Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To Caleb, loving you was easier than breathing.

It wasn’t something he ever had to think about. It was just there.

From the moment you met as kids, something in him decided. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, not some grand revelation under the stars. It was simple. He wanted to be the one who protected you, who made sure you never had to face the world alone. That instinct grew with him, nestled deep into the way he saw you.

Whenever you scraped your knee or came home with tears in your eyes, he was there—always the first to crouch down beside you. Dirt-streaked arms around your shoulders, hands still sticky from playing tag or digging into the earth, patting your back gently to comfort you, he would wipe your tears as gently as a boy could. 

With all the earnestness of someone who hadn’t yet learned the limits of the world, he’d promise you wouldn’t get picked on again. Not if he could help it.

And he meant it.

As you grew older, so did the quiet rituals he built around you. In middle school and high school, even with two years between you, he never drifted. Not once. He made sure of it. 

He’d wait for you outside your classroom just to hand you your favorite snacks, claiming they were “just extras,” even if he packed them specifically for you. He’d ruffle your hair in the hallway in a way that made you roll your eyes, but you never pushed him away. He walked you to class when he could, and during group activities, he somehow always ended up on your side.

The school was never quiet about it. People whispered. They asked questions. They made assumptions. But Caleb never paid attention to the noise. And if, on some days, the weight of their words started to sink into your shoulders, he’d notice. Always. And without hesitation, he’d offer to shut everyone up—half-joking about stealing the school intercom just to tell them to mind their own business.

Because Caleb would’ve done anything for you. He always had.

And truthfully, you would’ve done the same for him.

So when he asked you to be his date for the dance, even though he technically didn’t need one, Caleb had to fight the knot that formed in his stomach. He could’ve asked anyone—he knew that. He’d always been good at being the guy everyone liked. But asking you felt different. It always had. He told himself it was just because you were his best friend, and the idea of going with anyone else felt wrong.

So when he said, “I can’t find anyone, would you wanna go with me?” his voice had a nervous edge he didn’t usually show. And you? You’d said yes before he could even finish his sentence. No hesitation, not a single doubt in your eyes. 

His heart had stuttered at that—he was the one who was supposed to be sure. But you had always been sure about him, no matter what. He didn’t know how it was possible, but it made him feel lighter, like the world could finally stop being so complicated for once.

And when he pulled you out of the venue that night, dragging you into the cool night air and into the gardens, Caleb could’ve sworn that even the stars were leaning in to watch. You didn’t protest. Not when he tugged you away from the noise, from the chatter and the music, to somewhere quieter. To somewhere just the two of you could exist without anyone else looking in.

Everything between you had changed that night. He could feel it in the way his heartbeat thundered, the way the world seemed to spin more slowly around you. He could feel it when his hand brushed yours, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than they should’ve. It was like all the years of friendship, all the easy jokes and the teasing and the shared secrets, were suddenly not enough. 

But then, they’d never been enough, had they?

Caleb had always been the one to joke, to tease, to make you roll your eyes. He liked to annoy you sometimes—he couldn’t help it. It was a fun way to get your attention. To make you smile. To get you to laugh. It had always been so easy to make you laugh. 

But that night, standing in the middle of that quiet, moonlit garden with the cool breeze tugging at your hair, Caleb felt the shift. 

He tried to look at you, tried to make eye contact like he always did, but now it felt like his gaze would burn you. So instead, he kept fidgeting with his tie, pretending that it was something he could fix, even though nothing about tonight could be fixed in the same way.

"Hey, Pip," he mumbled, trying to sound casual, but failing. His voice had lost its usual steadiness, cracking at the edges. "I, uh... I think it’s pretty obvious..."

Your gaze softened, but you didn’t say anything. You were patient, like always, letting him sort through the mess in his head. He couldn’t meet your eyes, not when every part of him wanted to just... break, to admit something he’d buried for so long.

His fingers twisted the fabric of his tie again, mind racing. Why is this so hard? He wasn’t scared of the dance or the people. But of you. Of what this moment meant.

And then, when he thought he might just fall apart right there, you did something that he hadn’t expected. Something that no amount of teasing, no amount of joking around, no amount of pretending he wasn’t nervous could have prepared him for.

You stepped closer.

You stood on tiptoe, the soft brush of your breath against his cheek making his heart trip over itself. And without saying a word, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. Soft. Gentle. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

For a heartbeat, everything stopped. No more fumbling for words, no more pretending. There was just you and him. And the kiss.

His mind went quiet, the usual whirlwind of thoughts slowing to a stillness he didn’t know he could find. Caleb’s hands reached up, one trembling slightly, before finding their place at your waist. He couldn’t pull away, couldn’t even think about it, as if the kiss grounded him in something he had only ever imagined. Something so tender, so real, that he was afraid if he let go, it would disappear.

When you pulled back, he felt his chest tighten, the space between you now pulsing with all the things unsaid, all the things he had never said. 

"I—" He started, but the words didn’t come out right. His hands dropped, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, full of things he didn’t know how to voice.

He wanted to tell you. That this, you , had always been his favorite part. That no matter how much he tried to cover it up, he had always felt more for you. But the words were stuck, tangled in the silence that followed.

Instead, he pulled you in again, his lips finding yours once more, only this time, there was no hesitation. No more fidgeting. Just the raw, honest truth of everything that had been building between you two for years.

Caleb couldn’t pull away from the kiss. His hands found their way to your back, his fingers gently splayed across the fabric of your dress as if grounding him in the moment. When his body pressed against yours, his heart hammered, his pulse quickened, but for once, it didn’t feel like panic. It felt like relief.

The kiss deepened, like he was savoring every second, making sure it lasted. And in that moment, Caleb realized that this wasn’t just some fleeting thing. This was you , and it had always been you .

But when he finally pulled away, he felt the weight of something more pressing. He could see the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating your face, the way your eyes searched his with a mixture of questions and understanding. Caleb's chest ached, the words he needed to say swirling in his mind, but the courage to speak them felt fleeting, as if the depth of what he was feeling couldn’t possibly fit into words.

“I—” he started, but again, the words felt too small for what he needed to say. He cleared his throat, shaking his head slightly, frustrated at himself for not being able to say what he meant. “I—no matter what I say now, I just…” He trailed off, unable to form the sentence that had been building inside him for so long.

Caleb stood there, staring at you for what felt like an eternity. The silence stretched between you, but instead of suffocating him, it felt oddly comforting. Like you were both suspended in this moment where nothing else mattered.

He reached out slowly, his hand trembling just a little as it rested on your back. He pulled you toward him again, his other hand finding its place in your hair, gently guiding you closer until your forehead rested against his. The sensation of your breath against his skin steadied him, and the ache in his chest grew even more intense, but in a good way. A way that told him he wasn’t alone in this. That you weren’t just his best friend anymore.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I don’t know how to say this,” Caleb murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been trying to pretend I didn’t feel this way, but I—” He swallowed, feeling the rush of emotion swell in his chest again. “I’ve always loved you, Pip. More than a friend. Always.”

He could feel your breath hitch against his skin, your fingers gently curling into the fabric of his shirt, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, your hands finding their way to his back, pulling him closer, pressing your face into his chest. The gesture was so natural, so full of trust, that Caleb didn’t know how to react except to hold you just as tightly.

For a moment, everything felt perfectly still. No words. Just the soft sounds of your breathing and the rhythmic beat of his heart. Then, Caleb instinctively patted your back, a gentle, reassuring motion, like he had done a thousand times before in moments of comfort. His hands moved in soothing circles, feeling the tremor of your body in his arms, and in that moment, everything felt right.

He didn’t have to say more.

“I’m here,” Caleb whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll always be here for you.”

And then, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, he saw it. The same love reflected in your gaze that had been there for years, unspoken until now.

You smiled softly, and that smile, so familiar, so warm, made everything feel like it would be okay. For once, Caleb didn’t have to hide. He didn’t have to keep pretending that he wasn’t scared, that this wasn’t the most vulnerable moment of his life.

“I love you, too,” you said softly.

With a soft laugh, Caleb pulled you closer again, his lips finding yours in a kiss that felt like it could last forever.

Moving to Skyhaven for his pilot training wasn’t easy. He’d always known it wouldn’t be. It wasn’t the long hours or the sleepless nights or the endless simulations that wore him down most days—it was leaving you. It was walking out into the cold, steel mornings without the sound of your voice echoing down the hallway, without your laughter chasing after him like it used to.

And the worst part was it never got easier.

No matter how many days passed, no matter how many successful tests he logged or how far he advanced in the program, the ache of missing you settled into his chest like something permanent. 

Every time he saw the clouds stretch endlessly outside the windows, every time he felt the pull of the sky beneath his wings, he thought of you. Of how he'd promised you once that one day, he'd fly you anywhere you wanted. That he'd take you above the world, where nothing could touch the two of you.

And even though there were nights when he nearly gave in to the temptation to hop on the first available shuttle back to Linkon City, he didn’t. He stayed. For both of you. He stayed because that promise meant something. Because he wanted to earn that future for you. For both of you.

But not a single day went by without hearing your voice.

It didn’t matter how busy you were or how long his days dragged. Somehow, you always made time. A call while brushing your teeth, your camera half-tilted toward the ceiling. A video chat where you both said little and simply existed together, doing your own things. He cherished those calls more than he ever admitted aloud. It was his lifeline, the thread that kept him tethered when everything else in Skyhaven felt too far away.

Right now, your video call glowed softly on his laptop screen, casting warm light across the otherwise dim room. You were surrounded by books and papers, eyebrows furrowed as you flipped through notes, completely in your element. Caleb had stopped doing his own work ten minutes ago—his hand had gone slack on his pen, his notebook abandoned.

He was just watching you. Chin resting on his palm, elbow propped up on the desk, breathing slowly as he memorized the way your fingers turned the pages, the way your lips moved when you read to yourself under your breath. He didn’t need you to look up. This was enough.

Almost.

”Baby?” he called gently.

You only hummed in response.

“I miss you,” he said quietly, like it was a reflex. He’d said it a thousand times since leaving, and still, each time it slipped out, it carried the same truth.

You hummed again, your eyes never leaving the notes in front of you. “Me too.”

He sighed softly. “You don’t sound like you do.”

You finally looked up at him through the screen, that familiar soft smile tugging at your lips. “I miss you,” you repeated, slower this time.

Caleb’s heart squeezed in his chest. He smiled back—a stupid grin, really. Because even after all this time, after all the months spent calling each other from different ends of the sky, that sentence still wrecked him. The fact that you missed him too kept him going.

And the thing was, you were already his. You had been for a while now. But it still hit him like the first time. That, even with the label, with the memories, with the quiet intimacy between your shared spaces—it still felt unreal. That someone like you had chosen someone like him.

“I wish I was there,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Then, you tilted your head, your smile soft but full of something that grounded him. “You’ll come back, and I’ll be here.”

And somehow, that simple truth unraveled the knot in his chest. Not entirely. But enough to breathe a little deeper.

He wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt. Wanted to feel the warmth of your fingers tangled in his again, to lie next to you without a screen in between, without counting the minutes of battery life or signal lag.

But for now, this would have to do.

And somehow, even from a thousand miles away, even with a glowing laptop screen as the only thing between him and the life he missed, Caleb still felt like he was falling in love with you all over again.

Within a few years, he graduated. Finished his training. Earned the wings he’d worked so hard for.

Of course, you were there. There was never a moment in his mind when he imagined you wouldn’t be. He’d visualized this day a thousand times during sleepless nights in Skyhaven—nights when the textbooks blurred and exhaustion crept in—but the one constant in all those versions was you. Always you, standing in the crowd, smiling just like you were now.

The second his name was called and he stood to deliver the valedictorian speech, his eyes searched for you in the sea of faces. He found you easily. You were always easy to find, like his eyes were trained to look for you first in any room. He looked at you more than he looked at the audience, more than the deans, more than his own prepared notes.

When the final applause roared through the open-air hall and the ceremony came to a close, you didn’t hesitate. You were already moving, shouldering past families, weaving through groups of chattering students, determined and sure-footed like always. 

That’s what Caleb loved about you: you didn’t wait for the perfect moment. You made it. You created it.

By the time you reached him, your arms were already outstretched. You threw them around his neck, clinging to him like you were afraid he might float away. The impact nearly knocked him off balance, and his cap slipped sideways, but none of that mattered. He wrapped his arms around you instantly, burying his face in your shoulder, grounding himself in your scent, in your warmth, in the way you felt.

You laughed, breathless, right by his ear. “You did it,” you whispered like it was just for him.

And God, how he relished it.

You didn’t let go for a long time, and he didn’t want you to. He could’ve stayed like that for hours. He didn’t care if people watched, didn’t care if he looked lovesick or clingy or completely undone, because he was. In the best way. In the only way that mattered.

The rest of the day passed in a warm blur. But even through the photos and congratulations and handshakes and laughter, Caleb couldn’t stop smiling. Not because of the diploma in his hand. Not even because of the prestigious wings pinned to his chest.

But because you were with him.

You, who had stayed through every missed call and every late-night crash course, through every “I can’t talk right now, I have flight sim,” and every homesick breakdown he’d barely managed to admit to you. You who believed in him from the beginning—even before he believed in himself.

He introduced you to his batchmates, all of whom greeted you like an old friend. Because to them, you were. You were the voice on the other end of his late-night dorm calls, the reason he rushed back to his room after class, the person he talked about most when he wasn’t talking about airplanes. Everyone knew your name. Caleb made sure of it.

You took photos of everything, flitting around him like your only goal was to capture every angle, every expression. Him in his cap. Him laughing with his classmates. Him with his flight wings gleaming in the sun. And he let you. No complaints. Even when you bossed him around and told him to stop squinting or fix his posture, he just smiled and did as you asked. Because it was you.

But the photo that meant the most—the one that still sits framed on his nightstand to this day—was something he always cherished.

You were laughing at something he’d said, phone halfway tucked in your pocket already, when you suddenly turned and handed it to someone else nearby. “Wait,” you said. “One with us.”

Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He didn’t hesitate. He slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you close like your place had always been tucked against him. You smiled at the camera, and so did he. He looked like the kind of man who had everything he wanted.

And then, right as the shutter clicked, you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

Just a soft press of your lips, familiar and instinctive—but it stunned him. You’d kissed him hundreds of times before. Forehead kisses before exams. Quick pecks on dates. Lazy, sleepy ones shared on the same bed. But this was different.

