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“You… what?”
You cock an eyebrow at Caleb, watching him pull out a myriad of cords from his school backpack and place them on the kitchen table. “That whole walk home and you’re only now telling me that you volunteered to try a period pain simulator? Why would you even want to feel what cramps are like?
“Why not?” He shrugs, nonchalant. “More guys should get on the same page about how much periods are supposed to hurt. And gettin’ older means being responsible and learning how other people’s bodies work.”
“So it’s not to impress or show off to some ‘special’ girl in your class?”
He rolls his eyes at you. “Pip, we’ve been over this.”
“Okay, okay.” You step closer, dropping your bookbag on a nearby chair and eyeing the device. “But why do I get the feeling that I need to be the control subject?”
“Nah, pipsqueak.” He gives you that breathtaking, boyish smile that makes your heart flutter. “I already have comparison data. I’m not gonna ask you to suffer through cramps when you already do every month for, like, over a week.”
“What if I want to give it a go?” You saunter closer, trying to hide the mischievous smile that threatens to take over your face. “For science.”
His raised eyebrows and dry expression immediately tell you that the ruse is up. “...A little pipsqueak just wants to show me up on pain tolerance, doesn’t she?”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Like a neon sign saying ‘Caleb’s sooo in for it’.”
“Are you gonna back down from a competition?”
“Nope.” He sighs, seeming resigned to his fate. “Just don’t make fun of me too much. I’ve heard most guys give up at level four.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage.” You can’t help but wiggle a bit from preemptive confidence. Caleb was definitely going to lose. Pain is, unfortunately, your specialty after years of agonizing menstrual cycles.
You watch him set up the device, unable to stop your eyes wandering over his face and hands. Caleb is always so diligent; calm, focused, relaxed. And then there’s how his long fingers hold every piece with such care. Memories of how he touches you just as gently, combing your hair or massaging your lower back when you're in pain, makes your heart rate suddenly spike.
Your ears grow warm and you make sure your hair covers them. It’s easy to hide the flipping feeling in your stomach after so many years. The strange sensation started in your early teens and only grew worse with time. You’d labeled it ‘men that take care of the people they love are adorable’ despite knowing it only happened around Caleb. And he’s definitely cute, though you’ll never tell him that. His aura is somewhere between an adorable labrador puppy and a protective German Shepherd. It’s the perfect mix of softness and strength that you know will have him married to the perfect woman one day. Someone bright and cheerful. Maybe a bit stubborn; the wind to his wings.
You feel an odd heaviness in your chest and rub at your sternum. It’s as if a stone is settled beneath your ribs, suffocating and painful. Caleb looks up from his task with a concerned expression.
“You okay, pipsqueak?”
“I’m fine.” You shrug, “Probably too much spicy ramen. My generation's aging faster than spoiled milk, so I probably have acid reflux already.”
‘Don’t say that.” He winks at you. "Otherwise that makes me ancient.”
“As if.” You scoff, “You’ll be a kid even when you’re old and grey. I know that you’ll always have model planes scattered around, all half finished, and you’ll always say yes to the kids that ask you to play hide and seek with them. Sometimes I don't know who’s having more fun, you or them.”
“Guilty as charged.” He shrugs and returns to his task of plugging in wires. “Delicate things need to be supported and protected. Little kids most of all. People don’t realize how much children see and understand, especially the painful side of things. So a lot of children grow up with scars that only grow bigger with them.”
Something in his voice makes you frown. His expression is neutral, a bit focused, but there’s a resonance of something pained in his tone. You step closer, pretending to be interested in the setup.
“But kids are also resilient. Don’t they bounce back from, like, everything?”
“Not always.” The movements of his hands slow; his long, callused fingers neatly turning on the simulator. “Or it’s better said that resilience needs to find a middle ground. Kids need to be able to hold their own but also have someone safe they can run to at the drop of a hat. Just like you do to me.”
“Ugh…” You roll your eyes, suddenly exasperated. “I’m not a baby anymore, Caleb. It feels like you only see me as a silly little girl when I’m fifteen and at the top of my high school class.”
“Sorry…” His tone makes you reach over and stroke his cheek, but he still seems oddly distant.
“I know it's just habit, Caleb.” You sigh and motion to the constructed period simulator. “Do you want to go first or second?”
“First.” He says, “I might retain a bit of my pride that way.”
