, a little off but still It goes in .

She gasps , twisting in his arms, grinning up at him. "Did you see that?"

Caleb laughs , nodding, hands still holding her in place .

"You helped ," she says, suddenly aware of just how close he still is, their bodies flush , his hands resting firmly against her sides.

He shrugs, looking way too pleased with himself. "I told you I was a good teacher."

She huffs , but her smile doesn’t fade .

She’s still buzzing .

Not just from the game, not just from the way Caleb had wrapped around her, guiding her shot, but from everything , the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way they fit together .

And he knows .

She can feel it in the way he grins against her skin, in the way his hands slide slowly and deliberate over her waist, fingers pressing into the soft curve of her hips.

He nips at her neck.

She squeals , giggling as she tries to shove him off, but Caleb is persistent , tilting his head, teeth grazing over the sensitive spot just below her ear before he soothes it with a slow , playful stroke of his tongue.

" Caleb ," she gasps, squirming.

"Mmm?" He hums against her skin, like he’s not even doing anything , like he’s innocent , like he’s not smiling against the slope of her neck as she shudders .

"Stop…" she tries, but she’s laughing , her hands shoving at his chest in weak , useless attempts.

And fuck , he loves the struggle.

Loves the way she wiggles against him, loves the way her breath catches when he presses closer, his body flush against hers, trapping her perfectly between him and the gym wall.

"You don’t sound like you want me to stop," he murmurs, breath warm against her throat.

She groans, pushing at him again, but there’s no force behind it. Caleb chuckles , pulling back just enough to catch her eyes, his own dark with something wicked . 

"C’mon, Lit Girl," he says, voice thick with amusement, "let’s go take a shower."

Her breath catches . The way he says it, casual, teasing , but with that look , sends a shiver straight down her spine.

She nods.

Caleb doesn’t hesitate.

His fingers slide against hers, lacing them together as he pulls her with him, weaving through the empty gym hallways until they reach the shower room .

And the second the door closes, the second he turns the lock. He’s on her .

His mouth finds hers, hungry , eager, hands framing her face as he backs her against the cool tiled wall.

She gasps against his lips, and he swallows it, kissing her deeply , his body pressing into hers, pinning her gently but firmly as his fingers slide down her sides, his palms covering the dip of her waist.

Her head spins, her hands clutching at his damp T-shirt, fingers curling as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in slow, deliberate strokes.

The heat between them is instant, stronger than before, more urgent, more desperate .

Because now?

Now there’s nothing holding them back.

Her back presses against the cool tile, a sharp contrast to the heat building between them. Caleb’s mouth is relentless against hers—hungry, coaxing, teasing—and she lets herself sink into it, her fingers fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer , like she needs him flush against her or she might collapse .

He makes a low sound against her lips, something like approval, something like satisfaction , and his hands move—skimming over her ribs, sliding down to her hips, gripping tight before he lifts her.

She gasps , arms wrapping around his shoulders on instinct as he pins her against the wall, his body solid between her legs, holding her there like she belongs against him.

And fuck , maybe she does .

His mouth leaves hers only to trail down her jaw, nipping softly before dragging his tongue over the same spot, his hands kneading at her thighs, keeping her anchored to him.

" Caleb ," she breathes, her head tilting back as he sucks a slow, teasing kiss against her throat.

He hums, lips curving against her skin, the vibration sending a sharp pulse of need through her stomach. " Yeah, baby? "

The pet name —low, effortless, like it’s natural —sends another rush of warmth through her, her breath stuttering.

She barely registers the sound of the water turning on before Caleb is shifting, his grip adjusting , making sure she’s steady before stepping into the stream, the warm spray cascading over both of them .

It soaks into his clothes immediately, fabric clinging to his body, his muscles tensing beneath it, and she—

She stares .

Because fuck .

She’s seen him shirtless so many times —on the court, in his dorm, after practice—but this?

This is different .