The photo caught it all. His grin frozen mid-shift into awe, eyes slightly wide, his breath visibly caught.

He kept that photo framed ever since.

Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep in a new city or after long-haul training flights, he would glance at it. Not for the achievement, but for the memory. The reminder that all the years of distance and longing and self-doubt had led to something real. To you. To that day. To that kiss.

As adults, the maturity followed. But with maturity came the weight of reality.

With him as a fighter pilot, tasked with dangerous missions in the sky, and you a hunter for the Hunters Association based in Linkon, your relationship had shifted. It was different now, more complicated, but you had managed to make it work over the years.

Still, there were moments—too many moments—when it felt like your worlds were at odds.

Of course, there was a bit more freedom now. The weekends when you could visit him in Skyhaven, or when he would make the long trip to Linkon. But there were days when that wasn’t enough. Days when the distance between you wasn’t just physical, but emotional. And every time he couldn’t make it, every time you had to stay away for a mission, it carved out a little more space between you.

There were parts of his job that you could never truly understand. And parts of yours that he could never fully grasp. He couldn’t comprehend the way your body felt after a long day of hunting, the way your mind stayed sharp despite exhaustion, the way your every action was driven by purpose. You couldn’t imagine the kind of pressure he faced up there in the sky, where every second could mean life or death.

But despite that, he always clung to the one thing he could hold on to— the promise . The promise he made that day on the playground when he saw you crying, heartbroken and vulnerable. The promise that he would always protect you, no matter the cost. No matter the distance.

Which is why, when he found out you were hurt—really hurt—he couldn’t just sit idly by.

He stood pacing back and forth in the sterile, white hospital room of Akso Hospital, unable to still the fury that churned inside him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, trying to hold back the wave of frustration threatening to spill over. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to you.

His eyes flicked to you, lying in the bed, calm as ever despite the fresh cast on your left arm. He knew you were trying to be brave. Trying to downplay it like you always did. But he could see through it. He always could. You were hurt, and that was enough to send his heart into overdrive.

"This is too dangerous," he said, his voice barely controlled, but it cracked under the weight of his worry. "What if your mission partner hadn’t been there? What if things had gone worse? I—I don’t even want to think about it." He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated, his gaze snapping to yours. "Do you have any idea how worried I was when I got the call from Zayne? How I nearly flew my personal aircraft—unauthorized—just to see you for myself?"

You were calm. Too calm. But he could see the way your jaw tightened, the way your eyes narrowed. You were trying to keep it together, to keep him from seeing how badly the whole thing had shaken you. He could see through it, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

You let out a long breath, your voice strained but firm. "I'm fine," you said, the words coming out through gritted teeth.

"No, you're not!" He stopped pacing, his body coming to a halt in front of you. His eyes locked onto yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The rawness of his emotions poured into his words. "Do you think I’m just going to stand by and watch you risk your life like this? How can I protect you if you keep putting yourself in harm’s way?" His voice cracked, a surge of frustration building up. "What if I had lost you? What if you hadn’t made it out of there?"

He could feel the heat in his face, the fire behind his eyes that came from caring too much, from loving you too much.

You weren’t supposed to be in pain. You weren’t supposed to be lying in a hospital bed, looking up at him with that quiet, stubborn resolve in your eyes. That was never the plan. Not for you. Not for him.

"Caleb," you murmured, your voice softer now, a trace of something he couldn’t quite place lingering in it.

But Caleb wasn’t done. Not yet.

"Move to Skyhaven," he said, his tone steady but firm, like the weight of his words had already been decided. "Move in with me."

It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t even a request. It was a decision. A demand wrapped in the guise of a question.

You stared at him in disbelief, your eyes widening as if you couldn’t quite comprehend what he was asking. "My job is here," you said.

Caleb’s expression didn’t falter. His gaze softened, but the determination didn’t leave. "Then quit," he said simply. "You don’t need to risk your life every day to prove something. You’ve already done enough. You’ve already done more than anyone could ask of you."

He stepped closer to you, leaning over the bed, his eyes searching yours, trying to make you see the truth. "I won’t let you throw yourself away like this. I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not when I have a choice."

His chest ached with the truth of it. The promise he had made to always protect you had become his lifeline, his purpose. And right now, the only thing that mattered to him was keeping you safe. Keeping you close. But more than anything, keeping you alive.

Caleb’s heart pounded in his chest, every muscle in his body tight with frustration. He couldn’t understand why you couldn’t see it. Why you couldn’t understand how much he was hurting, how much he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to something he had no control over.

You were so damn stubborn. And, at that moment, he hated it.

"Quit?" you echoed, incredulous. Your voice was sharp now, the calmness from before completely gone, replaced with something close to anger. "You want me to just quit ? Do you have any idea what that means?" You pushed yourself up slightly in the bed, wincing as you did, but that only seemed to fuel your fire. "Do you think I’m not being careful? That I’m out here risking my life for no reason?"

Caleb clenched his fists, but he fought to keep his voice steady. "I never said you were careless. I know how much your work means to you. But this—" He waved a hand in the air, gesturing to your broken arm, the sterile hospital room, the fact that you were lying here in front of him because of something he couldn’t control. "This isn’t worth it. Not when I’m over here, terrified every damn time the phone rings, wondering if this is the call that tells me you didn’t make it out."

You glared at him, the fire in your eyes fierce, as if you were fighting to hold on to some last shred of autonomy. "Well, I’m sorry my job isn’t something I can just walk away from because it’s inconvenient for you." You paused, taking in a sharp breath, eyes flashing with a mixture of pain and frustration. "You think this is easy for me? You think I want to get hurt? To put you through this? No. But this is what I do. This is who I am."

Caleb's chest tightened, and he took a step back, pacing again as his emotions surged. "I never asked you to stop being who you are," he said through gritted teeth, his voice rough. "I’m not asking you to change. I’m asking you to stay alive. To stop putting yourself in these damn situations where I’m left helpless."

You were silent for a moment, but he could see the way your jaw tightened, the way your lips pressed into a thin line as you gathered your words. When you spoke again, your voice was low, but the hurt in it was undeniable. "You think I don’t care about you?" you asked, your tone almost dangerous, like a challenge. "You think I’m out there every day just doing this for kicks? That I’m not thinking about you every goddamn time I’m on a mission?" You shook your head, as if in disbelief. "You think you’re the only one who’s scared, Caleb?"

Caleb stopped mid-pace, locking eyes with you, and for a moment, the room felt suffocating. His chest tightened with the weight of your words, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a pang of doubt. Was he being too selfish? Was he asking too much of you?

"I’m not asking you to stop," he said, voice hoarse, his gaze fixed on you. "I’m asking you to think about me. About us. Because this... this is breaking me. I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when I don’t know if you’ll be here tomorrow. I can’t—" He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it harder to breathe. "I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself."

You were silent, but the silence between you felt heavy, thick with unspoken words. Then, you sighed, lowering your eyes for a moment. When you met his gaze again, there was a flicker of something softer in them. Something almost... defeated.

"You don’t get it, Caleb," you said quietly, the fight bleeding out of your voice. "You don’t get how much I need this. How much I need to feel like I’m doing something that matters. I’m not like you. I can’t just keep existing without knowing I’m helping someone—without knowing I’m trying . I need to do this, even if it means I’m putting myself at risk. Even if it means it hurts you." You bit your lip, eyes flickering away from his. "I wish it didn’t, but I can’t pretend this part of me doesn’t exist."

Caleb’s heart twisted, his breath catching like it always did when he felt helpless. He reached out, his hand hovering mid-air between you both. He wanted to hold you, but didn’t know if he still had the right.

"I’m not asking you to pretend,” he said, his voice low. “I just—I already feel like I’m losing you every time you step out there not knowing if you’ll come back. And yeah, I know how that sounds, okay? I know how unfair it is. But I’m scared. All the time. And if this is the only way I know to keep you safe—"

"Then let me decide that!" you snapped, sitting up despite the pain, shoulders squared. "You think I’m not scared for you? Caleb, you fly fighter jets for a living. You barrel through the sky at breakneck speeds in a glorified tin can, and every time you go up, I don’t know if you’ll come back. But I don’t get to ask you to stop, do I? Because I know what that job means to you."

Caleb froze. There was a long pause, the space between you filled with the weight of your words, your emotions swirling in a storm neither of you knew how to navigate.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice quieter now, but still resolute. "Let me take that risk, Caleb," you said softly, the tension still hanging in the air. "Let me decide what I’m willing to risk... with you by my side."

Caleb didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know if there was a right answer. He just knew one thing: he couldn’t walk away from you. He wasn’t sure if he could walk away from this argument either, but he knew he wasn’t going to let go—not yet. Not when the stakes were this high.

At that point, your relationship had grown more difficult than before. The weight of adulthood pressed on both of you—expectations, responsibilities, different cities, and different lives. And though you were still together, it no longer felt easy. Not like it used to be.

Sometimes, Caleb caught himself wishing things could go back to when you were still in school. When time felt slower. When loving each other didn’t have to contend with distance or duty. When everything felt simple, and everything felt like it would last forever.

He went back to Skyhaven after that hospital visit, and the silence that followed was heavier than usual. You were healing, but he wasn’t sure if you were still choosing him. And that scared him more than anything. The phone calls that used to be a steady constant became fewer, and then fewer still. He tried to stay understanding—he told himself you were tired, or busy, or that the signal in Linkon was spotty again—but it didn’t change the feeling growing in his chest.

A gnawing fear. That this was it. That you were slowly, quietly pulling away, and he wouldn’t even realize it until it was over.

For your sixth anniversary, he tried again. You had both agreed months ago that you’d spend it together in Skyhaven, but he knew you well enough to guess you probably wouldn’t want to set foot in that floating city anymore. Not with everything going on. Not with all the unsaid tension between you both.

So, he made the trip down instead. To Linkon. To the city you called home.

He spent weeks planning everything down to the hour. He didn’t want to mess this up. He couldn’t.

The morning of, he knocked on your door right after stepping off the early shuttle. He was still in his travel jacket, his bag slung over his shoulder, and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand—your actual favorites, not just the ones you used to like two years ago. He remembered the new ones you mentioned once in passing during a call you didn’t think he was fully paying attention to. But he was.

You opened the door, hair still damp from a rushed shower, and he smiled before you could say anything. You blinked at him in surprise, then softened—just a little. You took the flowers with a quiet “thanks” and kissed him on the lips, quick and polite, the kind of peck that felt more like a greeting than a gesture of love.

Still, he held onto that moment like it meant more than it probably did.

He brought you to a new café he had read about—small, charming, tucked behind a bookstore—and you had smiled, genuinely, when you saw it. That calmed his nerves a bit. You ordered your favorite drink, he got something new just so he could have a reason to make you laugh when he made a face after trying it.

You went sightseeing around the city afterward. He had asked friends from Linkon what was new—places that opened, murals that went up, parks that changed—and took you to all of them. All because he wanted to be part of your world again.

In the evening, he brought you to dinner at a famous restaurant at the top of a tower—one you once mentioned you’d wanted to try when you were still in school, before life got too busy. The food was good, the view was better, and for a few moments, it felt like things were okay again. You were laughing at his jokes. Telling stories again. And your eyes weren’t as tired as they had been that morning.

But even then, Caleb was nervous. So nervous, he had barely eaten all day. 

He had been nervous for weeks before this, ever since the idea of this anniversary started forming in his head. He had replayed every conversation in his mind, read between every line of every text, wondering if you were already halfway out the door and just didn’t know how to say it.

And yet… he still hoped.

Because he loved you. So deeply and so consistently that even on the days when he barely heard from you, he still believed there was something worth holding onto. Something that hadn’t disappeared, even if it felt distant now.

Even if it was getting harder to tell if you still felt the same.

He was scared. Frightened. Terrified, even.

And he hoped—prayed—you didn’t notice how his hand had started to sweat as he held yours, fingers tightly laced together while he gently led you down familiar streets. It was quieter here than in the bustle of the tower district, and that was intentional. He needed quiet. He needed time to breathe, and think, and maybe figure out if your silence meant you were slipping away for good.

You glanced around, eyebrows furrowing as you recognized the area. “Why’d you bring me here?” you asked, half-curious, half-teasing. This wasn’t anywhere near your dinner reservation earlier. It was your old neighborhood, the one you grew up in. And it wasn’t exactly a romantic detour.

But he only grinned in reply. That boyish, slightly sheepish grin you’d known for years. “You’ll see.”

He kept talking as you walked—small things, light things, anything to fill the silence and keep his nerves from catching up to him. He pointed out how that bakery you used to like had changed signs again, how someone finally repainted the cracked sidewalk mural near the old bus stop. He was rambling a little, but you let him.

And then he stopped walking.

You followed his gaze to where he was looking, and then laughed under your breath. “Seriously?” you said.

The playground. Your old one. The same one where he first met you all those years ago. He must’ve seen the way your expression shifted, softened, because he just smiled and motioned for you to follow him.

“You’re so sentimental,” you said, shaking your head, but you humored him anyway.

You sat down on one of the swings, your dress catching slightly on the seat. He stood behind you, hands light on the chains, and began pushing you gently. Not too high. Just enough to feel the night air brushing against your skin. 

It was around 10 PM by now. The neighborhood was still. The street lamps buzzed softly above you, and the homes nearby were dark—kids long asleep, the whole world quiet except for you and him.

He said nothing for a while. Just listened to the creak of the swing and the sound of your breath every time you rose and dipped again. And even though you couldn’t see his face, he was staring. Memorizing the way your shoulders moved, the way your fingers curled around the swing ropes. You looked calm. Unreachable, somehow.

And if he had been nervous earlier—at dinner, on the walk—then now, he was shaking on the inside.

Because this was it. He could feel it in his chest, pressing against his ribs.

He stopped the swing gently, letting it slow to a gentle sway before he walked around to stand in front of you. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down at you. You tilted your head at him, eyes soft, unsure.

Then he crouched slightly—not all the way, just enough to be eye level—and reached up, both hands cradling your face like you were something precious. Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to hold you anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, like the words had clawed their way up his throat and just barely made it out.

You blinked. “For what?” Your voice was just as soft, but steadier.

“For—” he faltered, like he wasn’t sure where to begin. His hands lifted to your face, thumbs brushing gently along your jaw, reverent and trembling. “For demanding so much from you. For… for not knowing how to be near you without making you feel like I’m holding you back. Or dragging you down. Or—God, I don’t know.”

