Chapter Text
Suburban houses of muted blues, oranges, and whites whizz past the window from your view in the backseat.
While the heat is on inside the car, you are not tricked into believing the outside weather is the same. Heavy rain pelts the windshield, the wipers fighting valiantly to defend the front window from its onslaught. Tires slash into deep street puddles. It sends waves that lap against the undercarriage.
The car eases to a stop at a stop sign before turning down a street to the right.
The interior around you has been drowned in slate greys and is only accented with charcoal detailing along the dashboard. Black car seats stand stubbornly above it all. A green little tree air freshener serves as the only pop of color.
Today’s hottest new pop craze belts through the car radio at a low volume.
“See, the park we passed earlier isn't too far from here. We can even walk there.” A mature, feminine voice nudges through the ambience.
Grandma, your brain supplies.
Sparing her a glance in the driver’s seat, her shoulder-length hair is about all you can see from here. Its full body is an ashy brown with a few strands of grey just beginning their move in to replace old tenants. In the rearview mirror, you can see glimpses of her face. The wearings of hardship have started to etch themselves onto her skin, but the smile lines and crow’s feet show that she’s laughed plenty too.
“You’ll like it there,” then—as if forgetting, “both of you.”
A speed bump has you steadying yourself on the door handle.
There’s a presence seated next to you, driver’s side, but you pay him no mind. While the stare was hard to ignore in the beginning, you’ve distracted yourself with the bet you’re losing on the raindrops that race down your window. The left one started off so strong, but the one on the right has pulled far ahead of it now.
You sink further into the corner by the seat belt.
The car slows into one final left into a driveway.
While you roll up, you take a look at the house that’s waiting for you.
It’s a quaint-looking thing; Eggshell white with squared windows. It sits atop freshly cut grass that runs around on all sides, stretching furthest in the back. Blocky stone walls sandwich manicured hedges between the sidewalk. If you had to nitpick, you’d say the hologram doorbell with your housing number clashes with the aesthetic, but this is not unique to your home.
You swing open the car door before he can get out a word, yellow rain boots splashing a puddle at your landing.
“Oh look, the rain’s let up,” Grandma notes.
You glance up at the sky. The harsh downpour from before has hastily retreated into light sprinkles.
Now that the building is no longer obstructed by a window tint, warm undertones in the paint aren’t lost in a filter anymore, and the surrounding greenery looks far more lush than you had expected.
The clouds part a little more.
“Caleb, come help me unload some boxes from the trunk.”
You start inspecting the perimeter, taking care not to let your blanket drag along the grass. The fence goes along even further in the back.
Hushed voices filter over from the car.
“Don’t worry. She’ll come around.”
But you’re already walking towards the backyard.
The moving guys come in not long after. Three burly men shuffle in and out. Sitting on the floor, you’re reminded of ants carrying food ten times their size back to the colony. They’re lifting things like bed frames, mattresses, a dining table, and shelving displays.
“Gotta say, some of the least amount of lifting I’ve had to do in a while. We can get outta here sooner than I thought.”
He says it’s a compliment.
Grandma tells you you’ll stop by the furniture store later this week.
The young boy from earlier also helps. The adults chuckle and insist he can sit this one out. That doesn't stop him from sneaking a few boxes upstairs. He’s too occupied to stare at you this time.
Thirty minutes pass, and two of the men have filed out. The moving truck engine revs to life from outside.
The third man places a box on the tiling by all the others near the front door.
His beard muffles his words a bit. “Always liked Bloomshore district. Thought about movin’ here myself before settling in Azure Square.”
Bloomshore district. You feel like you should remember that. That is, if it’ll be like she says and you find yourselves staying here for long.
Wistfully, he sighs, “Could never bring myself to settle down in the quiet. The hustle and bustle of city life is the only thing that lulls me ta sleep. Sounds crazy, dunn it?”
Grandma replies, “I’ve had enough chaos in my life. All I want is peace to settle down and not be bothered,” her voice lowers, "or found.”
“I hear ya. Cheers.” While his tone is jovial enough, you can catch glimpses of sorrowful loss behind those hooded eyes as he swivels his head.
You noticed that pretty much everyone has looked like that for almost two years now. You see it in Grandma's eyes, and you can see it in your own.
