Work Text:
Zayne tells himself he no longer cares about human connection. He has repeated the thought so many times that it almost sounds true in his own mind. Living alone is easier, he insists. Better to be avoided, better to be feared, better to let the city whisper his name like some distant storm people pray never reaches them.
It is easier than remembering the blood on his hands.
Easier than walking down a quiet street and seeing a child who looks too much like the boy. The boy he had failed. The boy he had tried to save, only to watch him fall like the others. Like his parents. Like his colleagues. Like most of the city. The faces blur together now, but the guilt never fades.
So he tells himself he cannot afford attachment. The moment he hesitates is the moment someone else dies. If he allows himself to care, if he allows himself to see them as people instead of targets, he will falter.
And faltering means death.
Yet tonight, even when he sees the red mark on his tracker, the signal of contamination, something in him still pauses.
When he sees the dead wanderer on the ground and the man’s eyes, purple.
Lost.
Shaking.
And Zayne had hesitated.
It had begun like any other night. The city after dark had become a ghost of what it once was. Streetlights flickered over empty sidewalks. Neon signs buzzed weakly above abandoned convenience stores, casting bleeding colors across the wet asphalt. Somewhere far away, a loose metal sign creaked in the wind, the only sound breaking the suffocating quiet.
No cars passed. No laughter drifted from the night clubs. No footsteps echoed in the distance. People didn’t go out at night anymore.
Going out meant death.
Zayne stepped onto the street like he always did, alone, silent, a shadow moving beneath cold yellow lights. The air carried that familiar metallic chill, the kind that always came before violence. His black coat shifted slightly as he walked, the faint hum of his tracker glowing against his wrist.
He glanced down. A few wanderers nearby. Two signals pulsed red on the small display, blinking steadily just around the corner. His jaw tightened. Part of him hoped they had already fully turned. It would make the job simpler. The other part hoped they hadn’t. Because killing someone who still looked human was always worse.
The cold power inside him stirred as he walked, spreading through his veins like winter creeping over a frozen pond. Ice prickled at his fingertips, faint frost forming along the air around his hands as his instincts prepared for the inevitable fight.
Two signals. Close.
Zayne turned the corner slowly, watching the tracker as the red lights blinked closer together.
Then suddenly…one disappeared.
Zayne stopped.
“What…?”
The empty street swallowed his voice.
“Where did it go?”
He broke into a run. His boots splashed lightly through puddles that turned into ice as he rounded the alley entrance, the narrow passage swallowed in shadow between two crumbling brick buildings. Trash bins leaned crookedly, smashed against the wall. And there, on the ground…
A wanderer.
The creature lay sprawled across the pavement, its body twisted unnaturally, already beginning to dissolve into fine gray ash. Its corrupted skin cracked and flaked apart like burnt paper.
Dead.
Zayne frowned, scanning the alley. That wasn’t right. The second red signal still blinked on his tracker. Before he could process the thought, the corpse suddenly jerked. Not by its own movement. Something invisible grabbed it, something powerful, and slammed the body violently against the brick wall. The sound echoed sharply through the alley. If the wanderer hadn’t been dead before, it certainly was now.
Zayne froze. For a moment his brain refused to catch up with what his eyes had seen. Then the memory hit him. The second red dot. His power flared instantly. Ice spread beneath his boots in a thin sheet, frost crawling outward along the pavement as he turned slowly, scanning the darkness. His heart hammered once, hard.
Expecting a monster. Instead, a man stood in the far corner of the alley. Half-hidden in shadow. His clothes were filthy, but Zayne could see the faint remains of white fabric beneath the dirt, like something once clean dragged through days of chaos. His dark hair hung messily over his face, strands falling into his eyes.
And those eyes. Purple. Unsteady. Shaking. For a brief second, they locked with Zayne’s.Something wild flashed through them. Then they changed. The fear twisted instantly into something crazed.
Before Zayne could even raise his hand, power exploded from the man. An invisible force slammed into Zayne like a speeding car. His back hit the brick wall hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. The world flashed white as his head snapped back against the stone.
“Shit—”
His vision blurred with bright spots, stars dancing across his sight as he struggled to focus again. The alley spun for a second before slowly settling back into place. Too slow. When his vision cleared, the man was gone.
Gone.
Zayne pushed himself off the wall, chest still tight from the impact. His boots crunched lightly over the thin frost spreading across the ground as he steadied himself. His gaze dropped to the wanderer. The body was almost completely ash now, the last fragments breaking apart in the cold night air. But his mind wasn’t on the corpse.
It was on the man. Ran off.
Zayne’s brow furrowed.
Wanderers didn’t run. Even those barely turned fought blindly when attacked. The moment someone used force against them, they lashed out like animals. They didn’t flee.
He inhaled slowly, forcing his thoughts to steady. Where did he go? Then his mind snapped back into place.
The tracker.
Zayne raised his wrist and looked down at the glowing map. All the other signals in the area had vanished. Every single one.
Only one red dot remained. Blinking softly. Moving farther away down the street.
Zayne stared at the screen.
“What in the world…”
Zayne spends half the night chasing him. The red dot moves across the city in erratic paths, slipping through blocks and alleyways like it knows every crack in the streets. Zayne follows from rooftops and side roads, sometimes losing sight of the signal for several tense seconds before it reappears again farther away.
Every time he thinks he’s closing the distance, it slips out of reach. It starts to feel less like a hunt and more like a game. Like a cat chasing a mouse that refuses to be caught.
And worse..the cat is losing.
Zayne leaps down from the fire escape of an abandoned apartment building, boots landing silently on the pavement below. His eyes flick to the tracker again. The red dot has already crossed another block.
“How…” he mutters under his breath.
No wanderer should be moving like this. Even newly turned ones are clumsy at first, driven more by hunger than instinct. They don’t move with direction. They certainly don’t weave through the city like they know where they’re going. The thought creeps slowly into his mind.
Is it on purpose?
Zayne slows his pace slightly, watching the signal instead of charging straight after it.
Could the man sense him?
His fingers twitch faintly as frost forms along the edge of the metal railing beside him. If the man could detect his power somehow, then this chase might be nothing more than a deliberate lure.
But then, the red dot stops. Zayne blinks. Just like that, the frantic movement across the map settles into a single blinking point. It doesn’t move again. For several long seconds he simply stands there, staring down at the tracker while the cold night wind brushes past him.
If it were a trap, it would be a strange one.
Still cautious, Zayne approaches slowly. The streets here are quieter than the rest of the city, rows of aging storefronts with dark windows and rusting shutters. A broken neon sign buzzes weakly above an intersection, its flickering light painting the pavement in dull pink flashes.
The red dot rests inside one of the buildings. A convenience store. One of the few that still operate during the day. Even with everything that has happened to the city, places like this stubbornly remain open, small pockets of normal life clinging to survival. Wanderers don’t raid them, don’t tear them apart. They have no interest in human food. Which is exactly why they still exist.