He laughed once, hollow and bitter. It caught in his throat. “I keep thinking if I can just fix myself enough, if I can just do everything right, maybe you’ll finally be able to breathe next to me. But I mess it up anyway. I always do.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he shook his head before you could, eyes wide and pleading, like he needed to get all of it out before the panic swallowed it whole.

“I just— I miss you. All the time. Even when we’re talking. Even when I can see your face on a screen, and hear you laughing. It’s not enough. It’s not the same. I miss being next to you. I miss hearing you breathe while you sleep. I miss how quiet you get when you’re focused on something.”

His voice cracked and he sucked in a breath like it hurt. “I don’t want perfect. I just want you. However you’ll have me. Whatever you’re willing to give. I’ll take scraps if that’s all I’m allowed, I swear.”

He winced as soon as he said it, like he hadn’t meant to say that much. But he didn’t take it back.

“I want to be part of your life again,” he whispered. “I want all of it. The hard stuff. The slow days. The mess. The silence. You. ”

He let out a shaky exhale. “And I’m trying so hard not to be selfish about it, but I don’t know how else to say it—I’m scared. I’m scared I’m losing you, and I can’t tell if I’m just being paranoid or if you’ve already decided and I’m just too dumb to let go.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just stared at him—long enough for his breath to stutter, for his hands to pull slightly back from your face like he thought maybe he’d said too much.

But then you reached out and took them in yours. Just held them there. Not pushing him away. Not comforting him either. Just keeping him from unraveling completely.

And it worked. Barely.

His hands were still shaking. He was still breathing too fast. But something in him eased at your touch, like your presence alone was enough to stop the whole world from collapsing.

He looked at you. And the ache in his chest spread like it was cracking his ribs apart from the inside.

“I’ll give you everything I have,” he said, the words rasping out of him like they’d been buried for too long. “Anything. Just—just say it. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’ll tear it all down if that’s what you want. I’ll rebuild everything from scratch.”

His eyes were burning now. He didn’t wipe them. Didn’t even try to hide the way his shoulders trembled. “I know I asked you to come to Skyhaven. I thought if you were there, I’d finally stop feeling so far from you. Like maybe I’d sleep better knowing you were by my side. That I could hold you more. That I wouldn’t feel like I was chasing a ghost.”

His voice cracked again, and he swallowed hard. “But that was selfish. That was me trying to fix everything from my side, not yours. I just wanted to feel close to you again and didn’t know how else to do it.”

You didn’t say anything. But your fingers squeezed his just enough for him to notice.

“So I… I started looking,” he continued, licking his lips nervously. “I looked into transfer options. And I found out there’s a new squadron forming here. In Linkon. DAA fighters. They’re expanding ops. I don’t even know why I clicked the listing—I think I just wanted to feel like there was still a door open somewhere.”

He let out a breath, wet and unsteady. “I applied. I didn’t know if it would go anywhere. But then I got the offer. Just like that.”

Your eyes widened, and he rushed to keep going, almost tripping over the next words in his panic.

“I haven’t said yes yet—I mean, I didn’t want to make that kind of call without talking to you, obviously, I know that’s huge—but I will. I will, if you ask. I’ll come here. I’ll pack up everything and I’ll stay. If that’s what you want. If you want me.”

He laughed softly, almost disbelieving. “God, I must sound like a wreck. I am a wreck. I didn’t plan to say all this, and now I can’t stop talking and I’m probably rambling and making it worse but—” he let out a half-sob, half-breath, “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Then he reached into his coat pocket, slow and ungraceful. You followed the movement with your eyes, watching as he pulled out a small, velvet box.

“I’ve had this since before your accident,” he said, voice hoarse. “I was waiting for the right moment. I kept thinking it had to be perfect. But every time I got close, something happened. Life happened. You got hurt. I got scared. We kept pushing it back, like we had all the time in the world.”

His thumb ran across the edge of the box like he was stalling. “I just want you. Whatever that looks like. Whatever you’ll let me have.”

He readjusted his position from crouching to bending on one knee. No grand flair. Just Caleb—messy, red-eyed, still crying, and holding onto hope like it was the last thing tethering him to the ground.

“I want to build a life with you. Just… whatever kind you’ll let me have. You don’t have to move. You don’t have to make promises. Just tell me if I can try. Tell me if I can stay. Tell me if you’ll let me love you the way I’ve always wanted to.”

Then, slowly, carefully, he opened the box.

“Marry me,” he whispered. “Please.”

He didn’t say it like a man confident in the answer. He said it like a plea. Like the words had been sitting in his chest for months, burning holes through his ribs. When he looked up at you, it wasn’t with the bright-eyed charm he used to rely on—it was stripped down, quieter. Just him. 

He looked at you the way he did when he was sixteen, but now that gaze was heavier, shaped by years of distance and longing and everything they’d both endured to still be here. It wasn’t boyish anymore. It was desperate in its honesty.

He had nothing left to hide behind.

The world stilled around him. The swing creaked once and then fell silent. The wind barely moved. Even the streetlamp above flickered once and held steady, like it, too, was holding its breath.

And then you cried.

It started slowly—just the shimmer in your eyes, the way your shoulders dipped—but then your face crumpled, and tears spilled fast and unrelenting. You didn’t try to speak, didn’t even blink them away. You just looked at him like something inside you had finally given way. Like all the exhaustion, all the love, all the years of holding back, had finally cracked through.

Caleb’s chest caved.

His throat went dry. His hands shook. He tried to breathe through the weight pressing down on him, but couldn’t. “Hey,” he said, voice already thick. “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer right now. I just—I needed you to know—”

You reached for him.

Without hesitation. Without thinking. Your fingers gripped the front of his jacket and tugged him toward you, grounding him faster than gravity ever could. He stumbled forward, unsteady, and then you wrapped your arms around him.

It wrecked him.

He dropped the ring box without even noticing. His arms went around you tight, but he couldn’t help it. You were warm and real and shaking in his hold, and he didn’t know whether the dampness on his face was yours or his anymore.

Then you whispered it.

“Yes.”

Barely a breath. But it cut straight through him.

He froze—not because he didn’t hear it right, but because he wasn’t sure he could believe it. Not after everything. Not after how distant you'd been, how far apart your lives had pulled.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. Your face was a mess of tears and flushed cheeks and trembling lips, and he thought you had never looked more beautiful than in that moment.

“I said yes, Caleb, you dummy,” you said again, your voice steadier now, hands cradling his jaw like you were anchoring him to the ground. “Of course it’s yes. It’s always been yes.”

A sound left him—half-laugh, half-sob—and then he kissed you.

It wasn’t graceful. It was messy and tear-streaked and too much and somehow not enough. His lips pressed against yours like he’d been waiting years to breathe again. Like if he stopped, the ground might give out from under him.

God, he kissed you like he was making a vow right then and there, without the ring, without the ceremony, without anything but you and him and the beat of your hearts finally in sync again. His hands shook as they cupped your face, thumbs catching the tears on your cheeks even though his own kept falling, warm and quiet. He couldn’t stop them, didn’t even try to. Not now. Not when everything he’d ever wanted was finally real in his hands.

He pressed his forehead against yours, the space between you shrinking until all he could feel was your breath mingling with his, shallow and shaky and real. “I love you,” he whispered. And then again. And again. “I love you, Pip. I love you. I’m yours. I always have been.” His voice cracked by the third time, but he kept saying it anyway.

He pulled you in closer, his arms wrapping around you in that quiet, steady way he always did. His hand came up to your back, patting it gently, just like he used to when you were younger, when words failed and comfort came through small, familiar things. He didn’t even realize he was doing it at first. It was instinct, like muscle memory, like the part of him that had always known how to hold you when the world got too loud.

And there, under the warm hum of the old streetlamp in the playground where you’d both grown up, surrounded by rusted swings and echoes of your younger selves, Caleb felt the weight of it all settle in his chest.

You didn’t just say yes.

You chose him.

Even now. Even after everything. After the missed calls and the silence that stretched too long. After every time life yanked you both in opposite directions, you still chose him .

Chapter Text

Caleb had never been good at keeping his emotions in check when it came to you. 

He cried at that old playground, the one where your childhood footprints still lived in the dirt. It was where he asked—hands slightly trembling, heart pounding loud enough for you to hear—if you’d take the leap with him. When you said yes, he broke. The fear that had shadowed him for weeks—of not being enough, of losing you—shattered in that moment. And all he could do was cry into your shoulder, laughing between tears as he held you tight enough to feel your heartbeat against his chest.

He cried again the first night you moved into the apartment together. The place was still half-unpacked, boxes lining the hallway, your toothbrush barely settled beside his. He had cooked your favorite for dinner, curling into each other on the floor with your legs tangled and a blanket over your shoulders. And in that quiet, ordinary intimacy, he pressed his face into your neck and whispered promises—about protecting you, about coming home, about trying his best to be someone you could always count on. Promises he had already meant long before he ever said them out loud.

He cried at the wedding, too. Of course he did. When you walked down the aisle, something about the way you looked at him ever so softly with those beautiful eyes of yours made everything else fade. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes blurred before he could even smile properly. He couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t believe you were really choosing him, again and again, in front of everyone.

And months later, when he came home from a long mission, he found you waiting by the door. You were barefoot, in a worn-out pair of pajamas, eyes wide and brimming with something too big for words. You told him you were pregnant. He didn’t speak. He just stood there, chest heaving, until the weight of it hit him like a wave. Then he was crying again, hands cupping your face, forehead resting against yours, his lips brushing your temple as if grounding himself in the moment.

Big, capable Caleb had always been the strongest man in the room. But with you, he never stood a chance. You made him feel, deeply and without apology. And for him, that was always the bravest thing of all.

And now, Caleb sat at the edge of your hospital bed in Akso, his fingers laced tightly with yours, as if letting go might break the fragile thread holding the two of you together. The room was washed in sterile light, punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the unsteady sound of your breathing. You looked so small against the sheets, your skin flushed and clammy, your brow furrowed in pain even in sleep.

He could feel it again. That familiar, relentless pressure climbing up his chest, sharp and suffocating, swelling behind his eyes. It was the same feeling that had undone him before, but now it sat heavy and unbearable, begging to break loose. His throat tightened. His vision blurred.

But he didn’t cry.

Because this time, you needed him to be the steady one. This time, you were the one curled in pain, your body fighting through the worst of it, and he couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not when your hand in his felt too cold. Not when your breaths came too far apart. Not when the doctors were speaking in low, urgent tones outside the room, and no one had said anything concrete in hours.

So he held on.

He held it in when his lungs felt too tight, and every inhale made his ribs ache. He held it in when his hands started to tremble from the sheer effort of staying still, of not crawling out of his skin from how powerless he felt. He held it in when the weight of what-ifs tried to bury him alive, and the only thing anchoring him was the fragile warmth of your hand in his.

He leaned forward, forehead resting against the back of your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles as if it could protect you somehow. His thumb traced slow, grounding circles over your skin, clinging to the hope that you could feel him. Still know he was there.

And even when every part of him was screaming, begging for this not to be the moment he broke, he stayed. Because if there was even the smallest chance you needed him more than he needed to fall apart, then he'd keep holding on. 

For you. Always for you.

Caleb brought your hand to his lips, pressing a quiet kiss to your knuckles. “I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

You didn’t answer. Your brow stayed furrowed, sweat beading at your temple, like your whole body was fighting something he couldn’t reach. And if he could’ve taken your place, he would’ve without a second thought.

And then the door creaked open, and a nurse stepped in. She looked young but composed, her uniform crisp, her expression calm but kind. Caleb could tell she’d been trained for moments like this—moments where professionalism had to balance delicately against compassion. She glanced at the machines, at you, and then at him, and the clipboard in her hands suddenly felt like the heaviest thing in the room.

“Sir,” she said softly, voice steady but gentle, like she knew what she was about to ask would hurt. “We need you to sign a waiver. In case… in case there’s a complication. If it comes down to it, you may need to decide whether to save the baby or—”

“My wife,” Caleb said before she could finish.

His voice didn’t waver. His eyes never left your face. The words came out so quickly, so firmly, it startled even him. There wasn’t a single ounce of doubt in his chest. Not then. Not ever. You were his entire world, and nothing could change that.

The nurse nodded quietly. She didn’t press him. Just gave a small, understanding look, then turned to leave.

But then your voice—hoarse, dry, and barely audible—broke through the silence. 

“Caleb…”

He turned instantly. Your eyelids fluttered, your lashes damp with sweat, and there was a flicker of protest in your eyes, faint but there. Your lips parted like you wanted to speak again, but the pain stole the breath from your lungs. Your hand twitched in his, the smallest motion, but it made his whole chest cave in.

“I know,” he whispered, voice tight. “I know, my love.”

Your face was pale, strained with pain, and your body trembled beneath the thin blanket. Every breath you took sounded labored, like it cost you something. And watching you like this, watching the strongest person he knew reduced to this, made Caleb feel utterly useless.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said again, desperate now, as if repeating it could make it true. “You’re okay, I’ll make sure of it. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

He leaned in closer, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face, his other hand never letting go of yours. He wanted to shield you from everything—from the pain, the fear, even the decision that had already been made. He wished he could carry it all for you.

Because if it came down to it, and the universe demanded a trade, he knew who he couldn’t live without.

“I love him already,” Caleb whispered, his voice frayed and barely holding together. “But I can’t—I can’t lose you. I can’t even let myself think about it.”

The words scraped their way up from a place so raw he could barely breathe through them. His throat burned, each syllable catching like it hurt to let them out. And still, he said them. Because not saying them felt worse. A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it, and he swiped it away with a rough, frustrated hand—angry at himself for showing weakness when you were the one lying there, pale and burning up, fighting like hell just to stay.

You were the one in pain. You were the one struggling through every breath, every contraction, every second that passed with no guarantees. And all he could do was sit there, helpless, watching monitors flash numbers he didn’t fully understand, holding your hand like it was the only thing keeping either of you from falling apart.

The nurses had explained everything—how your heart was under too much strain, how the labor could push your body dangerously close to the edge. They said it would be complicated. 

Risky . A word Caleb had always hated when it came to you.

He couldn’t even imagine what you were feeling, but he didn’t ask. He just stayed.

He sat at the edge of your bed, barely moving, your fingers curled weakly around his like a thread he refused to let snap. Your skin felt cold and damp against his, your breathing shallow, but your grip—God, your grip—was still there. That tiny flicker of strength, of you, cutting through the fear and making him believe you were still fighting. Even now. Even like this. Still giving him something to hold onto, when it should’ve been the other way around.