The way his white T-shirt is plastered to his chest, outlining every sharp angle of his abs, the way his dark hair is slicking back against his head, little beads of water rolling over his cheekbones, down the column of his throat—

Yeah .

She’s so fucked .

Caleb watches her, his grin slow , knowing . " Like what you see? "

Her lips part , but before she can even think of a reply, he moves .

Grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere outside the stream.

And now she’s really staring.

Because his skin is glistening beneath the water, the sharp definition of his stomach on full display , his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths as he steps back toward her, crowding her against the tile.

" You’re not fair ," she manages, voice slightly breathless.

Caleb just grins , hands sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing just beneath her ribs, teasing, playing . " No? "

She huffs , shoving lightly at his chest, but he catches her wrists , bringing them up to wrap around his shoulders, forcing her to hold onto him.

" Uh-uh ," he murmurs, his lips brushing against hers in a way that’s infuriatingly light , his nose bumping against hers. " You started this, Lit Girl. "

She shivers, her fingers curling against the back of his neck. " You’re the one who said we should take a shower. "

" Exactly. " His hands slide lower, over the curve of her hips, pressing firm against her lower back. " So let’s get you out of these clothes. "

And then he’s kissing her again , deep and demanding , and any thought she had of teasing him back is gone, gone, gone .

Because fuck .

She’s his .

And he knows it .

Her pulse hammers against her ribs as Caleb kisses her like he’s starving , like he needs her, like he’s been holding back and now he won’t anymore .

The warm spray of the shower cascades over them, soaking through the last of her clothes, but it doesn’t matter . Nothing outside of this matters.

Because Caleb is everywhere .

His hands are at her hips, pressing her against him, his fingers flexing like he’s holding himself back , like he’s fighting the urge to take her apart completely . His mouth moves against hers, slow and deep, dragging over her lips in teasing, taunting strokes before his tongue slides against hers, making her whimper .

She hates that he loves that sound.

She hates that he grins against her mouth when he hears it, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

She digs her fingers into the bare skin of his back, her nails scraping lightly, and he shudders , his breath stuttering as his hands tighten.

" Fuck ," he mutters, his lips moving down now, pressing slow, wet kisses against her jaw, her neck, trailing lower, lower , until his teeth scrape just over the sensitive spot where her shoulder meets her throat.

She gasps , her back arching, her hands slipping down over the damp heat of his shoulders, her fingers digging into the defined muscles there.

" Sensitive, huh? " he teases, his voice low, rough, edged with something darker , something more .

" Caleb— "

" I got you, baby ," he murmurs, kissing the spot again , softer this time, then pressing his tongue against the same place, slow and hot , sending a violent shiver down her spine.

His hands move— dragging over her wet clothes, teasing, playing with the hem of her top like he’s debating pulling it off.

And she—

She wants him to .

She wants him.

So badly it’s ridiculous .

" Caleb ," she murmurs again, voice breaking slightly when he bites down—just a little , just enough to make her press into him.

" Mmm? "

" Off ," she says, breathless, tugging at the waistband of his shorts, her own soaked shirt clinging to her skin, annoying now, in the way . " Everything—off. "

Caleb pulls back just enough to look at her.

And fuck .

The way he’s looking at her?

Like she’s it .

Like she’s his .

Like he’s about to ruin her.

" Yes, ma’am ," he murmurs, lips quirking, eyes dark with something dangerous .

Then he’s pulling at her clothes , and she’s helping , and soon, soon, there’s nothing between them, and the only thing she knows is him .

His hands. His mouth. His body, solid and warm and pressed against hers in a way that has her aching .

And when he leans in, lips brushing against hers again, slow and taunting , he smirks .

" Still wanna shower, Lit Girl? "

She laughs , breathless, wrapping her arms around his neck.

" Not even a little. " Caleb’s grin is wolfish .

Like he expected that answer. Like he was hoping for it. Like he’s been waiting for her to say something that gives him permission to forget whatever flimsy restraint he still has left.