Zayne steps quietly toward the entrance. The glass door hangs crooked on one hinge, the lock clearly shattered from the outside. Bits of broken glass crunch softly under his boots as he peers inside. And then he sees him.
The man sits on the floor near one of the shelves, his back against the wall beneath a flickering fluorescent light. Bags of chips and candy wrappers are scattered across the ground around him like fallen leaves. He’s eating quickly, almost desperately, tearing open a bag of chips and shoving a handful into his mouth before barely finishing chewing.
Despite his tall frame, there’s something strangely small about the way he sits there. His shoulders are hunched inward, knees drawn slightly up, as if he’s trying to take up less space in the empty store. Like someone who expects to be chased away.
Zayne watches silently from the doorway.
Another detail settles uneasily in his mind. Wanderers don’t eat. Not human food. They hunt living flesh, driven by corruption and instinct. Chips, candy, bottled drinks, none of it means anything to them. And yet, the man reaches for another bag.
Zayne studies him more closely now. The clothes. They’re filthy, stained with dirt and what might be dried blood, but beneath the grime the fabric is unmistakable. Thin. White.
Hospital clothes.
Zayne’s brows knit together slightly. Where did he come from? A hospital? A research facility? One of the quarantine centers? Questions begin piling up in his mind faster than he can sort through them. The tracker still marks him red.
Contaminated. Technically that should make the decision simple. Zayne should walk inside, freeze the man where he sits, and end it before the corruption spreads further.
That’s the job.
That’s always been the job.
Yet his feet refuse to move.
Something about this situation is wrong. Wanderers don’t run. They don’t throw bodies across alleys with invisible force. They don’t break into convenience stores to eat chips like a starving college student.
Zayne exhales slowly, the faint mist of cold air leaving his lips.
No.
Killing him now would answer nothing. If this man really is a wanderer, then he’s unlike any Zayne has ever seen before. And if he isn’t…Then something much stranger is happening.
Zayne steps quietly back into the shadow of the building across the street, keeping the shattered doorway in clear view. The man inside continues eating, completely unaware he’s being watched.
Zayne leans against the wall, crossing his arms as he studies him carefully. If he wants answers…He’ll need to capture him first.
Zayne draws on his power slowly, deeper than he usually allows himself to. The cold answers immediately. Ice creeps along the edges of his vision as frost forms faintly across his cheeks, the chill leaking from his skin. He stretches his hand forward, focusing past the doorway and into the convenience store. It takes more effort than usual at this distance, the cold gathering thick in his lungs as he breathes in.
The temperature drops. Frost spreads across the glass doors of the refrigerators behind the man, thin white veins crawling over the surfaces until the contents blur behind ice. Plastic bottles crack softly as the cold deepens. The fluorescent lights buzz above them, casting a pale glow over a room that suddenly feels like the inside of a freezer.
The man doesn’t notice at first. He’s too focused on tearing open another bag of chips. Then his breath turns white. The air grows thinner. Zayne tightens his control and pulls.
The oxygen drains from the room.
Not completely, not enough to kill, but enough. The change hits suddenly. The man’s body reacts before his mind understands. He inhales sharply, then again, faster this time. Panic sparks in his eyes as his lungs pull at air that isn’t there. His breathing turns frantic. One gasp. Two. A choked sound escapes his throat as the last of the oxygen leaves his lungs. His body staggers forward, fingers twitching uselessly in the freezing air. Then the strength drains from him.
The man collapses.
Zayne releases the hold immediately.
Air rushes back into the room as he steps inside, frost crunching beneath his boots. The man lies unconscious on the floor, chest rising slowly again as oxygen returns. Alive. Zayne exhales, the cold fading from his body.
“Sorry,” he murmurs quietly.
When Zayne gets a closer look at him later, the situation only grows stranger. The man is strapped to Zayne’s bed now, Evol inhibitors secured firmly around his wrists. Zayne had hesitated before putting them on. Something about the marks on the man’s skin had made him pause. Now, under proper light, he understands why. Bruises. So many bruises. Dark purple fingerprints circle both wrists almost perfectly, the kind left by restraints worn far too long. Red marks climb up his forearms, some fresh, some fading into yellow.
Zayne’s expression tightens. How had the man been running across the city like that with injuries like these? And then there’s the wound on his neck. A small gash. Just beneath the ear. Zayne stares at it for a long moment. He knows that placement.
His stomach sinks.
He doesn’t want to believe it at first. But when he pieces everything together, the hospital clothes, the restraint marks, the wound on the neck, the answer becomes impossible to ignore.
EVER.
The cut would have been where the tracker was removed. An escapee.
Zayne closes his eyes briefly and exhales a slow, tired breath. “Damn it…”
He moves quietly after that, cleaning the man’s wounds with careful hands. The gash on his neck is shallow but angry, the skin around it irritated from rough removal. The rest of the injuries look worse than they are, though several welts and burns clearly came from something deliberate. When he finishes, Zayne pulls the blanket up over him. Then he leaves. The man stays in Zayne’s bed, propped slightly against the headboard, while Zayne settles onto the worn sofa in the living room. Sleep doesn’t come easily.
He spends half the night listening for movement. Waiting. Half-expecting to wake to the sounds of a wanderer tearing through his bedroom.
Morning arrives quietly. Zayne stands outside the bedroom door for a moment before opening it. The reaction is immediate. The man jerks upright from where he had been slouched against the headboard, tension snapping through his entire body. His eyes flash with anger and confusion, sharp and alert despite the heavy shadows beneath them.
Dark circles hang under his eyes. Fresh bruises stain one side of his face. He looks exhausted. And yet ready to fight.
Zayne studies him for a moment before speaking. “Can you speak?”
The man tries to hold his gaze.
For a second, his purple eyes lock onto Zayne’s. Then something falters. His stare breaks away stubbornly before forcing itself back again, like he’s trying to prove, to Zayne or maybe to himself, that he isn’t afraid. He doesn’t answer.
Zayne sighs quietly. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. Then after a moment he adds, more honestly, “Though I’m sure you’ve been told that before.”
The man glances down at the restraints linking his wrists to the bed frame. His eyes flick briefly to the inhibitors. Then back to Zayne.
Zayne pulls a small key from his pocket and holds it up. “I’m going to uncuff you so you can go to the bathroom,” he says calmly. “So don’t try anything. Okay?”
The warning is pointless. The moment the cuffs come off, the man moves. His hand shoots for Zayne’s throat with desperate speed. If Zayne had been an ordinary person, the attack might have worked. But with the inhibitors suppressing the man’s Evol, the difference in strength is obvious. Zayne blocks the strike easily, catching his wrist and twisting his arms back at an angle he knows must sting after hours in restraints. The man doesn’t cry out. To his credit, he endures it. And then somehow manages to shift his weight and flip the situation, ending up on top of Zayne instead.