Your eyes widen a bit as he pulls up his shirt, holding the hem between his teeth to keep his stomach exposed. It’s almost pornographic with how his abs flex as he fixes the electrodes to his lower abdomen. You eventually have to look away and swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth.
Caleb chuckles playfully at you, the sound somewhat muffled from the fabric in his teeth. “Someone embarrassed?”
“About what?” You snap, turning back to meet his eyes. “Maybe I just don’t find guys with washboard abs worth looking at.”
“If you say so.” He shrugs, seeming nonchalant, and lets his shirt fall over the electrodes and wires. “Okay, I’ll have you start with one and go up.” He hands you a control with dials.
It seemed simple enough, so you place your finger on setting one. “Ready set…”
“Go.”
You click Start and one of Caleb’s eyebrows raises. He glances at you. “Thought it would tickle, but it’s kinda like when you overdo a workout.”
“Oh.” You tease, “So you can even feel something at level one?”
“Sassy little pipsqueak, aren’t you.” He reaches over to gently ruffle your hair. “I just wanna get an understanding. So either help me along or shush.”
“When do I just ‘shush’?”
“Never.” Caleb sighs, resigned to the fact that ‘sass’ is practically your default setting, then nods at the device. “Let’s go two.”
You click to the second level and watch him frown. “What, not enough?”
“It’s just not exactly like what the textbook describes.” He cocks his head to the side, observing. “I think it’s because the simulator only affects muscles. Let’s try three.”
You oblige and try not to grin when he winces and groans. “Feel it now?”
“The on and off is the worst part.” He grimaces and places a palm on his stomach. “Seriously, does period pain just come and go randomly? It’s like you can’t even prepare for a surprise attack.”
“Yup.” You discreetly increase the level to four. “And sometimes it travels places that even doctors blush at.”
Caleb makes it to level six before he suddenly goes pale. You immediately return the setting to zero. “That’s it, buster. You’re done.”
He lets out a long breath of relief. “Good call. I thought I was gonna puke.”
“We do, sometimes.” You shrug. “Puke and blood are pretty normal for people who have menstrual cycles or who can get pregnant.”
Caleb is quiet for a moment before mumbling. “Biology really is fucked.”
“Did you just…” You grin at him, delighted. “Did you just curse?”
“Nope. Dunno what you’re talking about.” He shrugs and pretends to ignore you, but you’re already cupping his cheeks and forcing him to meet your eyes.
“Admit it.” You say, unable to stop grinning. “Or, heck, do it again. You never curse. I feel like I need to get a recording.”
“I curse all the time, pip.” He tries to pull your hands away but eventually gives in. “…Just don’t want you to hear my bad side come out.”
“What if I want to see all your sides?” You can’t help but drop your voice. “Come on. You can be yourself around me, right? So curse all you want.”
Your words have the opposite effect, causing a familiar mask of calm, platonic affection to form on his face. Caleb pinches your cheek.
“Your turn.”
You roll your eyes. “...If you say so.”
Caleb picks up one of the electrodes before going stiff. “Um… we need to stick these on your lower abdomen.”
“Okay.” You push down your skirt until it hangs on your hips, then pull up your shirt to expose your stomach. “All yours, mister scientist.”
Caleb seems strangely awkward as he preps the electrodes, eyes constantly flicking away from you. You eventually poke his cheek. “You’re acting like I’m some virginal sacrifice. It’s just skin, dummy.”
“I just didn’t expect…” He trails off, then swallows and quickly places the last of the electrodes. “All done. Let’s start at level one.”
“Nope.” You take the controller from him. “Seven, at least.”
“No, pip.” His expression is firm, almost domineering as he tries to take the device back. “I don’t want you to bite off more than you can chew.”
“Oh really.” You say dryly, evading his hands and pressing seven. “Oops.”
It’s a familiar feeling: the steel walls of your pain tolerance buffering your discomfort and making it fade to the background. The sensations caused by the simulator are barely background noise compared to your normal cramps.
Caleb’s eyes go wide as you turn to dial to ten. “Pip, please-”
“I’m fine.” You roll your eyes. “My cramps are a hundred times worse, and I’ve heard that pregnancy tops that even more. So this is mini-muffins to the cake of endurable pain.”
He stills, his emotions becoming an unreadable mess, then swallows and looks away. “Experiment done. You can stop hurting yourself.”