And then for his final delivery: the thunk of the front door closing.
Grandma dusts off her hands and slices the tape on all those cardboard boxes labeled “kitchen” with a boxcutter.
Left to your own devices, you start exploring.
You had already familiarized yourself with the downstairs front of the house. Upon entering, guests are greeted with a living room that now hosts a single paisley sofa—and nothing else really. Grandma says the TV’s yet to arrive.
Across the way is a humble dining area that prefaces the kitchen, in a room of its own. Then, like most houses, miscellaneous spaces like the half bath, pantry, boiler, and garage are scattered about. To your young mind, those had seemed so dreadfully boring that you hadn’t even bothered checking. That’s not to say the garage was included in that assessment; It wasn’t boring, just way too scary (you swear a monster’s face was scowling at you in the corner).
Narrowly avoiding slipping in your socks and cracking your head open at the bottom of the steps, you make it to the apex of the stairwell. A narrow stretch of hallway is lined with doors that open to different rooms, respectively, totaling up to three bedrooms and a bathroom. Only one of the doors is closed. Shuffling can be heard from inside.
There’s actually a hidden fifth in the biggest bedroom. A private bath. Grandma wouldn’t let you have that one.
You pace around the railing overlooking the downstairs.
Before you know it, the elation starts to seep out of you. Ennui laps away at your enthusiasm like a rising tide.
The only sounds being reflected off those barren white walls are lonesome echoes.
It’s a house by definition, but lived-in memories are what make it a home.
That, and furniture.
A lightbulb goes off in your head. Your excitement is rekindled when you remember she said you guys can decorate the rooms you chose earlier.
You skip to the first open door in the hall.
The one you picked is nice. You can sprawl in the middle of the floor like a starfish, and your arms and legs aren't even close to bumping into the walls. Outside the window is a slanted roof. It’s flat enough to where if you really wanted, you could lay out across it for stargazing.
The thought makes you giddy.
In your mind, you imagine a bookshelf by the window, or maybe the bed can go in front of the window instead, for looking out. Then, some kind of cushion in the corner to read on (you had always wanted a beanbag chair). You top it all off with a rug in the center and those empty walls filled with thoughtfully orchestrated pictures.
Your mind is buzzing. This is the first place you’ve actually considered the future of living in.
Having toured all places of interest on the inside, you venture to the backyard you scoped out earlier.
You bring along your trusty unicorn companion, one of your only prized possessions to make the trip over from the shelter.
A solemn tree stands tall towards the back corner by the fence. Branches reach out like outstretched hands sprouting from its sturdy base. Sheets upon sheets of evergreen blossom from its fingers, blocking your view of a dreary sky. Despite its confines, the tree has grown strong and continues to thrive in this cage.
It gives you hope that one day you may do the same.
Comforted by that thought, you find a place under those sheltering leaves. Sitting on a relatively dry patch of dirt you cradle your plush in your lap. The rough bark hugs your back as you smooth down pink ears.
The soft squelch of dewy grass getting crushed gets closer and closer. A pair of sneakers steps into your vision.
"What are you doing here all by yourself?”
Not bothering to look up, you shrug and go back to playing with your doll.
The boy crouches down to your level. “Do you know who I am?”
You finally tilt your head. Squinting against the light, you take in all his features. Dark strands of tousled hair sit atop a pale, boyish face. Dual colored eyes of a violet sunset frame his slim nose. Uneven dimples break apart the soft expanse of rounded cheeks. Such a kind-looking face if not tainted by slightly creased brows.
He seems vaguely familiar, but your memories have been such a blur lately. You feel like you're forgetting something.
You shake your head.
Hurt twitches across his features in an instant and washes away twice as fast. You must’ve imagined it.
“I’m Caleb. I’ll tell you as many times as you need.”
Caleb…
“Do you wanna play with me?”
Before you can answer, he continues.
“Look what I found.” He holds out the object you just now noticed he’s been clutching in his fist. It’s a beetle encased in resin. Fluorescent green shimmers when he tilts it in the light. “Pretty cool, right?”
Observing it for longer, you notice more detail. Twiggy legs are splayed out beneath a bulbous shell, and small antennae crown its head.
He makes the mistake of flipping it over.