So he did the only thing he could: he kept talking. Words spilled from him without plan or filter, just a stream of memories, confessions, pieces of the life you built together. He told you that the first moment he knew he was in love with you was when you were both in high school—how it hit him like a wave one ordinary morning, you walked ahead of him on the way to school, animatedly ranting about something he couldn’t even remember now. He remembered watching you, laughing under his breath, realizing in a split second that he wanted to see you like that forever.

He told you how your joy lit up every room, how just being near you made everything else feel livelier. He reminded you how his sides had ached from that one weekend road trip where everything went wrong, but you somehow made it perfect anyway.

And then he told you the exact words you said the day you said yes to him. He said them out loud again now, barely above a whisper. His lips brushed the back of your hand, and he whispered them like a prayer, like a promise, like if he said them enough times, the world would listen and give him one more tomorrow with you.

He stayed. And he would keep staying. As long as it took.

Every few minutes, Caleb glanced down at your face, searching for any flicker of change—any sign that you were slipping or that the pain had become too much. Your body tensed with each contraction, and the sight of it hurt him more than he could bear. He wanted to tear himself out of his own skin, if only it could give you more space to breathe. But he did not let go. He did not flinch. He just held your hand tighter, steady and constant, like it was the only thing anchoring him.

Because it was.

When it came time for labor, something in the room shifted. The air grew thick with tension. Everything felt like it was happening all at once and not at all—time slowed and rushed in confusing waves. Hours blurred together until they no longer felt real. The monitors beeped in erratic patterns. Nurses came and went with urgency, speaking in low tones and moving around you like clockwork.

Dr. Zayne Li, your primary care physician and friend, was there, too. He stood across the bed, sharp and composed, exchanging clipped words with the doctor. His eyes never stopped moving, always tracking the machines, always returning to your heart rate. He looked calm, but Caleb could tell he was holding his breath just like everyone else.

Caleb barely moved. He stayed right where he had been, seated beside you, whispering gently to you, his voice low and constant. He rubbed slow circles into your knuckles, repeating your name like it was a lifeline, as if saying it enough times would keep you grounded, would keep you here.

The only thing he could hear was the sound of your uneven breathing and the strained moans that followed each wave of pain. He winced every time. His stomach twisted every time your body curled forward in agony. 

He hated it. Hated how powerless he was. Hated that he could not take the pain for you. But he stayed. He trusted Zayne. 

And more than anything, he trusted you.

He believed your heart would keep beating.

And then, finally, after what felt like a lifetime stretched too thin, a cry broke through the stillness.

The cry came high and clear, cutting through the air like light through a storm.

Alive.

A baby's cry.

A boy. Healthy. Whole.

It was the kind of miracle you never realize you’ve been begging for until it’s suddenly there in front of you—swaddled in soft blue cloth, wrinkled and wailing, demanding to be seen by a world that had nearly taken too much before giving anything back.

Now, the room had fallen quiet again. The hum of machines softened, the footsteps slowed. Outside, the first light of sunrise filtered through the window in thin, golden streaks. And for the first time in what felt like forever, it was just the three of you.

You, pale and still flushed with exhaustion, but breathing—finally breathing evenly. You held the baby to your chest with a careful tenderness, your arms curved protectively around him. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, your lips brushing the crown of his head in a whisper of a kiss.

Caleb sat beside you, his body heavy with relief, the weight of the past hours etched clearly across his face. His shoulders slumped, and for once, he let himself breathe, fully and deeply. He stared at your son like he couldn’t quite believe he was real, like he was afraid that if he blinked, the moment might vanish. He kept glancing between you and the baby, as if trying to convince himself that both of you had truly made it out the other side.

Then, in the stillness, his voice broke softly through the hush.

“…Let’s not have a child again.”

He said it like a joke, or maybe a quiet plea, but his voice cracked in the middle of the sentence, the sound unraveling before it could reach the end. He covered his mouth, too late, as the tears came—hot and silent, slipping down his cheeks as his shoulders began to shake.

You let out a weak, breathy chuckle, then gently lifted your son toward your husband.

“I’m okay,” you murmured. “We’re okay, Caleb.”

He shook his head, swiping at his eyes but failing to stop the flood. “I don’t want to see you go through that again,” he said hoarsely, barely able to look at you without falling apart. “I thought I was gonna lose you. I thought—” His breath caught. “I wouldn’t have survived it.”

You reached for his hand, the same way he held yours through everything. And somehow, that steadied him enough to stand.

He stared down at your son, so small. So incredibly small. The baby shifted in your arms, a soft sound escaping his lips.

Caleb tensed.

“Are… are you sure I can hold him?” he asked, stiff as a board, hands hovering uncertainly in the air. “He’s so… small. What if I crush him?”

You laughed softly, exhaustion still lacing your smile. “You won’t. You’re doing great, my love.”

And then you said it. “You’re a father now.”

His heart cracked open like a faultline.

He didn’t realize how badly he needed to hear that—how deeply it would lodge itself into his chest and bloom. You’re a father now . It wasn’t just a title or a fact. But a reminder that despite everything, he was still here, and so were you. And so was this little boy with a scrunched-up nose and clenched fists, fighting sleep like he hadn’t just come into the world fists-first.

Caleb sat slowly beside you, arms tentative as you placed your son in them. The second he felt the weight, so light, he forgot how to breathe.

Eight pounds. Eight impossibly tiny pounds.

And yet, it felt like the axis of his world had just shifted. Like someone had quietly handed him a reason to never leave again.

He looked down at the baby, who yawned like he’d done something exhausting and important—and he had—and Caleb let out a soft, broken laugh.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric wrapped around your son. “Like what?”

“Like everything I thought I needed to run from… just got rewritten in eight pounds,” he murmured, voice catching. “And now I don’t know how to let go.”

And as Caleb held your son to his chest and leaned against you, something in him quietly surrendered. “Hi, Luca…” he whispered to your son.

He had spent his whole life in motion—in flight.

But this felt like home.

Even though Caleb once said he never wanted to go through it again, life clearly had other plans. Three years after Luca was born, you had another baby—a second boy. This time, things were calmer. Not easier, but more familiar. You both knew what to expect, and even when things got hard, you moved through it together.

The house became noisier after that. Toys scattered across the floor, tiny socks always missing their pair, little voices shouting from one room to the next. The boys were loud, messy, and full of energy. They ran around the apartment like it was their own personal racetrack, constantly testing boundaries and occasionally bumping into walls—or each other.

But for all their chaos, they were surprisingly gentle with you. Always. They knew when to lower their voices, when to be careful with your hand, when to crawl into your lap just to rest. They gave you their best selves without even thinking about it.

It was easy to see why. They had learned from Caleb.

They had watched him quietly for years—how he always reached for your bag before you asked, how he guided you across the street with a hand on your back, how he would wordlessly set a warm cup of tea beside you during long nights at your desk. They saw the way he looked at you, how he listened, how he softened whenever you walked into the room.

And like most children do, they copied what they saw.

They didn’t know it, but they were learning how to love by watching their father love you.

“Okay, Luca,” Caleb whispered as he crouched down to their level in the living room, his knees cracking slightly with the motion. He smiled at the sight of his two sons on the floor, one with a toy airplane zooming through the air, the other seated cross-legged with a picture book in his lap. “Where’s Mommy?”

Luca, now seven, paused mid-flight with his plane and turned to his father with bright eyes. He cupped his little hands around his mouth and mimicked Caleb’s tone with an exaggerated whisper, “Working… in her office.”

“Good boy,” Caleb murmured, ruffling Luca’s soft brown curls with fondness that nearly knocked the wind out of him. He reached over to gently brush Elio’s hair too, the four-year-old blinking up at him with round eyes as he clutched a small children’s book—one Caleb hadn’t realized was a toddler-safe retelling of a classic romance story.

Caleb let out a soft chuckle at that, his heart swelling. “Okay, just like we practiced last night, yeah?”

The boys nodded, their faces lighting up with excitement. Luca even puffed out his chest a little, his proud grin making Caleb want to scoop him up and never let go.

Caleb stood, clasping both their hands in his own, and together they padded quietly toward the kitchen. From a high cupboard you never used—because Caleb deliberately placed everything out of your reach there—he pulled out a wrapped bouquet of your favorite flowers. Their fragrance was sweet, soft, and familiar, the same kind you held on your wedding day.

He leaned down and tucked the bouquet into Elio’s small arms. The little boy’s eyes widened.

“Alright there, little bud? Heavy?”

Elio shook his head quickly, hugging the stems to his chest with a determined little frown. “Nope. I’m strong.”

“You really are,” Caleb whispered with a grin, brushing a kiss to the top of his youngest’s head. Then he reached for a soft pink box tied with a white ribbon and carefully placed it in Luca’s arms. “Be careful, okay? Try not to trip.”

Luca nodded, holding the box like it contained something precious—because it did. Inside were hand-decorated cookies that the three of them made last night while you slept soundly after a tiring day of working as a Hunter. Mostly circles and hearts, half-iced, slightly uneven, but baked with so much love it made Caleb tear up just thinking about it.

With mission-like precision, the three tiptoed through the hallway toward your home office. The door was ajar, just the way you liked it when you were deep into mission reports, but still wanted to be readily available for your boys. And there you were—head slightly tilted, brows furrowed in thought, eyes fixed on the glowing screen. The soft light from the monitor outlined the familiar slope of your shoulders and the tired set of your posture. You looked strong as usual… but Caleb could tell you hadn’t moved in hours.

He bent down again beside the boys, nodding to them with a quiet, “Ready?”

Luca and Elio both nodded.

Caleb paused outside the study door for a second. The boys were fidgeting beside him, Elio bouncing on his toes, Luca holding the cookie box like it was made of glass. Caleb gave them a small nod, then gently knocked.

Your head lifted at the sound, a little surprised at first. You’d clearly been deep in work, papers and a half-empty mug spread out in front of you. But before you could say anything, the door creaked open and the boys made their entrance like a mini parade.

Elio led the charge, stumbling a little under the weight of the bouquet, which was nearly as big as he was. But his face lit up as he managed to hold it upright. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy!” he declared, like it was the most important announcement of his life.

Luca followed right behind him, his steps careful, lips pressed into a focused grin as he offered you the decorated cookie box. “We made these,” he said proudly. “Daddy let me crack the eggs.”

“And I cleaned the table!” Elio chimed in from behind the flowers, just as excited to be included.

Caleb stepped in last, slower, quieter. His gaze landed on you and stayed there. No matter how many times he saw you like this—hair loose, eyes soft with surprise, smile starting to bloom—it still hit him. That feeling. That same one he got the first time he ever realized he loved you. He walked over and leaned down, brushing a kiss to your temple.

“You didn’t think we’d forget, did you?” he murmured.

You set your pen down without hesitation, as you laughed, already pulling both boys in. Petals crumpled against your chest, cookies squished between little arms and giggles.

“What’s all this?” you whispered, kissing their heads, one after the other.

Caleb crouched beside you, arm slipping around your shoulders like second nature. He watched the way Luca leaned into your side, how Elio nestled into your lap, clinging to the edge of your shirt.

“It’s what you deserve,” he said simply.

You looked up at him then. Caleb felt that familiar ache settle deep in his chest, the one that always came when he remembered just how much he loved you and how lucky he was to still get to show it. 

Later that night, once dinner was done and the last cookie crumbs had been wiped off the table, Caleb stood quietly in the doorway to the living room. The lights were dim, the kind of soft yellow glow that made everything feel slower, gentler. He leaned against the frame and just watched for a moment.

You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, wearing one of his old sleep shirts. It hung loose on you, the sleeves a little too long, just the way you liked it. Around you was the full aftermath of a family evening—crumbled bits of construction paper on the floor, colored markers still uncapped on the coffee table, and two boys who absolutely refused to settle down.

You had already tried to send them to bed three times, but it wasn’t happening. Elio, still feeling like your baby boy, kept crawling into your lap, clinging to you like he still believed you were the only safe place in the world. His arms wrapped around your middle, his cheek pressed to your side. He looked up at you every few seconds like he was making sure you were still there.

Luca was on your other side, sitting up straight with his chest puffed out like he had just delivered the greatest performance of his life. He held up his homemade Mother’s Day card, scribbled in bright colors, and read it to you again, just as proudly as he had the first time.

“It’s poetry, Mommy,” he said, seriously. “I spelled everything right this time. Daddy checked!”

Caleb chuckled quietly to himself, watching the way your eyes softened. He could see you were tired. Your shoulders sagged just slightly, and your eyes blinked slower than usual. But still, you smiled. You always smiled for them.

Eventually, after one too many yawns and a sleepy, meandering story from Elio about marrying a princess who liked airplanes, Caleb knew it was time. He bent down and gently gathered both boys into his arms, one on each side. Their weight was familiar to him—comforting, even. He had carried them like this a hundred times before, their small limbs draped over his shoulders, their heads resting against his chest. They were heavier now than they used to be, but it didn’t matter. He still carried them like they were an extension of himself.

You followed him up the stairs, moving slowly, your hand trailing along the banister. You didn’t say anything, just watched them—your little family bundled up in that one simple moment. Luca had wrapped his arms loosely around Caleb’s neck, his eyes already fluttering shut. He wasn’t even trying to stay awake anymore. Elio, true to form, had pressed his face into Caleb’s chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like he might float away if he let go.

Caleb walked steadily, his steps quiet. There was no rush, no reason to hurry. This was what it felt like to be home. This was everything.

Upstairs, the bedtime routine unfolded the way it always did on the good nights. It was slow, soft, and full of warmth. Caleb knelt beside Luca, helping him into his pajamas, gently smoothing down the collar the way he knew Luca liked. You crouched down and pressed a kiss to his scraped knee—the one he’d gotten yesterday from tripping over a toy in the yard. He didn’t even flinch, but the kiss made him grin, like he’d just won something.

Elio, always more stubborn about bedtime, made it his mission to ask for just one more hug. Then another. And another. You gave in after the third because his smile was too sweet to deny. Ten more, just because it made him laugh.

Eventually, both boys were tucked in, their blankets pulled up to their chins, their stuffed animals tucked under their arms. You reached for the switch on the nightlight—an old one shaped like a jet, a favorite from when Luca was still in diapers. The soft orange glow filled the room as the overhead light clicked off.