“I’m not…” Your trail off, gazing at him. He really seemed to think you are in serious pain and just pretending. You reach up, cupping his cheeks and making him look at you. “I don’t feel anything, Caleb.” You have to resist the impulse to kiss his forehead like when they were younger. “I would never hurt myself on purpose.”
“Are you so sure about that?” He averts his eyes, then does that thing where he breathes out, resets, and gives you a faint grin as if nothing happened. “You win. What am I going to lose this time?”
“You’re such a dummy.” You murmur, then slide your hands around to the back of his neck. “And since you haven't hugged me in weeks, that’s what I’m going to charge: ten Caleb hugs on demand. I should charge you more for interest, but I’ll be lenient this time “
He hesitates for a moment before finally enveloped you in warmth. And you can’t help but inhale how he smells, how his heartbeat resonates into your own. Caleb is the cocoon to your moth while you’re the matter to his gravity. Together, apart, he is a piece of you that can never be lost. Yet he soon pulls away, averting his eyes, and focuses on removing the electrodes from your stomach and putting the period simulator back in its case.
“Thanks for helping.” He places the last of the wires back in his backpack and zips it up. “Seems like people need to design one that has more settings. I wonder if I should build one...”
“Nerd.” You can’t help but wrap your arms around his waist, stilling his movements. “What’s on your mind, Caleb? You seem off today.”
“Just school.” He hesitates for a moment before relaxing into your hold. “Our guest lecturer in biology was a health researcher. It was kinda terrifying to learn that women’s pain and health just gets ignored most of the time.”
“Aha.” You roll your eyes. “Hence the simulator. Mister ‘always mature and responsible’ got curious.”
“Maybe.” He nuzzles into your cheek like when your were children. “Or maybe I started to worry about you.”
“As if.” You scoff, roughly tousling his hair. “And here I was wondering whether you were going to be one of those boys that took health class just to ogle the boob diagrams.”
His change in expression surprises you. Caleb is clearly affronted and even frustrated. “Really, pip?”
Your hands shift, moving from his hair to his shoulders. “Oh wait, are you not into girls?”
He eyes you with a dry expression. “That’s not the issue. I’m more concerned with you thinking I’d pay more attention to poorly drawn body parts than a lecture on anatomy and health inequality.”
“Well my experience with men, as limited as it is, has me biased.” You can’t help the small, happy smile that forms on your face. “I was just joking in the first place, I’ll have you know. But you being so gung ho about it is a nice surprise. What else can mister flyboy shock me with?”
“You’ll just have to stick around and find out.”
“Is that a dare?”
He just pinches your cheek. “I’m gonna start making dinner. Go shower and don’t forget to dry your hair.”
“Ordering me around now?”
“I just know you’ll put it off and whine that you’re too tired after dinner.”
You pout, knowing he was right, and reluctantly step away to grab your bookbag. Strangely, you catch Caleb’s eyes trailing after you when you turn back. He quickly averts them as if nothing had happened. Still, his gaze has you feeling an odd rush in your body, and you feel tense walking to your room and closing the door behind you.
The tense feeling fades during your hot shower, so you’re able to hum lazily as you rummage through your closet. A quick tug had one of Caleb’s t-shirts in your hands. With a self-satisfied smile, you pull it over your head despite your still-wet hair. The fabric was thin after years of washes, but that only makes it softer and more comfortable.
After locating a pair of cotton shorts, you then pad downstairs to the kitchen. The air smells of spices and onions as you find Caleb sliding a pan of something in the oven. He’s always liked cooking, even as a kid, and can now make just about anything. You lean against the wall and watch him. Yet again, the faceless person who would one day become his partner nags at your thoughts. Would they cook together? Laugh in the kitchen? Hug and cuddle with stupid grins on their faces?
A crushing pain in your chest has you grimacing. The heavy stone is back; heavier, more agonizing. Caleb notices the small sound of discomfort you make and strides over.
“You okay, pipsqueak?” He takes your chin, making you look up at him. “Do you have a stomach ache? And why’s your hair still wet?”
“I’m fine, dummy.” You pout at him, your mood suddenly sour and forlorn. “And even if I did have a stomach ache, I’m not made of glass, so stop treating me like I am.”
A look of what could be guilt flashes behind his eyes, and he releases you. “I was just worried… but yeah, you’re not a little kid anymore.”