His hands slip over her wet skin, slow and claiming , dragging down her back before settling firm at her waist, pulling her flush against him.

" Good, " he murmurs, his breath warm against her lips, teasing, taunting , like he’s relishing in the fact that they both know what’s coming next.

His fingers tighten at her waist, his grip firm but gentle , like he’s grounding himself, like he’s holding back just enough .

" You drive me crazy, " he breathes against her mouth, his lips brushing against hers in a way that makes her shiver , makes her tilt her head up, chase his kiss before he even gives it to her. " You know that? "

She hums , teasing. " I might’ve noticed. "

Caleb huffs a laugh, grinning and then he kisses her again. Fuck. It’s slow . Deep and it wrecks her.

His hands move mapping her, learning her, like he can’t help himself, like he needs to memorize the way she feels beneath him, against him, with him.

Her nails scrape against his scalp, her body pressing into him, and he groans , low and gravelly , his hands flexing before one of them slides up , fingers threading into the damp strands of her hair, holding her there, kissing her like she’s the only thing keeping him alive .

And when his other hand moves, drags down the dip of her spine, grips her hip, lifts her slightly against him, she gasps into his mouth.

Caleb grins at the sound, tilting his head, deepening the kiss, pressing her harder against the shower wall as the warm water spills over them, steam curling around them, making everything feel hazy and heady and hot .

" Caleb ," she breathes, her voice unsteady, fingers tightening against his shoulders.

He groans , his forehead dropping to hers for a second, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths.

" Fuck, " he mutters, voice strained. " You’re killing me. "

She smiles , dazed, breathless, lips kiss-drunk . " Good. "

Caleb chuckles, low and wrecked and then he tilts her chin up , his thumb brushing over her mouth, his gaze heavy, dark, starving .

" I hope you know, " he murmurs, voice thick with promise, " I’m about to take my time with you. "

She shivers , her breath catching, her fingers curling into him, ready .

" Then what are you waiting for? " she whispers.

That’s all it takes. Because Caleb? He never denies her what she wants. The second the words leave her mouth, something in Caleb snaps .

One moment, he’s teasing , drawing it out, keeping his control on a razor-thin edge. 

His mouth crushes against hers, swallowing her gasp, kissing her deep and hungry , like he’s done holding back, done pretending he can take this slow. His hands grip tight , fingers digging into her hips, pulling her into him, dragging her against the solid heat of his body.

The water beats down on them, hot and heavy, but all she can feel is him .

His hands, his mouth, the way he groans into her when she rolls her hips just right , the way he shudders when her nails scratch down his back.

" Fuck, baby, " he mutters, voice rough, desperate, his lips trailing down the curve of her jaw, over the slope of her neck. " You have no idea… "

She gasps when his teeth scrape her skin, when his tongue follows in slow, wet strokes, soothing the spot where he bit down.

" Caleb, " she breathes, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging and he loses it .

One hand grips beneath her thigh, lifting her effortlessly, pressing her back against the cool tile as he slots himself between her legs, his body covering hers, his weight pinning her just right.

" Jesus, " he groans , burying his face against her neck, his breath ragged, his hands roaming , unable to stop touching her, unable to hold still . " I can't, fuck, I can't go slow. Not this time. "

She doesn’t want him to .

" Then don’t, " she whispers, breathless, wrecked, dying for him, her thighs tightening around his hips, her hands gripping his shoulders. " Don’t hold back. "

Caleb growls —low and primal —and then he takes her .

Hard. Fast. Like he needs her, like he’s been starving for this, for her , for so goddamn long and fuck , she feels it.

Every snap of his hips, every sharp, desperate thrust, every strangled, needy moan he presses into her skin, into her mouth, into the space between them.

She clings to him, nails digging into his skin, her head tilting back against the tile as pleasure slams through her, hot and unrelenting .

" Baby… "

" Caleb… "

They’re a mess , gasping, moaning, moving in frantic, helpless rhythm, bodies slick with heat, with water, with sweat.