Zayne’s brows lift slightly in surprise. Compared to last night, the man’s movements are slower, his body clearly exhausted, but his instincts are sharp. He tries to push himself up again, likely planning to run. Zayne moves faster. A sharp palm strike lands against the man’s already injured shoulder. The impact sends him back against the wall with a dull thud as Zayne pushes forward with both legs. In the next second Zayne has both of the man’s arms pinned above his head against the bed’s headboard.
Their faces are suddenly close. The man’s breath comes ragged and uneven as he struggles. While Zayne sits on top of him.
Instead of reaching for the cuffs again, Zayne lets the cold flow from his hands. Ice forms around the man’s wrists. Clear, solid restraints lock them to the headboard.
The man grunts, twisting against the ice, muscles straining as he tries to break free.
Zayne watches him carefully. “You’re safer here,” he says quietly. “They can’t catch you.”
The man continues struggling.
“And you can’t win against me like this.” After a moment Zayne releases him and steps back. “We can keep doing this,” he adds, nodding toward the frozen restraints. “Or you can clean yourself up.” A small pause. “When was the last time you took a proper shower?”
The man’s breathing slowly steadies. Zayne watches his eyes carefully. Zayne has no doubts the man understands. Maybe foolishly, Zayne melts the ice. The restraints drip harmlessly down the wood.
Slowly, cautiously, the man climbs out of bed. He pauses for a moment, studying Zayne with a guarded look before heading toward the bathroom. Zayne stays alert the entire time.
He expects another escape attempt. Or an attack. But it never comes. Instead the man moves quietly through the routine like someone who hasn’t had the chance in a long time. He brushes his teeth. Takes a long shower. Changes into the clothes Zayne left out. Unfortunately, that means Zayne gets a full look at his torso.
And the sight makes him wince. Welts. Cuts. Burn marks. Evidence years of experimentation.
Zayne looks away with a grim expression.
Fucking EVER.
They sit across from each other at the small kitchen table, the quiet between them stretching longer than Zayne expected. Sunlight filters weakly through the apartment window, pale and dusty against the worn wooden floor. Outside, the city hums faintly with cautious daytime life, distant footsteps, a car engine somewhere far down the street, but inside the apartment the air feels tense, waiting.
Zayne sets a plate down in front of the man. Two pieces of toast. Scrambled eggs. A small bowl of fruit. Nothing complicated. Just something easy.
The man stares at it. For a long moment he doesn’t move. Then slowly, almost stiffly, he turns his face away and shakes his head.
Zayne blinks. “…Seriously?”
The man keeps his gaze fixed somewhere over Zayne’s shoulder, jaw tight.
Zayne leans back in his chair, studying him. “I saw how hungry you were last night,” he says after a moment. “You tore through half a convenience store.”
No reaction.
“So why are you doing this now?” Zayne pauses, then his brows lift slightly as a thought occurs to him. “…Are you worried I drugged it?”
The reaction is immediate. The man turns back toward him sharply, eyes widening just enough to betray the concern he’d tried to hide.
Zayne exhales slowly and rubs a hand down his face. “Of course you are.” He gestures vaguely toward the bedroom. “I had you tied to my bed all night. If I wanted to drug you or kill you, do you really think I’d bother sneaking it into your food?”
The man doesn’t answer, but his eyes drop briefly to the plate. Zayne sighs. “Look.” He reaches forward, picks up one of the pieces of toast from the plate, and takes a bite himself. He chews slowly, deliberately, giving the man plenty of time to watch.
Then he swallows. “See?” Zayne says simply.
He places the toast back down. “No one here is trying to kill you, okay?” The man’s shoulders shift slightly, some of the tension easing. “I only fought you because the second you walk out that door,” Zayne continues quietly, “someone else might not hesitate.” His eyes flick briefly toward the tracker resting on the table beside him. “And they won’t care whether you’re different.”
Silence settles between them again.
The man finally reaches for the toast. At first his movements are hesitant, cautious, like someone expecting the food to suddenly turn into poison in his mouth. But after the first bite… Something changes. Hunger wins. He eats faster. Not quite like the frantic desperation from the night before, but quickly enough that Zayne can see how long it’s probably been since the man had a real meal.
Zayne pretends not to watch too closely. Piece by piece the plate empties. When the last of the food is gone, Zayne nods slightly to himself, satisfied. Then he makes the mistake of leaving his own unfinished plate on the table. The man notices. His eyes flick to it. Then to Zayne. Then back again. Zayne raises an eyebrow.
A moment later he quietly pulls Zayne’s plate closer and starts eating the leftovers.
Zayne stares at him for a second before a quiet laugh escapes him. The sound surprises even himself. “You know,” he says, shaking his head slightly, “for someone who tried to strangle me this morning, you’re incredibly childish when it comes to food.”
The man pointedly ignores him.
But he doesn’t stop eating.
He’s like a puppy.
Zayne studies him over his cup. Ice wraps around the man’s ankles beneath the table, holding him firmly to the floor. It feels cruel, Zayne admits to himself, keeping someone trapped like this after they likely just escaped. But he can’t let him walk freely through the city.
Not when…
Zayne glances down at his tracker.
The red dot still blinks steadily. Inside his home. He exhales slowly.
What exactly did he just bring into his life?
Zayne quietly secured him back to the bed, fastening the restraints and checking the inhibitors once more. He hoped it would only be for a day or two, maybe longer…but he couldn’t be certain. His reactions were unpredictable; any moment could see him lashing out. Better safe than sorry.
That night, Zayne slipped out as usual. He had to. Even with him in his apartment, he couldn’t just stop moving, stop working. The man’s red dot lingered on his tracker, a constant reassurance that he hadn’t left. No matter what, Zayne had to keep some semblance of routine.
When he returned hours later, the apartment was quiet. He settled onto his bed with his tablet, scrolling through the day’s news, catching up on events.
He felt his gaze almost immediately. Eyes burning into him from the headboard, unblinking.
“What?” Zayne muttered, glancing at him. “Just because you’re here doesn’t make it any less my bed. Which I prefer to sleep on.” He shifted slightly, feeling the discomfort of the sofa’s poor support. Sleeping here allowed him to monitor him quickly if something went wrong.
“If you think it’s easier to run away while I’m sleeping next to you, you’re welcome to try.” He met his stare, waiting for a response. None came. He only continued to watch, silent and still. Zayne sighed and returned to his tablet, the tension lingering like a shadow across the room.
Morning came with little warning. Zayne stirred, hand reaching to shake him awake, but the man’s eyes snapped open before he even made contact.
“I guess we both aren’t easy to catch in our sleep,” Zayne muttered, a wry smirk tugging at his lips.
He tried to bolt that morning as he always did, but Zayne took it as practice rather than a real threat. The man’s instincts were still sharp, still fast. He wasn’t sure why the man continued these attempts, training, fear, or a habit ingrained from years under EVER’s control, but it reminded Zayne just how dangerous his guest could be if ever left unchecked.