His tone makes your gut twist. Something is eating at him. Caleb seems happiest when doting on others. So, when he turns away, you reach out, jumping on his back and wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Dry my hair for me?” You murmur, “I’m tired…”
“Do it yourself, pipsqueak.”
“But you’re better at it….” You pout, knowing that he can’t say no when you use a specific tone of voice. And he eventually gives in; perfectly folding to your whims with a gentle sigh that makes him sound like a love-starved puppy.
“You’re lucky I got dinner in the oven already. Sit on the couch and I’ll get the hair dryer.”
You hum a song as you wander to the living room. Gran’s house always reminds you of a quilt; full of comforting things that may look different but fit like puzzle pieces. Just like you and Caleb. He’s handsome, smart, and almost too perfect, while you’re stubborn, awkward, and, according to someone in your class, too loud. Yet you somehow balance Caleb’s solitary nature while he makes you feel comfortable in your own skin.
You scratch under the oversized t-shirt, noting how your damp hair has made the fabric cling to your breasts. Not that it matters around Caleb. He could probably see you naked and not care in the least. Hearing his footsteps, you turn and find him plugging in the hair dryer before sitting on the couch with it in hand
“Come here.” He pats the cushion next to him, tone lower than usual, and you feel an odd flutter in your lower abdomen. It happens sometimes when he is being overbearing. So you just try to ignore the feeling as you step closer.
“Lap.” You cross you arms expectantly. Caleb hesitates for a moment before spreading his legs wider. You turn around and sit down between them, noting how small you seem in comparison to his lanky frame. Caleb threads his fingers in your damp hair.
“Tell me if it’s too hot.”
You just hum in reply, closing your eyes as he turns the hair dryer on. His long fingers, with their rough calluses, feel delicious along your scalp as he uses them to comb your hair. A shiver spreads up your spine when he scratches gently at the back of your head. Caleb immediately turns the dryer off. “Did I pull too hard?”
“No.” You lean back into his chest, feeling oddly itchy. “Your fingers feel really good…”
He swallows, and you feel him take a breath before he turns the hair dryer back on. Your body feels limp and relaxed by the time he’s done. You lean your head back on his shoulder, eyes closed, and sigh happily. Caleb seems to be feeling better too, and he noses at your cheek.
“I didn’t think pipsqueaks had a melting temperature, but you’re like butter in the sun.”
“Says the person who’s so good with his hands that I turned into a puddle.” You turn your head towards him, eyes still closed, and feel his breath tickle your lips. Caleb goes oddly still, but eventually replies in a low tone.
“You gonna fall asleep on me? I can’t finish dinner if you do.”
You pout, nuzzling into his neck like a cat trying to make itself comfortable. One of Caleb’s hands finds your hip and pinches gently. “Come on, pip, you’re gonna ruin dinner and your sleep schedule like this.”
You don’t reply, instead finding his hand with yours. It dwarfs your own. In a moment of impulse, you press his palm flat to your abdomen, noting that he might even be able to cover most of your stomach if his fingers were spread wide. He’s oddly stiff as you confirm that guess.
“Wow…” You eye his hand splayed over your abdomen. “You’re gonna need to find a tall girlfriend, otherwise someone’s in trouble.”
“What does that mean?” His voice is oddly raspy as he rests his forehead on your shoulder. “And why do I even need a girlfriend? All I want to do is take care of you and Gran.”
You roll your eyes, reaching back with one hand to curl your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. Caleb immediately relaxes into you, causing warmth to pool in your veins as he murmurs something and nuzzles into your neck. The way his breath tickles your skin makes you feel woozy. It always has, but today it’s more intense, as if he’s breathing liquor into your veins. The sensation grows when he uses the hand splayed on your stomach to pull you closer.
“Don’t move until I give you permission to.” He breathes before placing his other palm over your eyes. The darkness makes you realize how quickly your heart is beating.
“Caleb?” You murmur, “Why’d you cover my eyes?” He doesn’t reply, and a quiet giggle escapes your lips. “Is this some game you cooked up?”
Leaving one hand still curled in his hair, you use the other to investigate, sliding it over his knee, up his thigh, and are rewarded with a low sound that reverberates from his chest. You pinch his thigh gently and wiggle a bit. “Games need rules, dummy. What am I supposed to do? Describe ten things in the room or something?”
