Work Text:
The grocery store was out of milk and bread (how????) so you haven’t had breakfast this month. Your manager denied your time off request and decided to schedule you for night shifts the past three days as retaliation. You’ve got three exams and two essays this week and haven’t slept well in weeks (how many? Who knows). Your shoelaces got stuck together thanks to the rain earlier this week knotting them together. Your best friend and you got into a fight yesterday about something stupid and you hadn’t talked about it since. Your car battery gave out on you so you’ve been taking the bus (which has slowly been burning a hole in your wallet and your sleep schedule) until you can get it fixed (which probably won’t be until next year). Said bus was late this morning so you missed half of your 8 am. You forgot to plug in your laptop so you had to take frantic paper notes and shove them in your overfilled back pack, whose strap promptly broke when you slung it over your back.
The world hates you and you hate it right back. So fuck the world, fuck watching what you consume and avoiding eating out, you want coffee. You want coffee because you could barely stand up straight and you have had the worst month in the history of ever and god dammit couldn’t you just get an overpriced iced peppermint mocha if you wanted it? It was the holidays for crying out loud
You walked into your favorite hole in the wall coffee shop to find it overrun with college students and had to wait 20 minutes in line before you could finally order that large cup of oversweetened holiday bliss.
Another 20 minutes later, you were knee deep in homework when the barista walked to the counter with a cup in hand and called your name, like a shining beacon of light. You got up, grabbed it, checked to make sure it was your name, and took a sip.
The hot, bitter, black coffee scorched your throat.
Normally you would have tried to fix this. You would’ve spoken out and said I’m sorry, I ordered an iced peppermint mocha. Could you remake this please? Most likely, the barista would’ve happily agreed and made it for you without issue.
Normally you would have. But you’re tired.
So you packed up your stuff and walked out of the coffee shop; broken backpack, sticky shoelaces, and the hot bitter taste sticking to your tongue and all.
It kind of hits you all of a sudden, how much you had been taking on. 19 credit hours, a part time job, a more active social life.
You wonder for a moment how other people hold up with this.
And suddenly, you’re hit with the overwhelming urge to cry, to ugly sob and hyperventilate until you can’t breathe, to vomit up the remnants of crackers you had for dinner yesterday and the stupid fucking black coffee still in your esophagus, to scream at the top of your lungs until you start coughing up phlegm and your throat gives out.
You don’t though. You gather those feelings back into a lump and swallow it down. You look at the sunny sky for a moment, wishing it would be less cheerful (because why the fuck should it be so sunny when you’re mentally losing it?) before heading to your next class.
Time passes weirdly for the next few hours. You simultaneously feel like you’re moving in slow motion and fast-fowarding through classes. One minute your professor is lecturing one slide for 15 minutes straight, the next minute you're staring into the deep fryer and watching each individual bubble pop. You look up at the clock and realize you’re halfway through your shift now and you want to crawl into a ball and melt.
Finally, the clock hits 2 AM and you clock out before trudging over to the bus stop. You plug in your earbuds as you wait, the soft melodies of The Paper Kites ring in your ears as you take a seat and feel your shoulders slump. The stress doesn’t go away, it just absorbs into your body, making you feel even worse.
Your phone buzzes and your music is interrupted by an incoming call. You don’t bother looking at the name before hanging up. Talking requires more energy than you have at the moment.
Your phone buzzes again. Then again. Irritated, you finally look at the caller ID. A picture of Caleb and you in a photo booth shines back at you, his name right above his head. You sigh and hesitate a moment more before answering.
“Hi Caleb,” you breathe out.
“So her phone does work. I was about to buy you another one if you hadn’t answered,” his voice crackles through the speaker, clearly amused.
“Sorry, I thought you were a spam caller.”
“And now I’ve been reduced to ‘spam caller’. I suppose I should just hang up the phone now and call again.”
You give a small giggle as the bus appears, rolling to a stop as you get up and grab your bag.
“Well, I’m here now. What did you need?” You wince slightly as you board the bus, right shoulder twinging from the weight of your backpack.
“Can’t I call my favorite person in the world without an ulterior motive? I’m allowed to do that still, right?”