After the morning routine, Zayne left for the day, leaving him restrained once more. He tried not to dwell on the way the man watched him, he was quiet, assessing gaze that made him feel simultaneously uneasy and responsible.
Earlier, Zayne had quietly messaged Sylus, trying to uncover any information about him. Sylus had replied: his name was Caleb, also known as X-02 and according to what records they could find, he had been raised by EVER. The thought made Zayne grimace. Caleb was one of their experiments, likely forced through tests designed to push humans beyond their limits, made to endure unspeakable things in the name of immortality. And judging by what they’d done to him, the boy..or rather, the man, had survived far more than he should have.
That meant he was important. Not just dangerous, but valuable, someone who could lead Zayne and Sylus straight to EVER, and possibly hold answers they couldn’t get anywhere else. He must know where they were, what they were doing, and who else had been through their experiments.
Zayne had left some protocores in a hidden compartment, enough payment for Sylus to continue his research for him. They had been collaborating for some time, each using the other’s skills to their advantage. He had sent a quick message confirming the drop-off before heading back to Caleb.
Sylus’s reply came quickly: “Don’t trust him. EVER has had him for years. No telling what they’ve done. Worse than one would treat a dog. He probably hasn’t been outside except for tests with the wanderers.”
Zayne pondered Sylus’s warning, watching Caleb shift slightly on the bed, still silent, still wary. He knew Caleb could communicate, the way he grunted, the way his eyes followed every movement. He understood enough. So why hadn’t he spoken?
Zayne knew he needed to get information out of him, but forcing it would only push Caleb into silence, or worse, violence. He needed a way to earn that trust. Slowly. Carefully. Methodically.
And he would figure it out.
Because if he didn’t, the moment Caleb escaped or EVER came looking everything would unravel.
Zayne knows Caleb understands it. The need to live. Even in a world like this. He sees it in the way Caleb watches doors and windows, in how quickly he calculates distances when he thinks Zayne isn’t looking. The instinct to survive is too sharp, too practiced to be anything else. No doubt Caleb has lived through something far worse than Zayne ever did. And yet he’s still here. He broke free. He ran across half the city with half-healed wounds and exhaustion dragging down his body, but he kept moving. He’s alive today. That same stubborn desire to live, just one more day, one more hour, that had kept Zayne going all these years… Zayne is certain it runs through Caleb too.
And Caleb is smart. Even after a lifetime inside a cage, he hasn’t broken the way many people would. His eyes are clear when he studies things, thoughtful in a way that tells Zayne his mind is always working.
Sylus had been right about one thing: the information Caleb carries could be critical. But Sylus was also right about the other part. Caleb is dangerous. If they could earn his trust, if they could bring him onto their side, it would be a massive advantage. Not just for the information he might have, but for whatever abilities EVER had forced into him.
Sending him back to that place…
Zayne’s jaw tightens at the thought.
No.
That wasn’t something he would allow. And keeping Caleb locked here forever wouldn’t solve anything either. That would make Zayne no better than the people at EVER. So he starts small.
With a name.
“Caleb.”
The reaction is immediate.
Caleb’s head lifts sharply, his eyes locking onto Zayne with an expression so conflicted it almost looks painful. For a moment the focus in his gaze slips, like he’s suddenly somewhere else entirely. Remembering something. Zayne almost regrets saying it.
But then Caleb’s expression settles again, the confusion fading as his face returns to that guarded neutrality.
“That is your name, right?” Zayne asks quietly.
To Zayne’s surprise…
Caleb nods. It’s small, hesitant, but unmistakable.
The first response Zayne has ever gotten from him. Zayne hides his reaction behind a calm nod of his own. After that, he doesn’t push.
He waits. It’s twisted, maybe, but Caleb needs time to get used to this place, even if he’s technically still a prisoner inside it. Days pass slowly.
And Zayne quickly discovers they share something else. Nightmares. Recurring ones. The first few nights Caleb barely sleeps at all. Zayne had assumed it was fear, that Caleb expected him to attack the moment he closed his eyes. But eventually exhaustion wins. And when Caleb finally lets himself sleep..The nightmares come.
The first time it happens, Zayne wakes to screaming. His body reacts instantly. Ice explodes outward from him in a sharp wave, instinctively ready for a fight. For a split second he’s sure Caleb has finally decided to kill him and make a break for freedom. But when his vision clears, Caleb is still chained to the bed beside him. Thrashing. Struggling violently against the cuffs. But he isn’t awake. Zayne sits up quickly, his pulse still racing.
“Hey..” He reaches toward him.
Caleb’s eyes snap open immediately. But the look in them isn’t awareness.
It’s panic. Pure, unfiltered terror. For a moment it actually pulls at something in Zayne’s chest. Caleb doesn’t even recognize him. Instead he starts yanking violently at the cuffs, pulling hard enough that Zayne’s immediate concern isn’t escape, It’s that Caleb might break his own wrists.
“Hey. It’s okay.”
Caleb doesn’t hear him. Zayne moves fast. Ice locks around Caleb’s legs, pinning them in place before he can kick free. Then Zayne climbs over him, straddling his waist as Caleb continues to fight like a trapped animal. Just like the first night. Zayne grabs his wrists and spreads them apart, pressing them against the headboard. Ice spreads over the cuffs again, freezing them solid against the wood. Caleb keeps struggling. Zayne presses a hand against the center of his chest.
His heart is racing.
“Caleb.”
No response. Caleb suddenly jerks forward, trying to slam his head into Zayne’s face.
Zayne pushes him back hard enough to stop the attempt. “Caleb,” he tries again, more firmly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Still nothing. “No one is.”
Caleb’s eyes are wide but unfocused, staring at something that clearly isn’t Zayne.
Zayne wonders who he’s seeing instead. Where his mind is right now.
“You’re safe here,” Zayne says quietly.
At first, it doesn’t work. Caleb keeps staring at him like he’s someone else entirely, his body shaking with leftover adrenaline and fear. So Zayne does the only thing he can think of. He rubs slow circles over Caleb’s chest. Steady. Calm. Gradually, the tension begins to leave Caleb’s body. His breathing slows. His shoulders loosen slightly beneath Zayne’s hand.
Finally, Caleb’s eyes focus again. Now when he looks at Zayne, there’s confusion there. Recognition.
“Do you know who I am now?” Zayne asks softly.
Caleb exhales a shaky breath. Then he nods.
The air between them is cold enough that the breath turns white. Zayne glances down.
“A little cold, huh?” he mutters.
Caleb is still trembling.
“Should I let you go now?”
Caleb nods again. Slow. Careful.
“Okay.” Zayne melts the ice binding him. Then he drops back onto the bed with a tired sigh. The night’s earlier fight and the burst of power he just used have left his body drained. Cold still lingers along his fingertips, small crystals forming and melting against the fabric of the blankets. Across from him, Caleb watches. His eyes trace the frost along Zayne’s face, the ice that refuses to fully leave his skin.