Finding out where the limbs plug into the main body and observing the stomach seams that fold into themselves, you’ve decided you’ve seen more than you would’ve liked to.
“It looks kinda… gross.” You settle with that description.
“Nuh-uh,” he scoffs in mock offense.
You lean in to see if you can catch it twitching. “Is it alive?”
In response, he raises his hand a bit higher. “It used to be, but not anymore.”
Blinking twice, having gotten enough, your posture straightens. “Probably because it can't breathe in there.”
That trips a laugh out of him. “It was already dead before.” He holds it up to the sky and squints an eye closed.
A hidden underlayer of purple plays peekaboo against the brightness.
He brings the beetle back down. “There’s more. Here, let me show you.”
Then, before you can even think, a grip shackles your wrist. You hadn’t even sensed it coming. Beyond all reason, you flinch with a shout and scurry away. The stubborn wooden trunk keeps you from getting very far. Your stuffed animal plummets to the ground.
Alarmed, he lets go; harmless fingers suspended in midair. You realize he had only wanted to place the resin beetle in your palm. Worried eyes search your face. Your palm on your chest eases your pounding heart.
While the hand is admittedly much smaller than your brain told you it was, the damage has been done. You don't feel like playing anymore.
You get up from the ground and brush the dirt off the back of your pants. Your eyes stay glued to your feet.
In a shaking voice, you murmur, “Play by yourself.”
You turn on your heel to go back in the house. You try not to feel like you’re running away.
Under the tree, the unicorn and the boy watch you leave.
Caleb is slouched over at the dining table, chin pedestaled on his knuckles. He puffs loose strands of hair away from his eye.
Tentative footfalls from the kitchen make their way over to him. From the corner of his eye, a knit sweater carrying the musk of perfume settles on a chair to his right. He turns away.
A placating voice cuts through the tension. “Alright, what's the matter?”
He’s grudgingly silent.
She tries again. “You’re sitting here pouting. Come on. You can tell me.”
“It’s nothing.” He curses that childish urge to complain that’s made him break his silent streak.
She doesn't leave, however, only getting more comfortable.
He sighs. “I… I messed up.”
She gives him space to continue.
“I think she hates me.” Admitting it out loud alleviates some of the pressure in his chest, if only slightly.
“What’d you do to make her think that?”
“I scared her,” he confesses, recoiling into his shell.
Taken a little aback, she chastises, “Well, that’s not very nice.”
Caleb shoots up. “Not on purpose!” he defends, “it was an accident.” For the first time, he swivels to meet her eyes.
Her chin tilts and eyebrows raise in patient understanding. “Ah.” Although a corner mouth twitch spoils that persona of a mature mentor figure. She must be making fun of him, he thinks.
The wall is yet again victim to his glaring. His elbows recover back onto the wood, and he sinks even further into his hands this time. "What if she hates me forever?"
Her hand reaches to seek his shoulder in comfort, as if on instinct. Then—thinking better of it—drops it back down to her lap. "She won't hate you forever."
"Yes, she will." Stubborn grumbles tumble from his lips.
She wrestles with what to say next. The beginning of words almost leaves her mouth, like a car engine coughing to start, even after having strained the key in the ignition. “You feeling bad… is a good thing. It means you are very kind, Caleb. Hold onto that." The smile is clear in her voice. “Because if you’re kind, she might forgive you. Good people are the ones that deserve second chances.”
He wonders if that’s true for everyone. Even her.
“She was always fond of you back when—” She clicks her teeth together. “Everything will work out. It always does.” A pause lingers in the air while she pulls at her fingers. "She's had a tough time so far. I want you to protect her."
Well, he doesn't need her to tell him that.
"Sometimes… we don't always make the best choices. What's important is that when we mess up, we do our best to fix it,” then whispering to herself, she adds, “it’s all anyone can do.” She releases a resolute huff—as if that will give her the confidence to not waver. “And now that we live together, we should start getting along.”
Caleb clicks his tongue.
She is right about one thing: He's the only one that should protect you. And a promise can only be kept by being around to uphold it tomorrow.
So here it is, he vows to never hurt you, and he’ll be damned if he lets anyone put that expression on your face again. He's sure of it. This promise he’ll keep till the day he dies.