You sigh again. “Yes Caleb, you’re allowed to call me. You just normally don’t call me these days unless you need something or need to tell me something. Is something up with Grandma?”
Silence fills the call for a moment.
“...No, she’s fine. I’m calling to talk about you tho-”
“And Aerospace Academy? Did something happen in class?”
“No Pips, everything is find-”
“Is it good news then? Did you get a girlfriend or something?”
“What?! No, why would you think I-”
“Is Gideon alright? Did something happen during basketball? I told you to be careful with that you know, so if you get hurt it’s all on you-”
“Pipsqueak!”
Your teeth click shut at his outburst.
“I’m fine, everything is fine. I promise.”
You exhale slightly.
“Okay, sorry. Just covering the bases I guess.”
“...”
Silence fills the call again. Your shoulder is starting to bother you so start massaging it with one hand as you wait for Caleb to talk again.
Your pseudo-adopted-brother and you used to be thick as thieves and tell each other everything. You remember the days when you two were young enough to allow your imagination to run wild and you’d play every day. You remember the nights you would giggle to each other under pillow forts and blankets would tangle between your legs. You remember growing up side by side and playing video games after school, brushing knees and shoulders. You remember when he used to be just an inch or two taller than you and he seemingly grew five inches overnight. You remember crying when he went to Aerospace Academy the first time. You remember him comforting you after your first break up and him cheering and screaming when you got accepted into the Hunter’s Program. You remember him crying when you walked across the stage and got your diploma. You remember those nights when you crawled into his bed whenever he visited and the lines in your relationship blurred with the darkness.
Once you went off to different universities, however, you slowly drifted apart. Your nightly calls became every other day, then weekly, then biweekly until they finally tapered off into “whenever you could.” Neither of you were at fault for this, life just happened to get in the way and Josephine happened to raise two overachieving, ambitious nerds that excelled in everything they could. Sometimes, however, you wish you could go back to how it was the beginning of this semester, when your relationship was at its liveliest and most stable.
The bus reaches your stop and you get off, slowly walking to your apartment. Your shoulder aches some more as you hear Caleb finally speak.
“...Are you alright, pips?”
Your spine stiffens with the question. Do you brush it off like you always do? Could you answer him honestly? Would he have time for that? Would he even want to hear about your troubles anymore now that you were an adult?
“I can hear your mind racing from here Captain Anxiety. Talk to me,” his voice was laced with concern.
“I…” you hesitate. “I don’t…”
He doesn’t say a word, letting you formulate your thoughts. Maybe it’s the fact you’re so close to home. Maybe it’s because this is the straw that broke the camel’s back. Maybe it’s the reminder that this is Caleb. Your Caleb. And he’ll always be there for you. Whatever it is, your voice is shaky as you confess.
“I’m…not great…actually. I’m really stressed and I…I uh…don’t know how to deal with it,” your voice turns watery. “I’ve had a really shitty month and I…I just…I wish you were here…”
You fiddle with your keys as you reach your apartment. “I don’t know if I can…if I can keep holding this…this mess inside me…and I…”
You finally open your door and flick on the lights.
And there he is. Sitting on the couch with a fluffy blanket folded next to him, a bag with your favorite Chinese takeout sitting on the coffee table, he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants, a long sleeve shirt and black socks. He’s holding his phone up to his ear and he doesn’t take his eyes off of you.
“...Do you wanna talk about it?” his voice echoes in your earbuds and real life.
He’s here. He came for you.
You burst into tears on the spot, backpack and knees hitting the floor. Caleb rushes over and gathers you into his arms, quietly cooing at you and rubbing your arms. All the stress and pain and exhaustion from the past month and a half washes over you and releases as you sob, fisting your hands into his shirt as he tugs you closer and squeezes you.
“It’s alright Pips, I’m here. I’m so sorry I couldn’t come earlier. I promise, I’ll make it up to you. It’ll be okay,” he whispers softly into your ear, which just makes you cry harder.
You cry and you cry and you cry until your eyes are wrung dry out of all the tears they possess. A few minutes pass before you finally stop hiccuping into his collarbone and have enough energy to look up at him.
He takes a look at your face before brushing a thumb over your cheekbone. “There’s those pretty eyes.”