Caleb waited outside the boys’ room, leaning against the wall until he heard the soft click of the door behind you. You stepped out quietly, pulling it shut with care, and for a second, neither of you spoke. Then Caleb reached for you and pulled you into his arms without hesitation.

“You’re tired,” he said softly, his chin resting against the top of your head.

“A little,” you murmured, your voice muffled as you tucked your face into the side of his neck. He smelled like laundry detergent and the faintest trace of the cookies you had shared earlier.

He held you tighter, one arm firm around your waist, the other resting at the middle of your back. He didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence sit between you.

“I know I said I didn’t want more,” he said finally, his voice quiet and steady. “After Luca. After everything that happened that day... I meant it. I really was scared.”

“I know,” you said, your hand bunching slightly in the fabric of his shirt. You weren’t trying to hold him closer, but you couldn’t help it either.

He took a slow breath. “But today… watching them with you, seeing how you take care of them, how they look at you—” His voice caught a little, but he didn’t stop. “I don’t know how I ever thought one would be enough. Or how I thought I could ever stop loving you more than I already did.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just stood there with him, quiet, holding on. You didn’t need to say anything. He already knew.

“I don’t need more kids,” Caleb said, his voice low and thick, the words sitting heavy in his chest. “But if I had to go through all of that again just to end up here… just to see you like this, to hold them like this… I’d do it in a heartbeat. Thank you. For giving me them. For being their mom.”

He felt you shift just slightly in his arms. It was small—barely anything—but enough to make him pause. He leaned back a little, his hands gently cradling your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

“What is it?” he asked quietly, concern threading through his voice. “What’s wrong?”

You looked at him for a second, your expression unreadable. Then you took a breath.

“What if I told you…” you said, your voice soft, almost unsure, “that we’re going to have one more?”

Everything stilled.

Caleb didn’t move. Didn’t speak. For a moment, it felt like the whole world had pressed pause—just long enough for the weight of your words to sink in.

Then he blinked, slowly, his hands tightening slightly where they held you. His heart picked up, fast and uneven.

“Are you serious?” he asked, eyes wide now, searching yours for any sign of doubt. “You’re sure?”

You nodded. That small smile playing at your lips—the one he knew by heart. The one that always made his knees a little weak.

“I’m sure,” you said.

Caleb looked at you for a long moment, his arms still wrapped around you as the hallway settled into quiet. He could feel the steady rhythm of your breathing against his chest, calm and sure. You meant it. You were really sure.

And slowly, the meaning sank in.

Another child. Another laugh in the house. Another pair of tiny socks scattered on the floor. Another heartbeat growing beneath your own. Another sleepy voice calling for him in the middle of the night. Another small hand reaching for his. Another part of the life he never thought he would have. One he never thought he deserved—but somehow, because of you, it had become his.

He let out a shaky breath, chest rising as it turned into a soft laugh. His forehead rested against yours as his voice came out low, touched with disbelief and wonder.

“Of course you’d tell me on Mother’s Day.”

You smiled against him, your laugh light and quiet as it brushed his skin. “When else was I supposed to tell you? While you were folding socks?”

He chuckled again, the sound full of warmth. Then he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. Then to your nose. Then to the corners of your mouth, where your smile lingered.

His hands framed your face, holding you like you were still the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

“You’re everything,” Caleb said softly, his voice unsteady with emotion. “I swear, you keep giving me new reasons to fall in love with you.”

You gave him a teasing smile, your arms still looped around his neck. “You mean besides the fact that I made two and a half of your children?”

He laughed under his breath, his nose brushing against yours. “That’s definitely part of it. But it’s more than that. You’re the heart of this home.”

Your eyes began to mist, and before you could say anything, he leaned in and kissed you. It was slow and steady, full of warmth and tenderness. The kind of kiss that said everything without needing words.

When he pulled away, he stayed close, resting his forehead gently against yours. “Boy or girl?” he asked quietly.

You gave a soft shrug, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s still early. But I don’t really care.”

Caleb reached for your hands and brought them to his lips. He kissed your knuckles, one by one, as his eyes stayed locked on yours. “I don’t either.”

For a while, neither of you moved. You just stood there in the hallway, held close in each other’s arms, with your boys sleeping peacefully behind the door. 

Later that night, the world outside had gone still. The lights were off, the boys were sound asleep down the hall, and the soft rustle of sheets filled the quiet room. Caleb lay behind you, his body curved around yours in the way that felt most natural.

One hand settled gently over your stomach. His hand was warm against your skin, fingers splayed as if trying to memorize the shape of something not yet there. Every now and then, his thumb moved in slow circles, as though he could already feel the heartbeat beginning to grow beneath his touch.

His breath brushed through your hair, steady and quiet. You shifted slightly, your back pressing into his chest, and murmured with a sleepy smile, “Luca’s going to say he knew it first.”

Caleb’s lips curved against your shoulder. “Elio’s going to ask if the baby’s arriving next week,” he whispered, his voice thick with quiet amusement.

A soft laugh escaped you, one that melted into the silence like a lullaby. Your eyes had already closed, your breathing evening out, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to the side of your head.

You slipped into sleep, safe and warm in his arms.

But Caleb stayed awake a little longer. He kept his hand where it was, feeling the faint rise and fall of your breaths beneath his palm. The room was dark, but his thoughts were full of light, imagining a smaller voice joining the early morning chaos, tiny feet padding across the floor, chubby hands reaching out for you.

He already loved this child. Deeply. Instinctively. Because they were a part of you.

Years ago, he had been terrified of what could go wrong. He had feared the worst, braced himself for the weight of loss. But tonight, lying beside you now, Caleb didn’t feel afraid.

He felt grateful.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just holding on to what he had.

He was looking forward to everything still to come.

With the news of a new sibling, the boys had started acting just a little bit older, though they were still very much themselves. They still ran through the halls like planes taking off and turned the living room into a racetrack of toy cars and action figures, but there was something gentler in the way they touched their mother’s belly. A hush in their voices when they’d ask if she was tired. If she wanted water. If the baby was sleeping. 

Caleb saw it every day—the way they followed his lead without needing to be told. If he helped you off the couch, they rushed to get your slippers. If he placed a hand on your back in quiet worry, they’d lean against your side, too. The boys had always looked up to him. But now, they mirrored his care like it was the most natural thing in the world.

So when the day finally came and their baby sister arrived safe and sound, it was no surprise that the two of them were quiet for the first time in their entire lives.

Caleb still wasn’t sure if it was nerves or awe or both, but they clung to his hands tightly as they walked the familiar halls of Akso Hospital. He could feel Luca’s little fingers twitch with restless energy, Elio’s footsteps slowing as they neared your room. Neither said a word.

He opened the door carefully, as if louder sounds might shatter the peace waiting inside.

The room was dim and still, the mid-afternoon light spilling through the blinds in soft streaks. You were lying on the bed, a little pale, a little tired, but still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

And cradled in your arms, their baby sister.

Caleb gently pushed the door closed behind him, his voice barely above a whisper. “Go on, boys,” he said, giving their shoulders a soft nudge forward. “You missed Mommy the past few days, didn’t you? Show her what you made.”

The two of them stood frozen at the foot of your bed, eyes wide and round, like the sight of you had taken all the words out of their mouths.

You looked up and smiled. “Hello there,” you said softly.

That was all it took. The spell broke, and suddenly the boys were rushing forward, shoes scuffing against the floor as they scrambled to your side.

Luca climbed up first, careful but eager, his homemade card nearly crumpling in his grip. “Hi, Mommy,” he whispered, eyes flicking between your face and the small bundle in your arms. “Hi, baby…” His voice went even softer as he stared, wide-eyed.

Elio followed clumsily, still too small to climb up without help, so Caleb scooped him into his arms and placed him gently beside you. Elio’s hands were clutching a paper flower he'd made with too much glue, now a little bent from the ride over.

“Tiny,” Elio breathed, craning his neck for a better look. “Like... like bean.”

You laughed, tired but full of love, and your eyes flicked up to meet Caleb’s across the bed.

“She was excited to meet her big brothers,” you said gently, glancing back down at the little girl in your arms. “I told her all about you both.”

Luca leaned in slowly. “Can we touch her?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Gently,” Caleb reminded, his voice low and calm. “Just one finger.”

Elio’s pinky was the first to brush against her tiny hand. “Like marshmallows,” he whispered with awe.

Your daughter shifted in your arms, letting out a tiny squeak, and both boys gasped like they’d heard magic for the first time.

Caleb couldn’t help but watch them, his heart swelling at the sight of the three of them huddled around you. The way Luca’s careful fingers hovered just above the baby’s tiny hand, as if he didn’t want to disturb the delicate moment. The way Elio’s wide eyes followed every tiny movement, as if trying to take in every inch of her. It was as if they were meeting her for the first time, even though they had waited for this day for so long.

For a moment, Caleb simply stood there, letting the stillness of the room settle around him. The steady sound of your breath, the soft rustle of Luca and Elio shifting beside you, the small, almost imperceptible coo of your newborn daughter—it all felt so right. This was it. This was his family.

Luca looked up at him, his eyes searching for something in Caleb’s expression. “Dad, do you think she’ll like my card?” he asked, his voice quiet but filled with the kind of earnestness that only a seven-year-old could manage.

Caleb smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nodded. “She’ll love it, Luca. It’s perfect.”

Luca beamed, a sense of pride spreading across his face. Caleb’s heart gave another soft squeeze as his eyes shifted to Elio, who was still completely mesmerized by his little sister. He reached out and gently brushed his thumb over Elio’s hair.

“Pretty,” Elio murmured, still gazing at her with wonder. “Like doll.”

“She is,” Caleb agreed. “She’s perfect.”

As the boys settled into the quiet, Caleb took a moment to really look at you. You were the heart of everything—always had been, always would be. He watched the way you held their sister, so natural and tender, like you’d been doing this for years. 

Luca, after a few more moments of quiet fascination, asked, “Can we take her home today?”

You chuckled softly, lifting the baby carefully in your arms. “Not today, sweetie,” you said, your voice soothing. “Mommy and the baby have to stay here for a little longer. But soon. Very soon.”

“Can we bring her toys?” Luca piped up, his small hands still gripping the paper flower. “I think she’d like our airplanes.”

“You can bring her all the toys in the world,” Caleb said with a laugh. “But I think she’s going to like just being with her big brothers the most.”

The boys giggled, the sound filling the room with an energy that Caleb knew would only grow louder as the days went by.

In that moment, everything felt perfect. He could hear the faint buzz of the hospital outside the room, the distant shuffle of nurses and doctors, but it all felt so far away. This room, this small corner of the world, was his—our world. And in it, there was only love.

Years had passed, though it didn’t always feel that way. One day, you were cleaning up crayon drawings off the walls, and the next, you were watching your eldest pack for university. 

Luca was twenty now and living in Skyhaven, studying aerospace engineering. It was the same dream he’d had since he was five years old, pointing at planes and rattling off questions Caleb would happily answer back then. 

Elio was seventeen, still in high school and finishing up the year back in Linkon. He was quieter now than he’d been as a child, but his eyes still lit up in that same unmistakable way whenever he talked about things he liked. 

And Elise, now thirteen, was growing more like you each day. She had your eyes, your quick thinking, and a stubborn streak Caleb recognized immediately.

It was early evening, and the sun was starting to dip. Warm light filled the open living space of their Skyhaven vacation home, filtering through the tall windows. Caleb had just finished up dinner—nothing too fancy, just something filling and familiar. He wiped his hands on a towel, glancing around. 

The house was quiet, too quiet for a break week. The kids were all here. They’d planned the trip months ago, carving out time to visit Luca and spend a few slow days together, away from everything. But the fleet had issued a mild lockdown notice that morning. Wanderer activity was up again, and while nothing had directly threatened the area, Caleb couldn’t quite relax. He had already double-checked the perimeter shields and the emergency protocols. Old habits were hard to shake, especially now that he had a whole family under this roof again, if only for a few days.

“Elise, princess, where are your brothers?” Caleb called out from the kitchen.

Elise was stretched out on the living room couch, her legs tangled in a blanket, her thumbs tapping at her phone. She didn’t look up. “Luca’s on the balcony,” she said, eyes still locked on the screen. “Studying or something.”

Caleb nodded slowly, even though she wasn’t looking at him. He wiped his hands again, more out of habit than necessity. “Alright. Can you wake your mom? Tell her dinner’s ready when she’s up.”

“Okay,” Elise said, but she didn’t move just yet.

Caleb let it go. That was how it was now. Elise was responsible in her own way, but she liked to do things on her own time. He saw a lot of you in her—the sharp wit and the way she held her own in a room full of older brothers without needing to raise her voice.

He smiled a little to himself as he stepped away from the kitchen, already picturing you stirring awake, probably annoyed that you hadn’t set an alarm. You were always stubborn about letting yourself rest, and he’d insisted you nap while he handled dinner. Just a few more minutes, and then the five of you would be at the table, and for a while, everything would feel complete again.

He made his way toward the balcony and stepped outside, the crisp evening air greeting him as he spotted Luca, hunched over a pile of textbooks, studying intently. His oldest son had always been focused, but there was something different now—an intensity in the way he worked, the quiet seriousness that made Caleb proud but also made him miss the more carefree days.

“Hey, Luca,” Caleb called softly, walking toward him. Luca didn’t look up immediately, but after a moment, he glanced over, his eyes tired but warm.

“Hey, Dad,” Luca replied, his voice tinged with that familiar student exhaustion. “Just going over some notes for tomorrow’s lecture.”

“Don’t overdo it,” Caleb advised, a slight edge to his tone. “You’ve been at this for hours.”

Luca gave a small shrug. “I’ll take a break soon.” But Caleb could tell his son wasn’t all that convinced. His gaze dropped back to the pages in front of him.

“Alright, dinner’s ready,” Caleb added with a smile, ruffling his son’s hair in that easy way only a father could.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be inside in a bit,” Luca mumbled, not looking up again.

Satisfied that Luca was fine, Caleb turned to find Elio. He found him in his room, perched on the edge of his bed, his phone pressed to his ear, his voice low but insistent. Caleb paused at the door, watching his younger son in silence. Elio had changed in these past few months—growing taller, quieter, and sometimes... a little distant. It wasn’t that Caleb didn’t trust him, but he knew better than to ignore the signs of rebellion that came with the teenage years.

Elio didn’t notice Caleb standing there until he cleared his throat. The boy jumped slightly, but then quickly smiled, putting the phone down. “Hey, Dad,” he greeted, still sounding a bit out of breath.

