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You don’t know how to describe the look on Caleb’s face. It’s not disgusted, or even appalled. But it’s certainly not eager, either. You think you might catch a little restraint if you squint. But from what?
When he says your name it’s slow, and deliberate, and it thrums deep in your chest, in the pit of your heart. “What’re you saying, exactly?”
Your fingers curl into his blankets, nails snagging on the fabric. Bite. The bullet. “Look, I’m just saying—I’m saying that if. If I had to find out with somebody. You’d be that somebody. I guess. All right? Okay? Is that so awful?”
Or: Maybe you shouldn't have asked Caleb if he's still a virgin.
Bookmarked by Octave_Protocol
09 Nov 2025