It’s fast , it’s wild , it’s reckless and she loves it.

He drives into her like he’s trying to leave himself there, like he wants to brand her with the weight of him, the heat, the desperate fucking need clawing up his spine. His hands—god, his hands—grip her thighs, spreading her open wider, holding her still as he pounds into her with ragged, wrecked groans that vibrate against her throat.

The steam thickens, turning the air feverish, heavy, making every breath come in sharp, shattered gasps. The water slides down their bodies, washing away nothing, because the filth between them isn’t something that can be rinsed clean—it’s in the way he bites her shoulder, in the way she drags her nails down his back, in the wet, messy slap of skin against skin as he fucks her against the wall like he’s got no other purpose but this. But her.

Her moans break, splintering into little whimpers when he shifts, changes the angle, and—

"God, fuck, Caleb—"

Her voice is wrecked, raw, and it makes something in him snap again, something that was barely holding together in the first place. His grip tightens, bruising, and he drags her down onto him in time with his thrusts, grinding deep, making her feel every inch of him stretching her open, fucking her full.

"You’re mine," he rasps, teeth scraping over the bruises he’s already left on her throat, his breath hot and frantic against her skin. "You fucking feel that?" He slams into her harder, making her cry out, her head knocking back against the tile. "You take it so good, baby—fuck, I can feel you squeezing me, can feel how bad you want this."

She’s beyond words, beyond anything but the heat, the pleasure, the way he’s ruining her, unraveling her, making her fall apart in his hands. Her nails rake over his scalp, gripping his hair, and she yanks his mouth back to hers, kissing him sloppy, messy, desperate. He groans into it, hips stuttering for half a second before he finds his rhythm again—hard, fast, relentless.

And then she breaks.

It hits like a tidal wave, tearing through her, making her legs shake, making her body seize up around him, tight and wet and pulsing as she cries out into his mouth. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, just grits his teeth and fucks her through it, chasing his own end, grunting curses against her lips until "Fuck!"

His whole body locks up, slamming flush against hers, his fingers digging into her thighs, his breath shuddering as he spills into her, deep and hot, burying himself to the hilt.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the water still pounding down around them, their bodies tangled, pressed together like they don’t ever want to separate.

Then Caleb exhales, a rough, wrecked sound against her skin, and kisses the side of her neck, slow, lingering.

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice thick, hoarse. "That’s what I fucking thought."

—-

The moment her name is called, Caleb swears his heart could burst.

She walks across the stage with her head held high, cap slightly askew from the humid spring air, gown flowing with each step, that telltale glimmer of pride in her eyes. The sun catches the edges of her hair, turning it gold, making her glow in a way that makes something tight and overwhelming wrap around his ribs.

His hands grip the program in his lap, knuckles white, barely containing himself as she reaches the podium, accepts her diploma with a firm shake of the dean’s hand. She smiles,big, radiant, a culmination of years of hard work, of sleepless nights spent buried in textbooks, of stress and triumph and everything in between.

And then she turns.

Scans the crowd.

Looking for him.

His pulse thunders. The second her gaze locks onto his, he feels the warmth in his chest explode into something uncontrollable, something beyond words. His throat is tight, but that doesn’t stop him from cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling loud enough for half the goddamn stadium to hear.

“THAT’S MY GIRL!”

A few people in the audience laugh. A couple graduates glance his way, amused.

She groans audibly, shaking her head, rolling her eyes,but there’s no hiding the way her lips twitch, the way her face flushes deeper, the way her eyes soften. Because it’s Caleb. And he’s always been like this.

Always loud.

Always obnoxious.

Always making sure she knows how damn proud of her he is.

By the time the ceremony concludes, the air is thick with the scent of flowers and freshly cut grass, with the distant hum of laughter, the excitement of new beginnings. Graduates toss their caps, families cheer, cameras flash, an entire sea of people celebrating the end of something monumental.

But she’s only looking for one person.

And Caleb, he’s already moving.