“Everything good in here?” Caleb asked, keeping his tone casual.

“Yeah, just—uh—talking to some friends,” Elio said, the words slipping a little too easily. Caleb raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll be downstairs in a second,” Elio added quickly.

Caleb watched him for a moment, a little concerned but choosing not to press the issue right now.

When everyone gathered around the table for dinner later that evening, the warmth of their Skyhaven home felt different—cozier, somehow. The kids were all here, each one of them safe, their laughter filling the space in the way it always did. You, as usual, were the center of it all, pulling them in with your easy smile. You had watched a movie after dinner, the chatter light, and Caleb took his place beside you on the couch, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing.

“Alright, everyone,” Caleb said, after a long pause, his voice calm but firm, “just a reminder—don’t go out tonight. The lockdown’s still in place, and it’s better we stay inside.”

The kids muttered their agreements, though Luca seemed distracted by his phone again, and Elise didn’t even glance up. Caleb noticed Elio fidgeting nervously. His son had always been quick to pick up on his mood, and tonight, there was something in his eyes that Caleb couldn’t quite place—an unease that didn’t belong.

But for now, it was all good. They were safe, they were home, and Caleb could breathe a little easier. He just hoped the peace would hold a little longer.

It was nearly 1 AM. The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that usually came with deep sleep. But Caleb wasn’t asleep. He sat in the living room, elbows on his knees, hands locked together as he stared at the floor. The frustration in his chest simmered, heavy and hot, not because of defiance—but because of fear.

Elio had snuck out.

Again.

The first time, Caleb had tried to be patient. He had chalked it up to teenage rebellion, a desire for independence. But this time was different. They weren’t in Linkon. They were in Skyhaven, a floating city still under temporary lockdown. The system had issued clear alerts: increased wanderer activity, limited movement advised.

Hours earlier, Caleb had tried to settle into the evening. Dinner had been quiet but good. They watched a movie. Elise had gone to bed early. You had stayed up to read, then dozed off on the couch. And Luca had disappeared to his room, supposedly studying. Everything had felt calm—until just after midnight, when there was a knock at his door.

Caleb opened it to find Luca standing there. His eldest son looked uneasy, shifting on his feet, eyes not quite meeting his father’s. That was the first sign.

“What is it?” Caleb had asked, already feeling his stomach turn.

Luca hesitated, clearly caught between protecting his brother and doing the right thing. “I didn’t want to say anything,” he started, “but... Elio’s not here.”

Caleb straightened. “What do you mean he’s not here?”

“He left earlier tonight,” Luca said. “I didn’t see where he went. But I think...” He paused, then forced the words out. “He has a girlfriend here. In Skyhaven. I think he went to see her.”

It took everything in Caleb not to lose it right there in the street. A girlfriend. His son had snuck out behind their backs. And not just for anything, but during a lockdown.

Now, Caleb was dragging Elio by the collar of his jacket, his steps quick and tight with frustration as they moved toward where the car waited. His grip wasn’t violent, but it was firm, his other hand clenched into a fist at his side.

“Where did you even pick this up?” Caleb’s voice was low, the kind of quiet anger that made the words land heavier than if he had shouted. “You know better. You know exactly what’s happening out there, and you still left. In the middle of the night. During a lockdown.”

Elio kept his head down but didn’t resist, his breath visible in the cold air. Caleb tightened his hold on his son’s jacket, not to hurt him, but because his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“This isn’t about curfew. This isn’t about rules. This is about what could’ve happened to you. What if the system glitched? What if a wanderer got through the barrier? Do you think I’d be able to find you in time?”

He turned toward Elio fully now, breathing hard, his eyes red from worry more than rage. “You are not invincible. You don’t just disappear in the middle of the night and expect everything to be fine.”

Elio pulled his arm back, breaking free from Caleb’s grip. The fabric of his jacket slipped through his father’s hand. “I’m fine,” he snapped. His voice was louder than he intended. “I can handle myself. I’m not a kid anymore.”

The words echoed for a beat too long. They stood there under the streetlights, neither one moving, the silence sharp between them. In the distance, Skyhaven’s system lights blinked steadily, a quiet reminder of how close and yet far away danger could be.

Caleb didn’t speak right away. He looked at his son, at the rigid set of Elio’s jaw, the flush rising in his face, the slight tremble he was trying to hide. Caleb’s chest ached with more than anger. He was scared. Elio didn’t fully understand what he had risked.

Still breathing heavily, Caleb stepped toward the car. He opened the passenger side door without another word. His jaw was tight, and he didn’t look back as he spoke. “Get in. Now.”

Elio stood there, hands at his sides, clearly torn between arguing again and backing down. He glanced at the open door, then back at his father. His shoulders dropped slightly.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he muttered. “There. Happy?”

Caleb’s hand stayed on the door, but he didn’t move. The words hung in the air, not quite reaching him. It wasn’t that he needed Elio to say sorry. He needed Elio to understand what he’d done.

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at his son again—older now, but still young in all the ways that mattered. Still figuring things out. Still vulnerable in a world that wouldn’t always give second chances.

“Get in,” Caleb repeated quietly. He didn’t say anything else. Not yet.

Elio didn’t move. He just stood there, looking at his father. “Dad, I said I’m sorry.”

Caleb didn’t answer right away. He let out a slow breath, steadying himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, but the weight behind it hadn’t lessened. “Apologize to your mother,” he said. He turned to face Elio fully, not just as a father, but as someone who had spent the last hour imagining every worst-case scenario. “She’s been worried sick. Do you know what that does to her? What it’s like not knowing if something happened to you?”

Elio didn’t argue this time. He looked down at the ground. His hands were in his pockets, his shoulders drawn in. Whatever fire had been in him earlier had dulled. Caleb couldn’t tell if it was guilt or just fatigue, but at least he was listening now.

Caleb wasn’t finished. Not yet. Elio needed to understand that some lines weren’t about control or rules for the sake of rules. They were about protecting the people who mattered. Especially when the world outside their walls could shift at any moment.

“Get in the car,” Caleb said again. His tone was quieter now, but it left no room for debate. “We’ll talk at home. And you’ll talk to your mother. She deserves that.”

Elio stood still for a few more seconds. Then he muttered something under his breath—Caleb couldn’t catch the words—but he moved toward the car without another complaint. He opened the door and got in.

Caleb walked around the front, shut the passenger door behind him, and stood there for a moment with his hand on the frame. He didn’t slam it. But the sound of it closing felt final, like a conversation paused, not yet resolved.

Caleb got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The silence between them filled the car, heavy and uncomfortable. He didn’t try to break it. He could feel it in his stomach, in the way his shoulders remained tense even as he adjusted his grip on the wheel. In the rearview mirror, he saw Elio looking away, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the window. Caleb didn’t push. This wasn’t about winning an argument. This was about making sure his son understood that safety wasn’t something they could afford to take lightly.

The empty roads stretched ahead, dimly lit by the soft, floating glow of Skyhaven’s street lights. As they drove, Caleb’s anger began to ease, slowly replaced by something heavier. It sat low in his chest—an ache, not just from the worry, but from something he hadn’t let himself admit.

He would’ve done the same thing.

If it had been him, years ago—if you were waiting somewhere out there—he knew he wouldn’t have thought twice. He would’ve found a way out, risked the rules, the curfew, maybe even his own safety, just for the chance to see you. For a few minutes, that would have been enough.

He glanced sideways at Elio. His son’s face was turned toward the window, his expression hard to read, but his posture was tight and closed off. Still, there was something familiar in the set of his jaw, in the way he stayed quiet instead of explaining himself.

And in that moment, Caleb didn’t just see a boy who had made a reckless choice.

He saw himself, a long time ago, doing the exact same thing for someone he loved.

The rebellious phase didn’t last forever. Eventually, things settled. Time had a way of softening the rougher edges, the arguments that once felt like everything, now just memories folded into the background of their family’s story.

Their children were growing up. And slowly but surely, Caleb and you were growing older too. But there was a quiet beauty in it all. The noise of adolescence gave way to new rhythms—dinners with fewer raised voices, visits that felt more like reunions, and milestones that came with their own kind of chaos.

Luca, always the steady one, had found someone who matched his pace—a fellow aerospace engineer he met during post-grad. The first time Caleb saw him carefully buckle his daughter into her car seat, something shifted in his chest. That little girl’s name was Isla. She had Luca’s focus and Caleb’s eyes. The first time she ran up to him yelling “Grandpa!” and wrapped her arms around his legs, Caleb had to sit down just to keep from tearing up.

Elio had married the same girl he used to sneak out to see during Skyhaven’s lockdowns. Caleb remembered those fights clearly, but he also remembered the quiet way Elio had stepped up afterward, earning back their trust, showing up for his responsibilities. That same girl, now his wife, was expecting their second child. And Elio, once the most stubborn teenager Caleb had ever known, now sent ultrasound photos to the family group chat and kissed his wife’s forehead after every doctor’s visit. He still called his mother every Sunday, without fail.

Caleb had watched it all happen with a quiet kind of pride. He had come to expect these moments of growth, of change. But even with all the memories behind him—birthdays, graduations, weddings—nothing could have prepared him for this one.

Caleb stood with Elise just outside the grand doors of the venue hall. He could hear the soft hum of music from inside, faint and delicate. His daughter—his baby girl —was dressed in white. In just a few steps, he’d be walking her down the aisle.

“Dad, do not cry, okay?” Elise said, her voice teetering between firm and unsteady. She adjusted the skirt of her gown with careful hands, then looked up at him with that same stubborn pout she’d had since she was five. “If you cry, I’m going to cry. And my makeup is already perfect.”

He let out a breath and tried to pull himself together. “I won’t,” Caleb said, though the lump forming in his throat said otherwise.

She gave him a look. “Honestly, I’m expecting you to cry and not Mom.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.”

“Don’t think about it,” she said quickly, reaching out to smooth the front of his blazer like she used to do when they were getting ready for fancy tea parties in her room.

He stood still, letting her fuss over him. Her hands were shaking just a little.

“You can back out,” he said softly, leaning in so she would hear him clearly. “It’s not too late. If you need anything—anything at all—Dad’s still here. Always.”

She didn’t respond at first. Just looked at him, lips pressed together, eyes glossy. Caleb gave her a small smile.

No tears yet.

But God, he was close.

“Dad!” she gasped as her eyes welled. “I told you... I told you not to make me cry...”

“Do you want to back out?” he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper, holding it together only for her sake.

She shook her head furiously, biting her lip. “No. I love him.”

Caleb’s chest tightened. His heart melted and ached all at once. “When did my daughter grow up?” he asked quietly, mostly to himself, but Elise heard it. And she cried harder.

He held out his arm for her, like he had a hundred times before in hallway dances and pretend tea parties. But this time, her hand slipped into his like a promise. No longer his little girl, not entirely, but always his Elise.

And as the doors opened, and he walked her toward her future, Caleb held his head high.

He did not cry. Not yet. Not until the vows.

After the ceremony, after the speeches, and after Caleb had twirled his daughter across the floor during their dance, trying and failing not to get choked up, he finally sat back down beside you at your table at the front. The lights were dim and golden, casting a soft glow over the reception hall, and the music had shifted into something livelier now that the formalities were over. You leaned gently on his shoulder, fingers absentmindedly playing with the hand he had draped around you.

In the middle of the dance floor, Elise was laughing, head tilted back, cheeks flushed, as she spun in her white heels with her now husband and their friends. Her smile was full and familiar, the same one she had as a child when she'd run to Caleb after every school play, waiting for his proud hug.

“All our children are starting families now,” you murmured, your voice low but warm. You laced your fingers with his, giving them a soft squeeze. “When did that happen?”

Caleb exhaled through his nose, his eyes never leaving the dance floor. “Somewhere between diaper changes and college applications,” he said. “We must’ve done something right.”

You smiled. “We did.” A pause, then quieter, more wistful: “To think... Luca’s working on your planes now. Our Luca. He used to build toy models with you on the floor.”

“He still does,” Caleb chuckled, rubbing small circles on your shoulder. “Just made of real metal now and not plastic parts he nearly swallowed as a toddler.”

You laughed and tucked yourself closer into his side.

“And Elio,” he added, his tone softening, “not so hardheaded these days. Not completely, anyway.”

You raised your brows knowingly. “He still makes faces when you reprimand him.”

“Yeah, well,” Caleb shrugged. “That’s just karma. I did worse. But he’s a good man. A good husband.”

“And a baby on the way,” you said, your voice catching with emotion. “Another grandchild.”

“And now our little girl…” he continued, his throat tightening a little as he watched Elise spin back into her husband’s arms. Her train swirled behind her like the ribbon of her childhood dresses.

“She’s a wife now,” you whispered. “We’re getting old, my love.”

Caleb gave a quiet snort and finally tore his eyes away to look at you. “Speak for yourself. I’m still in my prime.”

You laughed and poked his side. “You have two bad knees and a back that cracks when you sneeze.”

“And yet, I’m still the one you leaned on after dancing,” he teased.

You grinned. “Because I’m old too.”

He shook his head fondly and kissed your temple. “We’re not old. We’re seasoned. Veteran parents. And now professional grandparents.”

You hummed, resting your cheek on his chest. “Well, seasoned or not… I like this chapter.”

Caleb looked back toward the dance floor again—at their daughter, at their children gathered together, at the laughter echoing through the room. His family. His whole world.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

An entire lifetime with you had been everything Caleb could’ve asked for. He meant that literally. From the moment you chose him, despite the long-distance missions, the sleepless nights, and the risks that came with both your jobs, he never took it for granted. You built a home in Linkon, not out of necessity, but because it was the safest place to raise children. You had the means, yes, but you also had discipline. Routine. Trust.

Together, you planned vacations around leave schedules and holiday breaks. You celebrated small wins—Elise’s first time riding her bike without training wheels, Luca getting into his first robotics fair, and Elio finally patching things up with his father after those difficult teen years. Caleb remembered those things clearly, not only as milestones, but as actual days: what the weather was like, what he cooked for dinner that night, how your hand felt when it curled into his under the table.

The two of you watched your children grow into people you were proud of. You helped raise the grandkids too, always showing up for school programs, babysitting without being asked, and making every birthday count. The house was never quiet for long. It was the kind of life you didn’t have to dream about. You lived it.

So naturally, everyone thought you’d reach the end of your lifetime together. Grow old side by side. Fall asleep one night, both of you still there in the morning.

