Work Text:
The low crackle of the fire is the only sound filling your apartment. Outside the window, Linkon City has gone quiet, stars blinking through the smog.
Your lights are dimmed to a golden hush, casting soft shadows on the walls. Your coffee table is pushed back to make room on the floor, and strewn across your rug are a scatter of aged flight logs — some typed, most handwritten — smudged at the corners, worn and dog-eared and fingerprinted with the past.
You sit cross-legged in your softest pajamas, one knee bumping gently against Caleb’s thigh. His shoulder brushes yours as he leans in to squint at one of the older pages, fingers skimming a familiar scrawl.
“Oh god,” he murmurs to you, grinning. “Listen to this one: ‘Just saw a comet streak across the nebula tonight. If I squint, it almost looks like your handwriting.’ Seriously? How in the world did you not pick up on my feelings for you?”
You cover your mouth, trying not to laugh, but it fails spectacularly. “I forgot you wrote that one!”
“I sound so in love,” he muses, flopping the page back down with dramatic flair. “What a sap.”
“You were in love,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “Still are. Admit it.”
Caleb looks sideways at you, something fond in his eyes that lingers just a bit too long to be entirely playful. “Guilty,” he breathes.
Your smile falters as the warmth of the moment folds into something quieter. You look away, and your gaze drops to another flight log — one written in red ink, your own handwriting looping with urgency. Your breath catches in your throat, hesitating, before you pick it up.
“This one was... during that month we lost contact,” you utter quietly. “When we didn’t know if you were still—” You can’t finish the rest of that sentence.
Caleb doesn’t speak, but his body stills beside you. You begin to read aloud:
“Caleb~ I don’t know if this will ever reach you. I don’t know if you’re still flying, or fighting, or just trying to survive out there. But today I passed by a vendor selling apples like the kind we ate that day. I bought one, and thought of you.”
Your voice falters, but you push through.
“I sleep in your bed sometimes. It makes me feel less crazy. Less alone. I just want to know you’re still under the same sky as me. Please let me know if you get this.”
The silence between you settles like ash.
Caleb lets out a slow breath, his expression unreadable — not cold, but something careful. Contained.
“I read that one,” he admits, voice low. “Weeks after you sent it. Damaged comms relay, the whole feed was backed up. I didn’t sleep that night.”
You turn to look at him, your hand resting gently over the page. Something longing pings in your chest, imagining him on his own out there, thinking about you in return. “I meant every word.”
“I know,” he says, simply. His violet gaze holds yours, steady and unflinching, but there’s something behind it — a storm kept behind walls. “I wanted to come back a hundred times. But I couldn’t. And I hated myself for it. Not being there to protect you.”
“You came back,” you whisper. “That’s all that matters.”
He catches the shift in your voice, the way your eyes drift — somewhere distant, not gone, but far enough that he feels it.
He nudges your shoulder with his own, trying to break the haze. “Hey,” he speaks gently, voice threading with that teasing warmth of his, the one you know so well. “You're not growing bored of this, are you?” he asks, and though the smirk stays on his lips, his voice is low, warm, careful.
You shake your head, slow. “Of course not.” You hesitate for a beat, then shift closer and loop an arm around his waist, tucking your fingers against the flat of his stomach and resting your cheek lightly against his shoulder. “Just thinking too much. Classic me.”
“Should I be worried?” Caleb murmurs, sliding an arm around your back, drawing idle circles against your side. It makes you shiver, reminds you that he's here, safe again.
“No,” you protest, then glance up at him with an exaggerated pout, your bottom lip stuck out just enough to be absurd. A trick you’ve used countless times on him before, so you know it works like a charm.
“Actually, maybe. There is one very pressing issue.”
Caleb raises an eyebrow, amused. “Oh no. Let me guess. You’re secretly a Wanderer and this has all been a long con to win my loyalty.”
“Worse,” you say gravely. “You’re too far away.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, leaning his head back against the couch cushion behind you. “Too far?” he repeats, glancing down at your already-touching bodies. “Well then, how do you suggest we get closer than we are now?”
You narrow your eyes at him, feigning offense. “I don't know, I'm trying to get you to show me.”
Caleb’s smirk deepens, eyes gleaming with familiar mischief. “Say that again. Slower, and with the magic word.”
Heat floods your body, creeping all the way down your spine until it settles low in your belly. You groan and hide your flush in his hoodie, smacking his chest lightly. “Please. You're impossible. Tell me, why did I miss you again?”
“Because I’m very intuitive,” he says, mock-serious. “Sharp instincts. Combat-tested. And I’m devastatingly handsome to boot. As you reminded me in several logs.”
You roll your eyes, cursing your former lovesick self, but don’t pull away. “Well, in that case… maybe you should act on those instincts.”
His lips curl into that familiar, maddening smirk against your temple — the one that always means trouble. “You gonna pout again if I don’t?”
“Definitely.”
He leans in, voice low, close to your ear. “Wouldn’t dream of risking it.”
Then he kisses you, slow and certain, like an anchor dropped in the middle of a drifting sea. Your lips part into the warmth of his, into the strength of arms that had once seemed so far away.
It’s gentle, unhurried. The kind of kiss that says you were worth coming home to.