“Just don’t move.” Caleb murmurs, breath tickling the skin of your neck. Feeling playful, you disobey, massaging the back of his head with your fingertips to draw out a low moan. If he’s going to play games then you can too. Yet something about the situation feels off, almost discordant, as if you’re breaking some unsaid rule. Yet you still arch your spine to press your body closer to his. But instead of pinching you like you expected, Caleb sucks in air as if he’s been scalded.
Your voice quickly becomes quiet and breathless. “Caleb, what’s-“ You’re interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and your grandmother's voice carrying in from the other room.
“I’m home, kids. Is that curry I smell?”
Panic sets in and you practically bolt out of Caleb’s arms, your heartbeat pulsing in your ears as you stumble towards the entryway. A sickly sense of shame adds to your chaotic feelings as you listen to him quickly stride towards the kitchen. Nothing about the situation makes sense. The two of you were just playing around like normal. Yet something itchy and aching has taken root deep inside of you; a burgeoning desire finally making itself known.
You try to ignore the sensation as you go to greet grandma. Dinner passes by with the three of you talking and laughing as if everything is normal. But it isn’t. There’s a static in the air; a pulled thread in the fabric of this quilt-like home. So, you’re practically ready to pull your hair out by the time you’re brushing your teeth and glaring at your reflection in the mirror.
“What the heck is wrong with me?” You mutter, rinsing your mouth with a swish of water. A knock at the door precedes Caleb’s muted voice.
“Can I borrow some toothpaste? Didn’t realize there wasn’t any left in the downstairs cabinet.”
Your gut twists as you grab the tube of toothpaste and open the door. His expression seems normal; friendly, playful, neutral. Yet the way he doesn’t keep your gaze for long has you biting your lower lip.
You hide the tube of toothpaste behind your back and swallow nervously. “Did I do something to you, Caleb? Was I too needy earlier or…”
“No, pipsqueak.” His brow furrows in a look of concern. “You didn’t do anything. It was…” He trails off and averts his eyes again. But you still catch something like agony in his gaze.
“Caleb…” You step closer, dropping the hand with the toothpaste to your side while you raise the other to rub at the creases on his brow. “Is it because I keep talking about girlfriends? Is there someone you like that’s with someone else? Or did someone say something weird in class?”
“It’s nothing, pip.” He gives you a faltering smile. “Guess learning about all the stats about female health got me caught up in worrying about your future. A good night’s sleep is all I need to feel right as rain.”
“Okay…” You aren’t convinced but hand him the toothpaste and make your way to your room. The door closes with a quiet click and you lean back against it while you muse. Caleb has always been overprotective. Sometimes to the point of worrying about you excessively. But you sense that whatever odd tension in the air is a result of something more complicated than the issue of your personal health and safety. You can’t help your own worries from tangling up into a mess and eventually give up and go to Caleb’s room. His door is closed, so you knock softly.
“It’s me.” You whisper, “Can I come in?”
There isn’t a reply, just the sound of a quiet groan. Caleb sounds like he’s in pain, so you crack the door open to find that he’s asleep and laying on his bed. The moonlight coming from the window reveals that his brow is damp with sweat. He looks so vulnerable as he groans again, seeming to be caught in a nightmare, so you quickly step inside and approach the bed.
“Caleb?” You sit down beside him, placing a hand on his sternum. “Are you okay?”
His lashes flutter but he doesn’t fully wake, just murmuring in his sleep. “Don’t… go. Don’t leave.”
“No one’s leaving, Caleb.” You hesitate before leaning down and kissing his damp forehead. “I’m right here. If you open your eyes then you won’t be alone anymore.”
He whimpers; a soft, heartbreaking sound that has your eyes pooling with tears. You cup his cheeks and kiss over one of his eyes, then the other, the action feeling oddly familiar.
“Wake up.” You whisper, “No nightmare can take my Caleb from me. So wake up before I go in there and save you myself.”
He seems to regain some semblance of wakefulness, overlapping his hands on yours. “Pip.” He murmurs, “You’re not cold anymore…”
You let out a gasp when he pulls you into bed and curls around you, his chest to your back as you lay facing the wall. You’d often slept side by side as children. But this feels different, whether due to your respective ages or because the two of you hadn’t slept next to each other since Caleb had set an ‘off limits’ rule when he was fourteen. Yet it also feels good, beautifully natural, and a pleasant shiver spreads up your spine when he splays a hand over your abdomen and pulls your hips tighter to his.