“You can't change the past.”
“You can't change people’s memories either,” he quips almost nonchalantly. Yours maybe, but not his.
She clenches her fists in her lap.
Caleb hops off the chair and marches away.
He needs to fix this fast. He can’t live here alone.
The evening sun is setting, and you helped as much as Grandma had asked you to. There’s nothing left to do but twiddle your thumbs. You’ve settled in the living room, perched by the window. Legs folded snug on cool hardwood flooring.
A tiny yellow bird hops from one branch to another on the tree by the sidewalk. You watch its methodical task of collecting twigs for a nest. You’re entertained to say the least. It plucks and pulls until it has a mouthful and has to set them down. Having done that, it hops to another branch to collect more sticks until it can’t hold any more. The cycle repeats. If only it looked up at the branches above it, it would realize that it has long since collected enough to make a mini house.
You can't help but make fun of its antics. How does it not realize it's been through this song and dance before?
A rustle of what sounds like paper cuts through your thoughts.
Startled, you whip your head behind you. Your eyes roam over the empty bookshelf, doorway, couch, everything. Nothing moves.
The only implication of movement is the distant clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen, but that’s been in the background for a while now.
Huffing, you turn back to the window to find the bird again. It’s nowhere to be found.
That crinkling sound alerts you again. Your whole body slingshots around this time.
A solo paper airplane sails towards you from across the living room.
Plucking it from the air, you turn it over in your hand. It’s made up of precise folds and sharp angles. Upon closer inspection, you realize there’s more to it than that. On the wing, the words unfold me are written in bright blue crayon.
Unraveling the plane, you find a single sentence surrounded by multicolored doodles.
I’m sorry I made you upset :(
It takes you a few tries to read it. Once you do, you look up from the paper to see a pair of eyes ducking behind the couch.
A giggle escapes from the back of your hand. “I saw you!”
The couch says nothing.
Rolling your eyes, you get up from the window and stomp over to peer around the corner of the sofa.
But there’s nothing there.
Quickly, you turn around to the other side and get a glimpse of legs disappearing. Bubbling laughter trickles out of you, and a sliver of pink creeps into your peripherals.
Your unicorn plush floats innocently from the end of the couch, higher and higher like a balloon. Your feet carry you to that side. Snatching it from the air, that familiar scent filters through your nose as the two of you embrace.
There’s someone else you have to greet.
Bounding over the couch cushions, you peer over the back to see that Caleb boy lying down on the ground, looking up at you with his arms over his stomach.
“Caught you!”
He shrugs.
Dramatically, you careen the unicorn over the edge of the couch and drop it like an anvil—hoping its weight will snuff him out for good.
But before it can crush him, a flick of his hand and the plush suspends in the air as if hanging by a string. Puzzled, you wave your hand trying to find invisible wires. You feel none.
“How are you doing that?”
“Magic.” His fingers wiggle as he paints an arch with his hands.
You squint your eyes in disapproval.
“My evol,” he concedes with a chuckle, “you have one too, you know.”
“Duh, I know that!”
His eyes soften as he smiles. “Good.”
The doll descends gently into his grasp. He turns it over in his hands. His eyes strain off to the side while his lips chew into a worried line. “Are you… still mad at me?”
You hum and place a finger on your chin, looking up at the ceiling. “Hmmm, I don't know.”
He offers the plush back to you with outstretched hands. You take it.
“How about now?”
Fluffing its ears, the fur tickles your fingers. “I don't knoow…”
You gently toss the plush so it bounces off of his head.
“Ow. What was that for?” He smirks while rubbing his 'injury'.
An innocent smile creeps onto your face. “I think I forgive you now.”
At his pouty expression, you burst out laughing. The kind of laughing fit that has you snorting and wiping tears from your eyes. Off the top of your head, you don’t remember the last time you laughed like this.
When you open your eyes, you see that the corners of his are crinkled as an adoring smile stretches across his cheeks.
“Dinner’s ready!”
Grandma’s voice yanks the two of you back into the present.
You and Caleb share a look. He reaches over on the floor to pull the unicorn from where it rolled away and offers it to you.
Deciding it’s had enough of being dropped and tossed all over the place, you retire it for the night on the couch. You hum in satisfaction when it doesn’t slouch.