Zayne buries his face halfway into his pillow. “Let’s both try to sleep,” he murmurs, voice heavy with exhaustion. A pause. “I’ll be here if they ever come for you.” Sleep takes him almost immediately after that.
But Caleb stays awake. Watching him.
The days settle into something almost like a routine. Every morning Caleb still tries to run. It’s never subtle. The moment Zayne releases the cuffs so he can use the bathroom, Caleb lunges for the door, the window, or sometimes even straight at Zayne himself, anything that might create an opening. And every time, Zayne stops him. At first the attempts had been desperate, violent. Caleb would fight like a cornered animal, silent but ferocious, throwing every ounce of strength he had into escape. Now… it’s different. The movements are slower. Less frantic. He still tries, but the struggle ends sooner each time. Sometimes Zayne even catches a strange look in Caleb’s eyes afterward, like the man is measuring something, his own limits, maybe. Testing how far he can go.
During the day, Zayne loosens things a little. Caleb is still frozen to the floor with ice around his ankles, but Zayne lets him sit in the living room and watch television while he moves around the apartment. Most of what’s on are old reruns, shows from years ago before things in the world had fallen apart. No one really produces anything new anymore. Still, Caleb watches them with quiet focus. Sometimes Zayne catches himself wondering if the man is actually enjoying it. Then again… Caleb doesn’t have anything to compare it to.
Sylus, on the other hand, keeps sending messages. Have you gotten anything out of him yet? Does he talk? You know the information matters more than babysitting him, right?
Zayne ignores every one of them. It doesn’t feel like the right time.
He had tried something else instead, placing a pen and paper in front of Caleb one afternoon.
“Can you write?” he asked.
Caleb had looked down at the paper, then back at Zayne. Slowly, he shook his head. The embarrassed look on his face had been enough for Zayne to drop the subject immediately. He’d teach him eventually.
A few nights later, Zayne returns home after a particularly bad fight. It had been awhile since this had happened but, his ice won’t recede. Usually after a fight it melts away gradually, his body settling once the adrenaline fades. But tonight it clings stubbornly to his skin, thin sheets spreading across his arms and collarbone. He feels dizzy. Cold patches crawl across his shoulders like frostbite.
When he enters the bedroom, Caleb immediately straightens on the bed. His eyes lock onto Zayne. Curious. Concerned?
“It’s fine,” Zayne mutters automatically, already walking toward the bathroom. It had been a while since his powers had acted up like this. Overuse sometimes caused problems, but it rarely got this bad. Then again… he hasn’t exactly been sleeping well. Between Caleb’s nightmares and his own creeping back lately, proper rest has been… rare.
After a long shower and a change of clothes, he feels slightly better. Not much. The ice still clings stubbornly in patches along his arms and jawline. For a moment he considers using an inhibitor to suppress it. But then he glances toward Caleb. If they were suddenly on equal footing…Zayne decides against it.
He walks back into the bedroom shirtless, too tired to care, planning to release Caleb so he can use the bathroom before they both try to sleep. The moment the restraints come off, Caleb grabs him. Zayne straightens. He hadn’t been fast enough. For a brief second his mind jumps straight to escape. His powers flare instinctively, but he forces them down. Using them again right now might make things worse.
But Caleb doesn’t move toward the door. Instead, he grabs Zayne’s hands. And just… stares at them. The cold must hurt. Zayne’s skin is nearly frozen in places. But Caleb doesn’t pull away. He turns Zayne’s hands gently in his own, examining the frost-covered skin with careful movements. His expression shifts.
Concern.
Zayne relaxes slightly and pulls his hands back. “It’ll go away—”
Caleb ignores him. Instead he grabs Zayne’s wrist again and pulls him toward the bathroom. Zayne is so confused he lets himself be dragged along.
“What are you—”
Caleb sits him down on the floor beside the tub. Then he reaches over and turns on the water. Hot water begins filling the bathtub, steam rising slowly into the air. Caleb gestures toward it.
Zayne blinks at him. “…You want me to get in?”
Caleb nods once.
Everything about this is strange. But Zayne is too tired to argue. So he gives in. He steps into the bath and sinks down into the hot water. Immediately the warmth seeps into his frozen skin. The icy tension in his muscles slowly loosens as the heat pushes the cold back. Zayne leans his head against the edge of the tub. His eyes begin drifting closed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought flickers.
This would be the perfect moment for Caleb to run. Zayne is tired. Weak. His powers are unstable. Everything he planned could fall apart right here. Ah… Sylus is going to be furious with me, he thinks faintly. Sleep begins to pull at him.
Then something taps his shoulder. Zayne’s eyes open again.
Caleb is still there. Leaning against the side of the tub, his arms resting on the edge while he watches Zayne carefully. He never left.
Zayne studies him quietly. “Not going to run away?” he asks softly.
Caleb shakes his head.
His purple eyes soften slightly.
Pretty.
Zayne exhales slowly. Ah.
He’s screwed.
After the heat of the bath finally drives the worst of the cold from Zayne’s body, the two of them drift back to the bedroom in quiet exhaustion. The apartment is dark except for the faint glow of the city lights bleeding through the window. Zayne moves automatically through the routine that has formed over the past days.
He reaches for the handcuffs.
Caleb notices immediately. This time, instead of offering his wrists, Caleb hesitates. His fingers close lightly around Zayne’s sleeve and tug.
Not toward the restraints. Toward the bed.
Zayne pauses. “Caleb,” he says patiently, already holding the cuffs in one hand, “your nightmares… those won’t go away overnight.”
He isn’t as worried about Caleb hurting him anymore. Not really. What worries him is Caleb hurting himself, like the way he’d nearly torn his wrists apart the first night.
“In time,” Zayne continues quietly, “you’ll get better.”
Caleb looks at him. Those wide, stubborn eyes soften just enough to look almost pitiful. Puppy dog eyes, Zayne thinks with a quiet sigh.
Caleb raises his hand suddenly.
Zayne stares at it. “…What?”
Caleb lifts his hand higher. Waiting.
Zayne looks at the raised hand again, completely lost.
“…High five?” Caleb’s expression immediately shifts into something that looks suspiciously like frustration.
He raises the hand again. All five fingers. Then points at the bed.
Zayne blinks. Then it clicks. “Ah.” Understanding finally dawns. “Five minutes?” Zayne guesses.
Caleb nods immediately. And before Zayne can reconsider, Caleb grabs his arm and pulls him onto the bed beside him. Zayne ends up sitting awkwardly against the headboard while Caleb shifts beside him. Then Caleb does something Zayne definitely wasn’t expecting.
He lays his head down in Zayne’s lap. Zayne freezes. For a moment he just stares down at him. Then a quiet chuckle slips out. “You really are like a puppy.”
Caleb doesn’t protest.