But after fifty years of marriage, it was Caleb who was walking ahead.

No one expected that. Not really. Not him. Not like this.

He was the strong one—the one who trained for endurance, who carried your bags when your joints ached, who still insisted on driving you both home from the airport even in his late seventies. He took vitamins religiously. He checked everyone’s annuals. He was meticulous about health, about maintenance, about life.

But now, it was Caleb in the hospital bed. His frame was thinner than it had ever been. His hands, once steady even under pressure, trembled when he reached for yours. He wasn’t in pain, not exactly. But he was tired. And that scared you more than any injury ever had.

He lay there in a private room at Akso Hospital, his skin pale and almost translucent under the soft glow of the lights. His breathing was shallow and slow. You sat beside him, holding his hand. 

His voice was weak, hoarse, but still familiar. “I’ll be fine for the night, love. The kids will take turns checking on me,” he said, trying to smile.

Luca, Elio, and Elise moved quietly around the room. They adjusted his pillows, double-checked the monitors, arranged his water and medication. Caleb saw it clearly—the way their eyes lingered on him now. He could imagine how they saw someone they needed to care for, not the man who used to carry them on his shoulders or patch up scraped knees.

Elio was the first to speak. “Mom, you should sleep at my house tonight. It’s closer.”

“I can stay here,” you said, not raising your voice, but not yielding either. You wanted to be beside your husband.

Caleb clicked his tongue softly and gave you a look. “Not good for your back,” he said with a half-smile, even though his color was off and his energy low. “Listen to me, love. I’ll be fine.”

Elise was behind you now, adjusting the pillow behind your chair. Her movements were careful. She didn’t push, but her expression was gentle and full of concern. “Listen to Dad, Mom,” she said quietly. “I’ll stay at Elio’s tonight with you. I’ll check on Dad first thing in the morning. You need rest too.”

You hesitated, your hand still holding Caleb’s. You didn’t want to go. Every part of you wanted to stay, to be there in case he needed anything, even if it was just someone to sit with him in the quiet. But he was right. He wasn’t the same, and neither were you.

“Who’s staying tonight?” you asked, even though the answer was already in your head.

Luca cleared his throat. He shifted his weight, eyes flicking between the floor and the nearby cabinet, avoiding his father’s face. Then, after a short pause, he gave another small cough, like he needed to fill the silence. “Me. I’ll stay.”

Caleb watched him closely. He saw the hesitation in his movements, the tension in his shoulders, the sadness that Luca didn’t bother trying to hide anymore. He knew it wasn’t easy for his eldest son to see him like this. Luca had grown up thinking his father could fix anything. Now, the man in the hospital bed looked nothing like that version.

Caleb frowned. It was hard to swallow this shift in roles. 

You sighed quietly, then brushed your thumb over the back of his hand. “Okay,” you said. “I’ll come back tomorrow with Elio and Elise.”

Your voice cracked slightly toward the end, but you caught it before it could get worse. Caleb didn’t speak right away. He just closed his eyes for a moment, like he was trying to collect himself. When he opened them again, he looked at you. Even now, even tired and weak, there was clarity in his eyes. He saw you. And you could see the effort it took him just to keep that gaze steady.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” he said, his voice low and thin.

You nodded. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything more than that. You leaned in and kissed his forehead gently, the way you had so many times before.

“I love you,” you whispered.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I love you, too. Always.”

As you walked out of the room, your chest felt tight. But there was no panic this time. Just quiet. Just a strange kind of peace. The love between you had carried you through so much. And it was still here, steady, even now.

After you, Elio, and Elise left, Caleb lay still, eyes closed, his breathing soft and even. The bed creaked faintly every time he shifted, which wasn’t often. He didn’t have the energy anymore.

Luca remained, standing at the foot of the bed with his hands wrapped tightly around the back of the chair. He hadn’t sat down, hadn’t moved much at all since the door closed behind the others. He just stood there, eyes fixed on his father, jaw clenched. Caleb opened his eyes, sensing the hesitation.

Luca looked older tonight. Not in a physical way—his posture, his sharp features, the quiet way he carried himself were still the same. But something in his expression had shifted. Caleb saw it immediately. He wasn’t just a son visiting his sick father. He was a man trying to hold himself together while watching someone he thought was unshakable begin to fade.

“Sorry,” Luca said, and it came out thin, like the breath had been punched out of him. He cleared his throat, tried again. “I’m sorry.”

Caleb blinked, his gaze softening as he looked at him. “For what, son?”

Luca swallowed hard. His voice caught in his throat again before he finally answered. “I just… I didn’t think I’d ever have to see you like this.”

His words weren’t dramatic. They didn’t need to be.

“You’ve always been the strong one,” Luca continued. “The one who never got tired. Who just… kept going. And now I see you like this, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know how to help.”

Caleb didn’t respond right away. His eyes stayed on Luca, and for a moment, he wasn’t looking at a grown man—he was seeing the boy who used to sneak into his bed after a bad dream, the teenager who asked him how to write a résumé, the young adult who called from Skyhaven because he couldn’t decide whether to propose yet.

Now he stood there, trying not to fall apart.

“I’m still your dad,” Caleb said, his voice quiet but steady. “Even now.”

Luca looked away, blinking fast. His eyes were glassy. “I know. I just… I wish I could do more. I wish I were strong like you.”

Caleb’s chest tightened. He’d spent his whole life being the one who shouldered the load so his kids wouldn’t have to. And now here was Luca, trying to do the same.

He gave a faint smile, but it barely reached his eyes. “You are strong, Luca. You always have been.”

He paused. His throat felt dry, his voice scratchy. “I didn’t think it would be you carrying the family one day. Not because you weren’t capable—I just never thought I’d have to step back. But look at you now, Son. You’re doing it.”

Luca didn’t speak right away. His gaze dropped to the floor, jaw clenched. He looked like he was trying to keep himself together, but barely managing. Caleb had seen that look before, but never on his son. 

Then, after a long moment, Luca looked up again. “How do I become a good father like you, Dad?”

The question was simple, but it knocked the air out of Caleb more than anything else that night. He turned his head to look at his son fully. His voice came out low and soft. “You already are.”

Luca didn’t react right away. His mouth twitched like he didn’t believe it.

Caleb kept going, slower now, making sure every word came out right. “You’re more than I ever hoped for. As a man. As a son. I’ve been proud of you since the day you were born, and nothing’s ever changed that. Nothing will.”

The silence that followed seemed to stretch on forever, with Luca absorbing the weight of his father’s words. But there was still a question that seemed to linger in the air, one he couldn’t shake. He cleared his throat, his voice cracking a little as he asked, 

“Was I a good son?”

Caleb didn’t need to think about it. His answer came easily, despite the tears that threatened to come. “Of course. You’ve made me proud every day of your life.”

Caleb could see the man Luca had become. The responsibility he carried. And though it hurt to realize that his children were growing up, taking on the weight of the world without him, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride. His children, his legacy, had turned out better than he could have ever imagined.

Luca finally sat down in the chair next to the bed, his hands folded in his lap as he looked at his father with a quiet admiration. “I just wish I had more time to learn from you,” Luca said, his voice thick with emotion. “I wish I could’ve been there more... to take care of you. The way you always took care of us.”

Caleb reached out weakly, placing a hand on Luca’s. “You’ve already learned everything you need to, son. You’ve always known what matters. You always will.”

Luca’s eyes welled with tears, but he quickly blinked them away, trying to maintain his composure. Caleb smiled softly, his heart heavy, but filled with love for the son who had always been his rock.

As they sat in the quiet hospital room together, the bond between father and son felt stronger than ever before, and Caleb couldn’t help but feel that, no matter what the future held, he had done his part. His children were strong, capable, and, most importantly, they were loved. And that, he realized, was all he could ever hope for.

The days in the hospital had worn Caleb down in a way he hadn’t expected. The sharp scent of antiseptic lingered in the air no matter how often they changed the sheets. The mechanical beeping of monitors, once reassuring, had become a reminder of just how much his body had changed. Nurses came and went in quiet shifts, checking charts, adjusting settings, trying their best to make him comfortable.

But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

He could feel it, the way his body was slowing down. His strength was fading, and so was the illusion that he had more time. Despite the care and routine of the hospital, it didn’t feel right to spend his last days there. It wasn’t where he wanted to be. 

What he wanted, what he needed, was to go home.

Home was where you were. 

It was the warmth of your hand in his, the familiar sounds of life outside the garden walls, the scent of morning coffee and jasmine. He remembered what it felt like to step through the front door again for the first time after his discharge, seeing the picture frames lined across the walls, no longer hearing noise in the corners of rooms that used to echo with laughter. He had paused at the foot of the stairs, remembering how he used to run up them, children in his arms, always being called for, always needed. That home held his life. And he wanted to be there when the last chapter closed.

So, after conversations (and a few arguments) with you and the children, he decided. No more hospital. No more sterile rooms or quiet hallways. He would come home to the only place that had ever truly belonged to him.

You had agreed, though your eyes said everything your words didn’t. You were still holding on, still hoping for a different outcome, even if you knew better. Caleb understood. He had gone through the same thing at the start—denial, bargaining, anger. He couldn’t blame you for wanting to fight it. You had always loved him with your whole heart. Of course, this was hard. But time was moving, and it wasn’t slowing down for either of you.

Now, the two of you sat in the garden, wrapped in the stillness of late afternoon. The sun was beginning to lower, casting a golden light across the flowers and trees. It was warm but gentle, with a breeze that moved just enough to keep the air from feeling heavy. Caleb had always liked this hour of the day. The world outside softened. Even the distant hum of the street seemed quieter here.

He sat in his usual chair, a blanket folded across his lap, and you were beside him, reading from the box of old letters he had written you during the years he was away on missions. Letters from Skyhaven. Letters from distant airstrips and unfamiliar cities. You had kept them all. Folded and worn, some stained with the faintest hint of age, but still legible. He remembered writing every one of them, usually late at night, sometimes during long waits between flights, when all he could think about was home.

You read aloud now, your voice steady, even as the words caught a little on the older paper. Every now and then, you laughed. Soft, fond laughter at the way he used to write—dramatic, earnest, sometimes embarrassingly romantic. He’d always tried too hard in writing, trying to put everything he felt into words, knowing you would find it old-fashioned but would still make you smile. He watched your face as you read, catching the small smiles, the way your fingers traced the edges of the paper, careful not to tear anything.

Caleb smiled, tired but full. You had always laughed at his sappiness, but never in a way that made him feel foolish. It had always been gentle, like you were holding his heart in your hands and knew exactly how to keep it safe.

“Keep that face,” Caleb murmured. His voice was faint, but the tenderness in it was unmistakable, something only you would catch.

You paused and turned to him, confused. Your hand lingered on the edge of the letter as you gently placed it back into the box beside you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. Your tone was light, an attempt to keep things steady, but the worry beneath it was clear. You couldn’t quite hide it, no matter how carefully you tried.

“I want your smile to be the last thing I see,” he said. His voice was soft but steady, and the words landed with quiet weight. He knew it was selfish in some way, asking that of you, but time was slipping through his fingers faster than either of you could hold it. There wasn’t room for anything unspoken anymore. He needed you to know just how much you mattered. You always had.

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes dropped, and your lips pressed together in an effort to keep your composure. He watched the way your eyes began to shine, how you blinked a little too quickly, holding back the tears building behind them. You were trying to be strong for him, the way he had once been for you.

He wanted to reach for your hand, to offer some comfort, but he stopped himself. This wasn’t about easing his own fear. It was about giving you the space to let go, to remember the decades you’d spent loving each other. The good days. The quiet ones. The laughter. The letters. All of it.

Even if goodbye was coming, he wanted it to be filled with the memory of your smile, the one thing that had always brought him home.

“I’m not doing this right now, Caleb,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. There was still that edge of defiance in it, the same one he’d fallen in love with years ago. The one that told him you would fight tooth and nail to keep from losing him. You were still so stubborn, even now.

“It’s my last request,” he whispered. His hand reached for yours, fingers curling gently around them. The touch was light, but there was a steadiness to it, an anchor in a moment that felt like it could slip away at any second. He could feel the warmth of your skin, the familiar rhythm of your pulse beneath his fingertips. “Knowing you, you’ll cry... but do your best, love. Okay?”

His eyes searched yours, not demanding but asking softly and lovingly. And in that quiet look, he saw everything: the love that never wavered, the fear you tried so hard to hide, the reluctance tightening your jaw. You looked away, blinking fast, your gaze shifting to the side as if looking at anything else might spare you the pain of meeting his eyes.

He knew you hated talking about this. The end. The looming truth neither of you wanted to face. You couldn’t bring yourself to name it, not even now, not when it hovered in every pause between your words. But Caleb also knew there was no more time to skirt around it. This was the last thing he needed—not as a patient, not even as a dying man—but as the person who loved you most.

“Hey, I’ll smile too. Just promise me,” he said. His voice was raspy, but it carried a weight that filled the space between you. “When the time comes... let my smile be the last thing you remember. My love, not my absence. Don’t cry for me, not yet. Let’s just make the most of what’s still ours.”

The silence that followed sat heavily in the air, but he felt your presence so clearly. He could sense the tremor in your breath, the way you were holding yourself together with everything you had. You were trying—for him, for yourself, for the family.

He squeezed your hand, firm but gentle, as if to remind you he was still here. That this moment was still real. He saw the way your shoulders tensed, the way your lips pressed tightly together, trying to keep from falling apart.

It would come undone eventually. Caleb knew that. The tears, the grief, the long, slow ache of letting go. But not now. Not while you still had this moment together. And that, more than anything, was what he was holding on to.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide it,” Caleb said quietly. “I know it’s hard. But if you need to cry… I want you to. Just not in front of me. Not yet, please.”

You looked at him quickly, startled by the request. Your lips parted, like you wanted to object, to tell him you weren’t hiding anything. But the words didn’t come. You just nodded. And even though you held yourself together, he still saw it—the glassiness in your eyes, the way you blinked too slowly, like you were fighting against the weight of emotion.

You were trying to protect him, just as he had always tried to protect you. But Caleb knew you were holding back something you needed to release. And that hurt more than anything else, knowing you were swallowing your grief to spare him the pain.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, you know. You’ve always been so strong,” he said, his voice softer now. There was a crack in it, but he didn’t stop. He needed to say this. “You’ve always been the one holding us up. Keeping everything from falling apart. You’ve given me more than I ever thought I deserved.”