Caleb’s fully risen by the time you vault over the upholstery and land next to him—showing off your acrobatics. Internally, you pump your fist at only wobbling once during the easeout. If he’s impressed, he needs to be more enthusiastic about it.
Coming to your full height, you two are almost as tall as each other now that you’re standing side by side for the first time. He has half an inch on you, though.
It seems he realizes this because he’s awfully smug looking back at you as you both trail into the dining area.
Two bowls of steaming tomato beef stew are stationed on a tablecloth. They’re filled to the brim with chunky potatoes and stocky carrot slices with dashes of dried herbs to bring them all together. It’s humble in its presentation, but the rich scent fills you with a warmth that goes beyond the temperature of the steam.
Grandma has already returned to the kitchen. From the doorway, you see that there are vegetables, pans, and utensils still remaining after their service. Must’ve slipped her mind. It seems she wants most of it gone before sitting down herself. An empty bowl waits patiently for her on the counter.
The two of you settle in adjacent seats. Your stomach grumbles and your mouth waters as your fingers wrap around a spoon.
“Wait.”
Your eyes are pulled in his direction.
Caleb is stressing his lips with his teeth. He sneaks a glance towards the kitchen.
Before you can ask him what the problem is, with two hands, Caleb drags your bowl over to his side of the table.
“Hey!” you shout.
He’s able to keep it further out of your reach even while blocking your jabs with his shoulder. He portions a small spoonful and sniffs it before ingesting a tentative lick, smacking the sample around in his mouth.
You raise an eyebrow.
It swishes around for a minute before he swallows. He blinks once. Twice.
“Okay, it’s fine. You can have it.” He casually slides the bowl back to you as if he didn't almost throw a tantrum over it earlier.
You blink owlishly at him as he goes about his business, bringing spoonfuls of his own dish to his mouth.
It occurs to you that Caleb might be a bit of a weirdo…. But he’s funny, so there’s that.
You finally take a bite for yourself. The broth swarms your tongue first, with sultry spices that lap over one another on your palate. The meat isn’t too gummy either, having been softened with a tomato soak. And carrots have never had a better day. Maybe it’s the best meal ever, or maybe you’re just really hungry. Regardless, it’s filling and it puts a big fat smile on your face.
It’s funny how you were so pessimistic about this whole venture, but this simple meal has made all those feelings seem so trivial in the grand scheme of things. The stew resolves the only tangible discomfort in your world, an empty stomach.
It makes you remember how you had been so adamant about avoiding Caleb with no real rational justification for it. The only reasoning you can come up with is that you had wanted to be alone. But now that you know what it’s like to have someone in your company, you don’t know how you can go back.
Guilt starts to creep heavy in your heart.
You look at Caleb, who’s almost halfway done with his meal already. “Hey.”
Tomato sauce spills from the sides of his mouth as he meets your gaze. “Hm?”
Your knees shuffle together. “I was kinda mean to you earlier. I'm sorry.”
His face scrunches. “Huh? But you didn't do anything wrong.”
“I did too!” You push some carrots around. They bob in the soupy mixture. “That wasn't nice. You didn't deserve that.” You dunk one under with your spoon. “I guess I just felt… sad. I dunno.”
Caleb gulps down another bite. “But you feel better now?”
You ponder for a moment. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Then that’s all that matters.” He states it like it’s a fact.
Oh Caleb. “That’s…”
He tilts his head at you.
You’re about to respond. Then, thinking better of it, you shake your head. “Never mind.”
He looks like he wants to say something, but before he can decide, a new bowl joins the party of the two of yours.
Grandma sits down at the head of the table. “How is it?”
You lick your lips, spoon in hand. “It’s good!”
She smiles at you, then looks at Caleb. He gives an affirmative hum and occupies himself with swirling the remaining contents of his dish.
Grandma lets out a resigned sigh and digs into her own meal.
Clinks of silverware act as a backing track to the idle chatter that bubbles throughout the house. Despite the piles of cardboard strewn about, walls begging to be painted, and furniture shaped gaps in every room. The house fulfills its duty by giving three people a safe space to sleep under its roof. And really, it’s more than enough for today.
The rain doesn’t start up again for the rest of the night.