“Caleb…” You murmur, “You don’t need to worry about my future. It’ll all work out. And you’ll be happy too. I bet you’ll find someone perfect. Some who’s tall, quiet, and not always racing headlong into danger like an annoying little sister.” You trail off as the fingers on your abdomen curl.
“No.” He murmurs, seeming caught between dream and reality. “You’re not tall.”
“What does my height have to do with it?” You frown, feeling strangely defeated. “I don’t want you to be alone and burdening yourself with some duty to take care of me and Gran for the rest of your life. I want to see you happy. You’re so good with kids that you’d make an amazing dad. I bet all of them would inherit your eye color. And even if you don't want kids, you’ll be an amazing partner. So…” You swallow, your heart suddenly feeling as if it is being ripped from your chest. “So focus on your happiness. Find someone that’s even more important to you than me or grandma. Take care of yourself even when I’m not around to nag you anymore.”
Caleb hugs you around your waist, sealing your back to his chest. “Don’t go...”
“It’s not like I’m going to die, dummy, I’ll just find my own special person to have kids with. And you and I…” Your lip trembles and you realize that you’re about to cry. “…we’ll go over to each other's houses every weekend and all have dinner together. I'm sure I'll like whoever you end up with. Our kids’ll play together like real cousins and… and…”
As hard as you try, you can't continue; can’t conjure an image of such a future. It all just seems dark and empty. Only Caleb’s warmth at your back and his raspy, almost sobbed breaths keep you from the brink of despair.
“I’ll always be your best friend, pipsqueak.” He squeezes you tighter, as if to imprint his warmth on you forever. “I can only be happy if you’re happy. Even when you do leave me.”
You don’t remember falling asleep, yet the moment feels like a dream. Your vision is hazy and filled with bright, soft light that makes it difficult to make things out clearly. But it seems like you’re laying down on a couch in an unfamiliar living room. The space is bathed in sunlight from the opened French doors just a few steps away, and white curtains move lazily in a spring breeze. A sound has you turning your head. Someone tall with dark hair is sitting on the floor with his back resting against the couch; his shoulder so close that you would have only had to stretch a bit to kiss it. Past the man, in his arms, is a sleeping infant. The baby looks so tiny in his embrace that it’s almost comedic. You giggle and the nameless man hums happily in reply. It is a conversation without words, and it fills your chest with warmth. You reach out slowly to slide the back of your fingers along the side of his neck. He feels familiar yet not. Safe and close yet so far away. The infant in his arms yawns, making an adorable scrunching face, then opens its eyes.
You gasp down air as you wake up, feeling as if you’d just been falling through a void. Your heart is thudding against your ribs as you get your bearings. You’re in Caleb’s room, the morning light streaming in through the window, and you're laying on your back with something heavy around your waist. Sitting up brings into view Caleb’s arm curled around you and him lying on his side. His eyes are red at the corners as if he’d been crying the night before. And you realize that yours are also scratchy and swollen. You rub them, feeling the traces of dried tears, and the sensation only makes you feel more confused and guilty. The dream still lingering in your mind brands you with the word ‘sinner,’ marking you as someone who doesn’t want to grow up; who can’t let go. Caleb is still fast asleep when you slide out of bed and pad to the kitchen. Grandma is there, making tea, and gives you a small smile.
“Sweetie...” Grandma says slowly, “I know you and Caleb are close, but he needs space. You can’t go climbing into his bed now that you’re older. You two aren’t children anymore. And being so attached at the hip isn’t going to be good for either of you down the line.”
“Oh…” You bite your lower lip nearly hard enough to break skin. “I know. He was just having a nightmare and I fell asleep while I was comforting him.”
“They’re just nightmares, sweetie. He’s seventeen and can deal with them on his own.”
“But…”
Words fail you. You suddenly realize that you’re staring at the woman who adopted you and Caleb. Who had raised the two of you like siblings. Who had sewn a quilt out of broken pieces and made it warm and safe. And it was a quilt that needed to stay stitched just the way it was or risk all the years of love falling apart like scraps of fabric.
“Okay, grandma, I’ll make sure to give him space.” It’s difficult to hide the whirlwind of painful emotions in your chest, but you manage to fake an obedient smile. “And, yeah you’re right. Nightmares are just nightmares. And dreams aren’t real. I guess growing up is just a little harder than I thought.”