This time, you didn’t look away. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. He saw the years in your gaze—years of laughter, of hardship, of shared mornings and long nights. The little arguments, the apologies, the quiet routines. It was all there, written in a single glance.

Caleb eased back into the garden chair with a long, quiet sigh. His body was tired, weaker than it had ever been. He could feel the effort it took just to stay upright. But here, in the open air, with you beside him and the faint scent of blooming flowers on the breeze, he felt lighter. Not physically, but in his heart.

You sat beside him, your hand resting on his, your thumb gently tracing the back of it in slow, familiar motions. Caleb closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the feeling. That touch had been with him through everything. Now, it anchored him.

He had always feared this moment, but as he sat there, listening to the faint rustle of leaves, he didn’t feel afraid. He felt full. Loved. Grateful.

Because he knew his love for you wouldn’t end here. It would live on in the way your children smiled, in the strength they carried from both of you. In the stories you would one day tell about him. In the quiet, ordinary memories that would outlast even the sharpest pain of loss.

“I’ll be okay, love,” Caleb said softly, opening his eyes to meet yours. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the full weight of what he wanted you to hear. He gave you his familiar smile, the one that always made you feel safe, even now. “I’ll always be with you. It doesn’t really end. Not for me.”

You blinked, holding his gaze as your tears threatened to fall. Your breath caught in your throat, but still, you held it together. A small, shaky smile appeared as you nodded slowly. It wasn’t easy, but it was the first sign of acceptance. “I know,” you said quietly. “I know you will. But... I’m going to miss you so much. So, so much.”

Caleb felt the ache rise in his chest. He tried to keep his emotions in check, but this—this goodbye—was harder than anything he had prepared for. He wasn’t afraid to go, but leaving you behind was the hardest part.

“I’ve already lived the best parts of my life,” he said after a moment. “I had you. We had our children. We had a family. And that’s enough for me. It’s more than I ever thought I’d have.”

You leaned in then, your hand brushing his cheek before you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. It was tender and slow, full of all the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say out loud. Caleb closed his eyes and let himself feel it.

In that kiss, he felt everything: the years you’d spent together, the strength of your bond, and the life you had both poured yourselves into. And as he lay back, your touch still fresh on his skin, Caleb felt a calm settle over him. He knew there wasn’t much time left, but he also knew that love didn’t vanish when life did.

And as the sun dipped lower, Caleb looked toward the sky and smiled again. If this was the way his story ended—here, at home, beside you—then it was the ending he’d always hoped for.

For all the calm and quiet that had defined Caleb’s last days, the panic of this moment carved something deep in him. He couldn’t move anymore. Couldn’t speak audibly. His body had grown distant, unresponsive, like it no longer belonged to him. All he could do was lie still as he was wheeled down the hallway on a hospital gurney, the overhead lights passing in slow, sterile rhythm above him.

He could still hear everything, though. And that, more than anything, was what broke him.

“Dad, I love you so much,” Elise cried, her voice cracking through sobs as she gripped his hand. “I love you, okay? Thank you. Thank you.”

His little princess. He still remembered the way she used to run to him in pigtails and mismatched socks, always with a new story to tell or a flower she’d picked just for him. It felt like only yesterday she was climbing into his lap, demanding bedtime stories even when she was far too old for them. And now she was shaking, broken, telling him goodbye.

“I’m sorry for everything, Dad. I love you,” Elio said next, voice raw, eyes puffy and red. Caleb wanted so badly to reach for him, to pull him into one last bear hug. He thought of all the times they had butted heads, of the stubbornness they shared. But he also remembered the night Elio had quietly stayed up to fix the garden lights just because Caleb had mentioned they were flickering. The love had always been there, even when words failed.

Then Luca, ever the calmest, the most reserved, crumbled in front of him. “I’ll… I’ll take care of everything, I promise,” he choked out through tears. “I love you, Dad.”

And Caleb believed him. Luca had been the one who stood at his shoulder through every appointment, who asked the hard questions when Caleb didn’t have the strength. Who watched over his siblings like a sentinel, who had taken on the role of quiet protector without being asked. He had grown into a man Caleb was endlessly proud of.

But you... you didn’t say a word.

And for that, Caleb was grateful.

You stayed under Elio’s arm, letting him guide you toward the double doors, the ones they were wheeling Caleb through now. You were quiet, your face unreadable, but your silence was a language only he understood. It was the same silence you used when you stayed up with him on the nights his body ached too much to sleep. The silence you offered when words would have only made the pain louder.

Everyone knew what this meant. You, most of all.

Just an hour ago, the five of you had lunch in the garden. It had been Elise’s idea to eat outside, in the sun, among the flowers Caleb loved. They had laid out the dishes like it was an ordinary Sunday: roast chicken, fruit salad, fresh bread. Elise talked about a book she was reading. Elio made fun of the way she described the characters. Luca smiled and let them bicker, throwing in a dry remark here and there. Caleb had closed his eyes for just a moment, letting the warmth of the sun soak into his skin.

When he opened them again, it was chaos.

His children hovered around him, voices thick with fear, urgency in their words. He remembered Elio saying something like, “We need to go now. Please, Mom.” And you nodded. You knew what Caleb had asked. He didn’t want to go back to the hospital. But this wasn’t about logic anymore. This was about hope.

You were still hoping.

And Caleb couldn’t bring himself to fault you for it.

Now, the walls were too white. The lights too bright. His children's voices too loud with grief. Elise’s cries were growing more desperate.

“Dad, I love you,” she wailed again, somewhere behind him.

Caleb wanted to answer. To say I love you too, to remind her of all the moments that made up their lives. But he couldn't. His body wouldn't let him. So instead, he tried to focus. To listen. To etch their voices into the last pages of his memory.

He was slipping. He knew it. But the voices—his children’s voices—cut through the fog like a lifeline.

“Stay with us, Dad, please…” Elio’s voice cracked mid-sentence. Caleb could hear the panic beneath it, the pleading tone he hadn’t heard since Elio was eight and had broken his wrist climbing a fence too high. That same desperate sound returned now, but it came from a grown man with a family of his own, kneeling beside the gurney like a child who still thought his dad could fix anything.

“I know we said goodbye at home, but I wasn’t ready—none of us are,” Elio said, his hand resting gently on Caleb’s shoulder, trying to be strong. But his bottom lip trembled.

Caleb’s gaze, though growing glassy, managed to find him. He blinked slowly. He couldn’t smile, but he hoped the look in his eyes said enough.

Elise was clutching his hand again, her nails digging just a little into his skin, as if she could anchor him to earth with her grip alone. “Please, Daddy, don’t go yet,” she whispered. “Just a little longer. I still need you.”

Caleb’s heart ached. She still called him Daddy.

She looked so much like her mother now—the same eyes, the same way her face crumpled when she cried—but in that moment, she was five again, barefoot in the kitchen, holding a drawing of the two of them under a crooked sun. “ Daddy and Eli ,” she had said back then, bouncing, so proud of her stick-figure masterpiece. 

Then Luca leaned in. His voice was quieter, steadier, but no less full of pain. He was the opposite.

“You don’t have to hold on for us, Dad,” he said. “We’ll take care of Mom. Of everything. You’ve done enough. More than enough.”

Caleb felt the words like a release, like the quiet click of a lock turning open. Luca had always been the one who saw through things, the one who didn’t beg or bargain—but who showed up, who carried weight without being asked. There was strength in his goodbye, and Caleb found comfort in that.

Still, he couldn’t stop seeing them as his kids. Not grown men and women. Not people who had built lives of their own. But the three little faces that once peeked through the living room curtains when he came home from Skyhaven, shouting “ Daddy! ” as they raced toward him barefoot on the tile floor.

He was back there now—in memory, in feeling. Elise clinging to his leg, Elio demanding to see the photos he took from the airship deck, Luca silently tucking a small hand into his as they all walked to the kitchen.

His chest grew heavier with each passing second. Breathing took effort now, like his lungs were forgetting how. His vision blurred at the edges, dimming in and out like a light on its last flicker.

Somewhere nearby, he could make out the clipped voices of nurses, the clatter of a cart being rolled across tile. One of them mentioned something about moving him to a private room for further observation, their tone quiet but efficient, as though soft words could soften reality.

But none of it mattered. Not the room. Not the wires. Not the quiet flurry of preparation happening around him.

None of it registered the way you did.

You hadn’t said a word this whole time.

You stood behind your children, still sheltered beneath Elio’s arm, your expression unreadable. But Caleb knew you. Knew every shift in your face, every flicker behind your eyes. And those eyes—they were red but dry, unwavering in their grief. You were holding yourself together with that same steel he had fallen in love with years ago. Even now, you were choosing peace for him over your own pain. The last act of love you could give.

As the stretcher turned the corner, rolling him farther from the garden, farther from home, Caleb’s gaze strained to find you.

He always looked for you first. Last. Always. In every room, every crowd, every return home, your face was the constant.

And it was your face he searched for now, through the blur of fluorescent lights and moving shadows.

He barely noticed being lifted onto the hospital bed. Couldn’t feel the cool sheets beneath him or the slight sting of the IV needle. The nurses’ voices filtered in like underwater echoes, asking if he was comfortable, if he could give them a sign he was still present, if he could squeeze a hand, blink, breathe.

But all he could do was look at you.

You sat beside him now, the others having been gently ushered out. One person only. The rule echoed faintly in his mind, something someone had said moments earlier, maybe minutes, maybe hours.

Your hands were folded neatly in your lap. You hadn’t touched him yet. As if you were afraid that one touch would shatter the fragile quiet between you, or break the composure you were holding onto with everything you had left.

He wanted to tell you it was okay. That you didn’t have to hold back. That this was enough. That you were enough.

But as Caleb stared at you with tired eyes, it was like his whole life unfolded in front of him. In the quiet stillness of the hospital room, with the weight of his body sinking deeper into the bed, he saw you—not just as you were now, but as you had been in every moment of your lives.

He saw you at five years old, that stubborn little girl with the fiercest pout he had ever seen, your small fists swinging at him with all the strength your tiny arms could muster. All because he had tugged your braids one too many times on the playground. You’d glared at him, swearing you’d never talk to him again, only to sit beside him during snack time like nothing happened.

He saw you at twelve, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as your classmates giggled and asked why he always waited outside your classroom door. You wouldn’t meet his eyes then, but you never once told him to stop showing up.

He saw you at sixteen, beaming as you held onto his arm during your first official date. You wore a dress you had picked out a week early, pretending it wasn’t for the occasion, but he knew. You always had a way of planning quietly, without calling attention to yourself.

Then you were twenty-one, sprinting into his arms the moment he stepped off the transport back from Skyhaven. You had always waited at the terminal, no matter how late the hour, always scanning the crowd for him first. That was when he started to understand just how much you loved him.

He saw you at twenty-seven, walking down the aisle, dressed in ivory and beaming so brightly he thought the whole wedding venue would melt under your light. Your hand had trembled just slightly when you reached for his, and he had squeezed it, silently promising to never let go.

You were thirty-five, swaying barefoot in the living room with your children in your arms. Laughter echoed off the walls. One of the boys had spilled juice on the carpet, but you just laughed harder, pulling him into the dance too.

He saw you at forty-five, your lip quivering as your eldest son received his diploma on stage. You had clapped so hard your palms turned red, blinking fast to stop the tears. Afterward, you hugged Caleb tightly and said, “We did it.”

Then you were fifty-eight, sitting with your grandchildren at your feet, animatedly retelling the story of how you and their Grandpa Caleb met. You always told the story with the same fondness, even the parts he thought you’d forgotten.

And now you were seventy-seven. No longer the girl with braids or the young woman dancing barefoot in your living room, but to him, you were still all of them. Every version of you layered behind the face he saw now, the one lined with time and softened by love. You were just as beautiful as you had always been, if not more.

His eyes filled, not with pain, but with awe. Because in his final moments, he didn’t just see the end. He saw the whole story. And you were there in every chapter.

He gave you a faint smile, barely visible through the clear oxygen mask that clung tightly to the lower half of his face. It took effort—more than he had left—but he managed it, just for you. And he knew you saw it, because your breath caught in your throat the moment his eyes softened. Without hesitation, you reached for his hand, holding it as if it tethered both of you to the present.

There was so much he still wanted to say, words that had built up in his chest for days, maybe even years. But he knew you didn’t need to hear them spoken aloud. You already knew. You always had. So he gave you one more smile, this time filled with quiet understanding, a promise in itself: I love you. I’m okay. It’s time.

He almost laughed, if he had the strength, because he could see you trying so hard to keep your end of the promise, too. To smile. To be strong. But your chin trembled as you looked down, your shoulders shaking as the quiet sobs slipped out despite your best efforts. You clung to his hand tighter, trying to steady yourself, your thumb brushing against his knuckles like it had countless times before.

With your other hand, you wiped your tears quickly, gently, as though trying not to disturb him. And then you looked up again.

Caleb’s heart swelled.

Because the moment your eyes met his, you gave him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. It was small, soft, and trembling—but it was yours. It was brave. It was full of every year, every moment, every version of you he had loved. And in that moment, he felt everything settle.

Caleb’s breathing had grown shallow, each inhale slower than the last. The quiet beeping of the monitors beside him became the only sound in the room, fading gently into the background like waves retreating from shore.

He never stopped looking at you.

Even as his eyelids fluttered, even as the weight in his chest grew heavier, he held on—just for a little longer. Your hand remained wrapped in his, grounding him. You leaned in and rested your forehead gently against his, closing your eyes, as if giving him permission. As if telling him that it was okay now. That he didn’t have to fight anymore.

And with that final smile still in his heart, Caleb closed his eyes.

Outside, the sun was beginning to set over Linkon, casting long golden rays over the hospital garden below. You stayed by his side long after the last monitor tone faded, still holding his hand as if you could carry him through the threshold yourself.

And later, after everything had settled, after the last calls had been made and the hallway lights dimmed, you returned home with your children. The same garden where you'd once shared laughter, meals, and morning coffees now felt different, but not empty. Never empty. Because everywhere you looked, there were pieces of him.

In the flowers he planted with you each spring.

In the wind chime he insisted on hanging near the kitchen window.

In the old letters tucked in drawers, and the scent of old cologne clinging faintly to his favorite chair.

And in the memories that would live on—in the children you raised together, in the stories your grandchildren would hear again and again—Caleb remained.

He may have left quietly, gently, but he didn’t disappear.

Because some love doesn’t end. It simply becomes something lasting.