Slowly, Zayne lifts a hand and lets his fingers settle into Caleb’s hair, gently brushing through the dark strands. The motion is absentminded, more instinct than thought. His mind drifts back to the night’s events. There had been more wanderers than usual. Too many. A pattern he doesn’t like. He’ll need to message Sylus about it tomorrow. If EVER is involved again, they’ll want to know sooner rather than later. The room settles into a comfortable silence.
Zayne keeps idly running his fingers through Caleb’s hair, long after the promised five minutes pass. He had already lost that battle the moment Caleb gave him that look. And truthfully… Zayne doubts Caleb has ever experienced something like this before. Comfort. Simple, quiet closeness without fear attached to it. After a while Caleb shifts slightly, turning his head to look up at him.
Even in the dim light, his purple eyes shine faintly. They’re brighter now than when Zayne first dragged him home from the convenience store.
Zayne feels his own eyes growing heavy. He starts to nod off..Then forces himself awake again. He can’t sleep like this. If Caleb has another nightmare…
Suddenly Caleb sits up.
The movement wakes Zayne instantly. Before Zayne can ask what he’s doing, Caleb reaches out and presses something into his hand.
The handcuffs. Caleb is already holding his wrists out. Offering them.
Zayne stares at him for a moment. He chooses not to think too deeply about the psychological mess this entire situation has become. Instead he sighs softly. “…Alright.”
He secures the cuffs back around Caleb’s wrists, fastening them to the bed frame once again.
Routine restored. But when Zayne settles back down beside him, he finds himself lying closer than usual. Close enough to feel the warmth of Caleb’s body through the blankets.
And somehow…
Neither of them moves away.
Caleb still had nightmares.
They came less often now, but they hadn’t disappeared. Some nights Zayne would wake to the familiar tension beside him, the sudden jerk of Caleb’s body, the sharp intake of breath, the quiet sounds of someone trapped somewhere far away in their own mind.
But something had changed. Caleb came back faster. His eyes would clear sooner, the panic fading almost as quickly as it arrived. And the first time it happened, when Caleb’s gaze finally focused and he rasped out in a hoarse whisper, “Zayne is here.”, Zayne had felt something warm settle in his chest.
Pride. He hadn’t expected that. But he felt it anyway. That night, after Caleb calmed down and his breathing finally slowed, Zayne made a quiet decision.
Unclasping the handcuffs, he left them on the bedside table. Caleb stared at him immediately.
His tired eyes widened slightly, confusion and worry flickering across his face.
“Don’t worry,” Zayne said quietly. He placed a steady hand on Caleb’s chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart slowly settling beneath his palm.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Caleb watched him like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
Zayne simply leaned back into the pillow, exhaustion finally catching up to him. Between the fights, the lack of sleep, and everything else, his body was running on fumes.
Within minutes he began drifting toward sleep. Then something moved beside him. Arms wrapped suddenly around his abdomen.
Zayne blinked awake just long enough to realize what had happened.
Caleb had shifted closer. His head now rested in the crook of Zayne’s neck, breath warm against his skin as his arms held onto him with quiet determination.
Zayne doesn’t push him away. Instead, a quiet chuckle escapes him in the darkness. He honestly can’t remember the last time someone hugged him.
Even in his dreams, when the nightmares came, he was always alone, watching things unfold like a distant observer with no one beside him.
For years he had convinced himself he didn’t need this kind of human connection. Didn’t want it.
Didn’t deserve it.
But the way his body slowly relaxes now, tension draining from muscles he hadn’t even realized were tight… The way sleep pulls him under faster and deeper than it has in months…Says otherwise. For the first time in a very long while,
Zayne sleeps comfortably.
“Do you remember the night you left?”
They were sitting on the sofa when Zayne asked it.
He had just returned from a short trip to the market, the grocery bags still half-unpacked on the kitchen counter behind them. The apartment smelled faintly of fresh bread and soap from where Caleb had apparently cleaned up earlier. Caleb was surprisingly a great cook. He learned fast from all the tv he watched.
Caleb sat sprawled beside him with his feet up on the coffee table now that he wasn’t iced to the floor.
Zayne had tried to break that habit the first few days.
He had given up since.
The television murmured softly in the background, some old rerun Caleb had already watched twice this week, but neither of them were really paying attention.
Zayne had put this conversation off long enough. He knew it. Sylus definitely knew it. The moment the question left his mouth, Caleb’s reaction was immediate.
His face twisted slightly, surprise flashing across it before anxiety crept in behind it. His shoulders stiffened, his body going tense like a wire pulled too tight.
For a second Zayne almost regretted asking.
But then Caleb nodded. Slow. Careful.
Zayne kept his voice calm. Gentle. He didn’t want to corner him. “Do you remember how long it took you to get here? To the city?”
Caleb hesitated. His gaze drifted down to the floor as if trying to replay the memory. Seconds stretched by before he finally lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. He wasn’t sure.
That made sense. Someone running for their life wasn’t usually counting miles.
Zayne nodded slightly and continued. “Do you think you would remember the way back?”
This time Caleb didn’t shrug. He didn’t nod either. He just stared at Zayne. His eyes said everything.
Zayne leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose. “I don’t mean to send you back there, Caleb,” he said quietly. “We want to destroy that place.”
Caleb shook his head immediately. Then he started mouthing something.
Zayne squinted slightly, trying to read the words, but he couldn’t quite catch them. Seeing the confusion on his face, Caleb lifted his hands.
He pointed at Zayne. Then drew a finger across his own neck. The meaning was clear enough.
Zayne blinked. “…Are you worried I’ll get hurt?”
Caleb nodded.
Zayne stared at him for a moment. Then he laughed. Not the dry, sarcastic kind he usually used. A real laugh. “How can you possibly worry about me?” he muttered, shaking his head.
This man had escaped a nightmare of a facility, had been tortured and experimented on his entire life, and somehow he was still worried about Zayne.
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Zayne said, still smiling faintly, “but I do believe more people will get hurt if that place keeps running.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Isn’t that true?”
Caleb gave him a sharp, annoyed look. He knew Zayne was right. Instead of answering, Caleb turned his attention back toward the television like the conversation had ended.
Zayne watched him for a moment. Then he asked quietly, “Will you help us, Caleb?”
No response. Caleb’s eyes stayed fixed on the screen. But Zayne noticed something else. Caleb’s hands were shaking in his lap. Zayne felt a small twist of guilt. Did I ask too soon? He was just about to say they could talk about it another time…
When Caleb nodded. Just once.
Still not looking at him.
But it was enough.
Caleb loved to cuddle.
Maybe Zayne should have expected that.
Every morning he woke up tangled in Caleb’s arms, the man pressed close against him like he belonged there. At some point during the night Caleb always drifted closer, seeking warmth without even seeming to realize it.
Zayne rarely protested.
After nights spent outside fighting wanderers, his body often came back half-frozen, his powers leaving traces of cold that clung stubbornly to his skin. Caleb’s warmth helped more than Zayne wanted to admit.
