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Another sleepless night looms over this poor, wretched soul.
Caleb rotates like a planet, desperate to find a position that’s comfortable enough to send him to sleep. But no matter if he bends his leg at a funny angle or counts sheep and airplanes, his body refuses to rest.
His mind refuses to let him.
His heart is even worse: it holds onto a love he cannot have.
Caleb turns to his side now, eyeing the empty space next to him. The way the space fits the person he loves most, the way you would look laying down next to him. Your eyes closed, lost in dreams he cannot reach, and your hand slowly reaching out to him. He would hold you like you’d disappear from his grasp and let your breaths lull him to sleep.
“Fuck,” he mutters against his palm, the simple word spilling out his unrequited, forbidden devotion.
His eyes flutter, not with sleep but with unshed tears.
Then, as fast as he blinks his teardrops away, he hears the soft creak of his bedroom door. Closing his eyes, he shifts so that the person would not see the expression he so desperately fails to hide.
But then he hears your voice, and he immediately turns toward you.
“Caleb?”
Oh, his heart.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, sitting up and patting the space next to him to welcome you into his bedroom. This may not be your first time here, but this is the first time you’ve caught him in a state of utter anguish, and so he hides his surprise — and his cries — with a smile.
You switch on his lamp before sitting in the spot he previously patted.
“Yeah. I-I’m okay,” you murmur, voice soft with interrupted sleep. “I just have a question, and since you’re my walking encyclopedia-”
Caleb lets himself smile.
“-I wanted to ask you.”
“Hm,” he hums, traces of his earlier tears replaced by humor designed to uplift you. “And what can your walking encyclopedia answer for you tonight?”
You scoot closer to him, and if Caleb didn’t know better, he would think you were torturing him on purpose. His heart races at the movement, and his mind plays wilder fantasies that aren’t as good as simply having you here. He doesn’t know how he could possibly still be breathing.
“Caleb.” God, he can never get enough of hearing his name from your mouth. “What does love feel like?”
Oh you’re definitely torturing him now.
He freezes at the question, his mind going through different thoughts and potential answers like this is a test that determines his entire future. But for some reason, when he opens his mouth, there is only one word that wants to escape: You.
You, in your happiest moments, with a smile that can compete with the sun’s brightest rays. You, in your saddest moments, with tears that glisten under his fingertips as he tries to take your pain away. You, in your angriest moments, with words that are relentless against his soul and a fire that he allows himself to burn in.
You, in your most inquisitive moments, with questions that seek to pry his unyielding feelings out of his guarded heart.
You are the definition of love.
“Is my walking encyclopedia malfunctioning?” you ask, and the faint hint of a giggle in your voice breaks him out of his damning thoughts. Caleb forces himself to laugh alongside you, but the sound isn’t quite the same. After all, the moon — which lights up only because of the sun — still does not have the sun’s bright qualities.
“Not at all. You just asked a really hard question. Just needed to think about it for a moment.” Bullshit. He doesn’t have to think when love flows through his body like blood.
“O-okay. Take your time.” You make yourself comfortable on his bed, letting his blankets cover you fully. “Why is it so cold in here-”
“You’re falling asleep… here?” He hates the anticipation in his voice, the wonder that managed to escape at the innocent question. But who could blame him when you’re giving him exactly what he wants? Who could blame a poor, yearning soul for celebrating when his hopes are fulfilled?
You only respond with a nod and a smile as you slowly drift off to sleep.
He chooses this time to answer your question as best as he could. “Love is… it feels like warmth, spring flowers, and hope.”
“Hm?” you hum, sleepily. Your eyes aren’t even open.
“It’s like an unconditional, unyielding dedication to the person who gives your life more meaning.”
Where did that come from?
Perhaps he is a walking encyclopedia, because words had not failed him there. Sure, it’s not as accurate as if he were to answer with “You,” but it captures the lingering feeling that’s made a home in his soul ever since you entered his life.
The only response you give him, however, is a soft snore.
Caleb smiles. Did you ask the question just so you could fall asleep to the sound of his voice? Realistically, he should feel a little hurt when he’s put in so much effort to answer it, but all he can focus on at the moment is the restraint he harbors. The pain coursing through his veins as longing pierces through, as if to kill him.
“Fuck,” he repeats, quieter this time, as his hands ache to hold you. As his heart desires to do something as simple as touching your hair.
Yet, he is not given that luxury.
So instead, as he finally yawns and his eyes flutter shut, he falls asleep to the sound of the ebb and flow of your breathing.