She barely has time to react before he reaches her, sweeping her off the ground in one smooth, effortless motion. A sharp, startled laugh escapes her lips as she wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him, her diploma still clutched in one hand.

He spins her once, then pulls her in for a kiss, hard, deep, unrestrained, as if he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment.

“You did it,” he murmurs against her lips, breathless. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

She giggles, her fingers tangling in his hair, pressing her forehead to his, breathing him in. “We did it,” she corrects softly. “We made it through.”

A smirk tugs at his mouth as he sets her back down, hands lingering on her waist, thumbs brushing circles over the soft fabric of her gown. “College is over,” he muses, almost to himself.

“College is over,” she repeats, and there’s something in the way she says it,finality, disbelief, excitement. A quiet acknowledgment that everything is about to change.

Caleb, he feels it, too.

Which is why he takes a slow, steady breath. He swallows against the lump in his throat and with a quiet exhale, he steps back,just slightly, then drops to one knee.

The world stills.

Her breath catches, a sharp, startled inhale that echoes between them, between the distant noise of celebration, between the sun hanging warm and golden in the afternoon sky.

She stares, wide-eyed, uncomprehending, as he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small red velvet box, and flips it open.

Inside, nestled against the deep crimson, is the most beautiful ring she has ever seen.

Her hands tremble.

Caleb lets out a short, nervous laugh, the first crack in his usual unwavering confidence. “I, uh…” He huffs, shaking his head. “I was gonna come up with this whole speech, you know? Something long. Thoughtful. Romantic as hell.”

Her lips part, her breath coming faster now, eyes glistening, her heartbeat a frenzied drum against her ribs.

“But then I realized…” He exhales, gaze steady, unwavering. “I don’t need a speech. I just need you.”

She lets out something between a laugh and a sob, pressing a shaking hand to her mouth, blinking fast against the tears that blur her vision.

“This,” He gestures between them, between the space they barely know how to exist without. “,is all I’ve ever wanted. It’s all I’ll ever want.” His throat bobs, emotion thick in his voice. “You. Me. Forever.”

The wind stirs between them, warm and sweet, thick with the scent of spring.

“Will you marry me?”

The words settle, take root, unravel inside her like something inevitable, something unshakable.

Her voice wavers, but there’s no hesitation when she whispers, “Yes,” then she’s crying.

Then she’s falling into him, barely giving him time to rise before she’s wrapping herself around him, arms locking tight, sobbing out something unintelligible against his shoulder.

He laughs,shaky, relieved, overwhelmed,holding her just as tight, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other still gripping the ring box, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, like he’s too busy memorizing the way she feels in his arms to think about anything else.

Finally, he pulls back just enough to slide the ring onto her trembling finger, his own hands not much steadier. The band gleams in the sunlight, catching the light as he runs his thumb over the metal, as if making sure it’s real, making sure she’s real.

“I bought this last year,” he confesses, voice quieter now, more intimate. “While you were still a junior.”

Her head jerks up in surprise, blinking at him, stunned.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to her temple, to her cheek, to the corner of her mouth. “I knew what I wanted long before then,” he admits, voice rough with honesty. “But I told myself to wait. Thought… I don’t know, maybe we should just let life happen first.”

Her fingers curl against his chest, her tears still damp against his skin.

“But I’m done waiting for good things to happen to us,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to hers. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I’m never letting go.”

A fresh wave of emotion crashes over her, her breath catching as she looks at him,really looks at him,sees the truth in his eyes, sees everything she has ever wanted staring right back at her.

She exhales, her lips curling, her hands gripping him tighter.

“Good,” she whispers, voice thick with love, with promise. “Because if you think you’re ever getting rid of me, you’re so wrong.”

Caleb grins,wide, unguarded, his dimples deep, his eyes alight with something reckless and adoring.

“Yeah,” he breathes, dragging his lips over hers in a kiss that tastes like salt and laughter, like endings and beginnings, like the only certainty in an uncertain world.

“You’re mine.”