You rest your head on his shoulder as he scoops you up and carries you to the couch, setting you down next to him before taking off your shoes and covering you with the blanket. He leans forward and fiddles with the bag for a bit before leaning back and turning to you.
“Open up,” he holds a fork of chow mein up to your mouth, coaxing you to eat. You do so, very slowly, still emotionally drained and about to fall asleep. You get about halfway through the container before he’s satisfied and puts the food back on the table. Then, he leans back and wraps an arm around your shoulders and under your knees before carrying you to your bedroom. He sits you up on your bed before kneeling in front of you.
“You can shower in the morning, but you have to get out of these clothes. Do you want help, or can you do it yourself?” his amethyst eyes meet yours and never look away.
“I…I want help,” your voice is raspy and quiet.
He gives you a small smile. “Alright. I’ll be right back.” He rummages through your dresser as you take out your ear buds. He returns with two different top and bottom choices, one long sleeved and one short. You pick which one you want and he sets it to the side before slowly helping you out of your clothes and into your pjs. He then helps you into bed and tucks you in. Before he can turn to leave, you slip your arm out of the covers and grab his hand.
“Wait could…can you…” the words stumble out of your mouth. Caleb gets the gist though, and smiles back at you.
“Of course pipsqueak.” He climbs into bed with you and pulls you into his arms. Your head rests on his bicep, his arm curling around your upper body while his other arm wraps around your waist. You thread your arms around him, legs tangling under the sheets. Sleep pulls at your eyes and you drift off.
“Goodnight Caleb.”
“Goodnight Pips.”
You’re slow to wake the next morning. The sun shines through your curtains and leaves you bleary eyed. You roll over to find Caleb gone and his side of the bed cold and empty. You wonder for a moment if you hallucinated him before the door creaks open and he walks in, nose buried in his phone while a glass of water sat in his other hand. He glances up and meets your eyes, stopping him in his tracks.
“Hey, sorry if I woke you. Was just gonna leave this on your nightstand.” He puts his phone in his pocket and walks to your side of the bed, sitting on the edge before setting the cup down.
You rub your eyes. “What time is it?”
“About 9:30. I just sent an email to your professors letting them know you’ll be out the rest of the week. Doctor’s orders of course, so you can make up those exams and essays later.” He gives you a wink.
“You’re also off for work for the rest of the week. There’s been a…management change and she’s much more agreeable.” You don’t want to know what Caleb did, and you frankly don’t care. Good riddance to that asshole.
“I could kiss you right now.”
His eye twitches with his smile. “Just looking out for you. I’ve got breakfast cooking now. Come out in a bit, alright?”
He leaves, giving you a chance to comb your fingers through your hair and put on your slippers.
You trot out to meet him and notice the food was put away and your couch was tidied. Your backpack was no longer on the floor; a brand new one hung on a hook next to the front door. Your sneakers lay on the floor underneath them with what looked like brand new laces. You found Caleb in the kitchen, flipping something in a pan. Grocery bags litter the island, with a loaf of bread, milk, and eggs sitting next to them
He turns and smiles at you. “I’m making french toast. Take a seat and I’ll make you a plate.”
You turn to the dining table to find your laptop plugged in and open to a word document. Your notes from yesterday sit next to it and you can see half of them copied onto the document, cursor blinking on the screen.
You stand there, staring at all the things Caleb made right, all the little things grating on your nerves. You look at the back of Caleb’s head as he stacks french toast onto a plate with berries and syrup before walking up behind him. As he dusts the food with powdered sugar, you tap him. He turns his head and you kiss his cheek. His widened eyes and flushed face stare at you.
“Thank you,” you smile at him, tears pooling in your eyes again.
He softens before smiling back. “Of course. Now, as we eat, I want you to tell me everything about the past month; the ups and downs. I want to know why Tara and you fought. I want to know how your classes have been going. I want to know what cross stitching projects you’ve made so far. Then, we’ll go to the autoshop and have a look at that pesky car battery and you can tell me more. Then after that, we’ll do whatever you want. I’m yours for the rest of the week.”
You take a seat across from him, take the fork he hands you with your plate…
…and you talk about it.