It had changed Caleb, too.
The nightmares still came, but they were different now. Less violent.
Instead of waking up thrashing or fighting invisible enemies, Caleb would wake quietly, sometimes shaking, sometimes with tears running silently down his face. But he never lashed out at Zayne anymore. He never hurt him. And Zayne had begun to think that maybe, just maybe, the man was starting to feel safe here.
But there was one thing Zayne still hadn’t gotten used to.
The feeling of something between Caleb’s legs.
Every so often he would wake in the morning with Caleb’s thing jammed squarely into back or his side. Sometimes Caleb shifted in his sleep and accidentally start to rub against his own unknowingly.
The first time it happened, Zayne had nearly frozen half the bed in reflex.
Now he mostly just lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling and wondering how someone so clingy and unaware.
He had a suspicion where Caleb picked it up on all the cuddling. The television. Those old shows Caleb watched endlessly were full of couples falling asleep together, arms thrown around each other, tangled under blankets.
Zayne figured Caleb must have taken a few lessons from them. Not necessarily all of them, if the man wasn’t doing anything about the damn sword he has.
Which left Zayne with a small but persistent dilemma. Should he tell him? Part of him thought he probably should. A quiet “maybe you should do something about that?” would solve the problem easily enough.
But another part of him hesitated. Because every morning Caleb still woke up wrapped around him like he’d been holding on all night.
Zayne wasn’t entirely sure he wanted that to stop.
One morning, Zayne finally gave up.
It had found its way into his front again sometime during the night, as if looking for a place to wedge itself. He had tried shifting away. Tried nudging Caleb subtly.
Nothing worked. So he took matters into his own hands. Reaching down, Zayne grabbed it and gently through his pants.
Caleb grunted softly in his sleep, his body shifting instinctively against him. Instead of rolling away like Zayne expected, Caleb only moved closer.
Zayne exhaled quietly. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath. He shifted his body forward, pressing closer and feeling for the tip.
Zayne settled into the space, adjusting until the weight of Caleb’s arm rested loosely across his waist.
Caleb grunted again. Pushing his hips lightly up.
When Zayne lifted his head slightly, he realized Caleb was already awake.
Purple eyes stared back at him in the dim light of the room. Watching.
Zayne froze.
For a second neither of them moved.
“…You’re awake,” Zayne said flatly.
Caleb blinked slowly, his expression calm but curious, like he had been observing the entire situation for a while.
Zayne sighed.
“Do you mind if I help you with this?.”
Caleb tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to understand.
Zayne moved his hand again lightly.
Caleb looked down at their current position. His arm around Zayne.
Their bodies pressed close together under the blankets. Then he looked back up at Zayne. And nodded.
Slowly… a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Zayne narrowed his eyes.
“Don’t start.”
At the same time he felt a little more strength in the hand that had been wrapped around his waist. Zayne felt it expanding at a tremendous speed beneath Zayne’s hand.
He had already thought the man was big enough.
Unexpectedly he started to feel the heat build up in his pants as well.
He fumbled with the hem of Caleb’s pants till it sprung free and against the man’s chest.
Using the bit of wetness that was already forming, Zayne kept a steady rhythm, pluming his hand knowing Caleb wouldn’t last long.
Zayne couldn’t help but feel glad to hear Caleb’s voice, rare as it is, between breathy moans. His fingers clenching on Zayne’s side. Caleb’s head rested on Zayne’s shoulder, his breaths warm against his neck.
He could have finished him then, but the heat building up between them was too much. Before he could second guess himself, Zayne pulled out his own between them. Using both his hands to wrap around them.
The greed that arose at being able to desire something so utterly human in today’s world was so unbelievably intense. What was thought to have settled flared up again, bringing heat to the body, a warmth that spread between them.
Caleb lifted his head, turning toward Zayne, and Zayne caught the shift in his gaze, eyes dark, heavy with desire, fixed entirely on him.
Something inside Zayne gave way. He leaned in, closing the distance, and kissed him.
At first, Caleb hesitated, almost stiff, as if confused. Then, gradually, he returned the heat, matching Zayne’s movements, letting the tension that had been building between them all morning spill out in small, urgent motions along with their bodies.
It wasn’t perfect, Caleb wasn’t experienced, his movements tentative, unsure, but it didn’t matter. The connection, the rawness, the closeness. Their breaths came fast, ragged, punctuated with quiet gasps as lips parted and cheeks brushed. Zayne felt Caleb’s hands clench lightly at his shoulders, then relax, pressing closer, the warmth between them undeniable.
For that moment, everything else, the nightmares, the cage, the cold nights, the weight of the world outside, vanished. All that remained was this, this fleeting, messy, electric closeness.
And even in its imperfection, it felt entirely, unmistakably right.
As the first pale light of the morning filtered through the curtains, they lay tangled together, limbs entwined in the quiet aftermath of the night. Zayne woke first, as always, his body stiff and warm from the closeness, and carefully untangled himself. He sighed at the compacted mess of blankets and bodies he’d created, pushing himself up to go make them something to eat.
But before he could take a step, a small, hesitant hand gripped his. Turning, Zayne saw Caleb’s face, half-awake, hair mussed despite its recent cut, eyes swimming with conflicting emotions.
“What is it?” Zayne asked softly.
Caleb’s lips parted, and a shaky, hesitant sound emerged slightly grumbled, as if the voice had forgotten how to speak.
“Zayne.”
Before Zayne could respond, Caleb’s eyes widened in panic. He recoiled toward the headboard, pulling his knees to his chest and covering his head. Quiet, broken sobs escaped him.
Zayne froze for a moment, surprised, until he realized what was happening.
The tremor in Caleb’s body, the way he huddled into himself it mirrored the nightmares Zayne had been waking to night after night.
Carefully, Zayne moved closer, trying to bridge the space between them. But as soon as he touched Caleb’s arm, the man flinched, tensing as if expecting a strike. Breathing came in ragged bursts.
God fucking damn it, EVER. May they all burn, Zayne thought, clenching his fists.
Since contact seemed to worsen Caleb’s panic, Zayne settled next to him instead, speaking in a soft, calm voice.
“Did you know,” he said slowly, “before you showed up, I hadn’t had any proper sweets in years? I used to have them all the time as a kid. My mom would say my teeth were going to rot away young.”
He tried to chuckle, but the sight of Caleb’s clenched hands, white-knuckled and even starting to bleed slightly, made him pause. He wanted so badly to reach out, to hold him, to let him know he was safe.
“I think now,” Zayne continued, his voice gentler, “you’ve brought that love back to me. Who would have thought you’d be so good at making sweets?”
Bit by bit, Caleb’s sobs slowed. His fingers began to unclench, the tension bleeding out as Zayne kept talking, carefully testing the waters.
This time, when Zayne reached out to touch his face, Caleb didn’t flinch. Instead, he lifted his head, meeting Zayne’s gaze. His cheeks were wet with tears.
“I’m sorry,” Caleb mouthed softly.
Zayne’s chest tightened. “Why would you be sorry? You did nothing wrong.”
He leaned closer, kissing him lightly, then wrapping Caleb in a warm, steady hug. This time, the tears that followed were no longer panicked, they were quiet, heavy, and cleansing.
Caleb pressed into him, letting the sobs ease as exhaustion overtook him. Eventually, his body relaxed fully, and he drifted into a deep, untroubled sleep, still cradled in Zayne’s arms, the faint light of morning washing over them.
Zayne stayed still, holding him, letting the fragile peace linger a little longer, knowing that in this is what they have, they had both found something rare, safety, comfort, and the beginnings of trust in a world of darkness.
Zayne realized it didn’t take much, just a spark, for Caleb to begin speaking more. At first, it was just one or two words here and there, tentative and shaky, often followed by panicked eyes and flinches that made Zayne want to scold him and pull him into a hug at the same time.
“I really don’t need you to do this,” Zayne would say, his voice soft, trying to reassure him.
But Caleb refused to hold back.
Slowly, Zayne began teaching him to read. They worked through basic characters and words, painstakingly patient with each other. They even started picking up on a crude form of sign language, gesturing out plans and thoughts when the words failed. And as Caleb’s confidence grew, so did his voice. No longer whispers or half-spoken words, his presence became audible, undeniable, clear, and full of intent, especially when they discussed plans against EVER. Caleb made sure Zayne could hear every word, every agreement, every determination.
It wasn’t just Caleb’s voice that changed. Their kisses became more frequent, bold, playful, sometimes fleeting, sometimes lingering. The affection spilled into small habits and quirks, the kind Zayne didn’t expect but found himself slowly enjoying. They even forgo the inhibitors causing Caleb to use his gravity to his advantage, stealing things and pushing things around the house only to annoy him.
Caleb began calling him Gege constantly, a teasing repetition he likely picked up from one of the shows he obsessed over. And the moment Caleb learned Zayne was older than him, he didn’t back down from the nickname or the teasing. Not one bit.
Zayne could only shake his head sometimes, a half-laugh escaping him. This kid…this man who had survived so much, who had nightmares that clawed at him every night, had somehow claimed pieces of Zayne he didn’t even realize he was willing to give.
And Zayne? He wasn’t complaining. Not in the slightest.
“Gege”
Caleb entangled their young use deeply as he pulled Zayne close, his back arching so Zayne could embrace him tightly. Far from feeling restricted, Zayne welcomed him into his arms.
The moment their bodies met, a tingling feeling surged between their interlocked tongues, flooding his hoard and belly. It felt as if all the muscles in his body were starting to melt away.
Zayne’s tightened his grip around Caleb’s neck, eliciting a faint hum. Their legs, tangled in an unyielding desire to get even closer. They fell backwards and Zayne had no concerns for what might happen next as he knew the arm around his waist would guide him as they softly fell onto the bed without parting their lips. Only then in the comfort of their bed did their lips finally separate.
“Gege, you’re so beautiful.”
Zayne laid sprawled on top of Caleb, panting for breath.
Caleb sunk deep into the bed, mixed his laughter with his heavy breathing.
Zayne couldn’t take his eyes off of Caleb’s purple ones watching him closely as the few rays of sunlight that poured over him seemed to only heighten his handsome features.
Their hands began to wander. The warmth felt against Zayne’s palm soon turned into another kiss. One that went down Zayne’s neck causing him to shutter in response.
Zayne grunted as he explored the man while also being explored. Clothes suddenly on the floor. His entire being seemed to open up towards him once again.
Even the heat he felt below his waist couldn’t stop him.
And this wasn’t the first time.
Zayne willingly spread his legs, pulling Caleb closer though the opening in their clothes.
“Hmm…ah..”
He felt the coldness of Caleb’s exploring fingers. The intense contact momentarily blurred Zayne’s vision. The same pleasure that now had become all too familiar.
With the feeling of Caleb’s fingers leaving came another swift and rough movement, Caleb moaned as he glided into him. Both of them were hard to the touch, already poised for a climax. Despite what Zayne thought about Caleb’s size, they had managed it.
Zayne felt his heart beating in his chest. Pressing his lips to Caleb’s. His hand started to wrap tightly between his legs while still in rhythm.
Zayne flinched reflexively, moaning at the sensation of the touch. Their lower bodies, pressed together. The feeling as if his head was about to explode. He buried his forehead into Caleb’s shoulder. He gritted his teeth with a mix of pain and pleasure.
Caleb continued to hit the spot that had Zayne resting so strongly ever since they had first done this. The moment Caleb hit it once more along with the motion of his hand, an intense sensation erupted, making his body convulse. He gasped for breath as he heard Caleb moan deeply along with him. Settling on top of him.
Zayne had originally planned to face EVER without Caleb, convinced it was the safer route..for Caleb, for himself. He worried that bringing the man along would throw him back into the nightmares he’d only just begun to emerge from. But Caleb refused. Stubborn, fierce, unyielding. He insisted he could never have closure unless he saw the place burn with his own eyes.
So Zayne relented, and of course, with the careful coordination of Sylus and their allies, they finally succeeded.
The grip of EVER was broken, and for the first time, all of them, truly, were free.It was as simple as that. Years of torment on the world…gone.
When all was said and done Caleb cried in his arms. The weight of everything off his shoulders.
“Wanderers cure?” the TV announced, a reporter’s voice echoing across the small living room. “With attacks lessening and society gradually stabilizing, possibilities for a cure have never been more real.”
Caleb snuggled into Zayne’s shoulder, content and quiet, as the city outside lit up in a brilliance it hadn’t known for years. Neon signs and streetlights glimmered across the skyline, reflecting the pulse of a city finally waking from its long, dark nightmare.
Out of habit, Zayne checked his tracker. Not a single red dot lingered in the area. Not in the streets. Not even in his home. Not even sitting next to him.
He felt gentle hands on his face, turning him toward Caleb. The man’s expression was soft, his purple eyes bright and warm, entirely different from the wild, haunted gaze of a wanderer. He looked every bit the handsome, loyal puppy dog Zayne had come to know and not a trace of the horrors he had survived lingered there.
Zayne’s mind wandered briefly, imagining what might have happened if he had never brought Caleb home. The thought was unbearable.
“Stop thinking so hard, Gege, you’ll get wrinkles,” Caleb teased softly, breaking through Zayne’s reflection.
Before Zayne could answer, Caleb pressed his lips to his in a deep, lingering kiss. The warmth of the touch, the solidity of the human connection, was something Zayne hadn’t realized he’d been missing until now. He held Caleb close, letting himself finally feel it, the comfort, the safety, the life he had thought he’d lost. And he knew, with a quiet certainty, that he wasn’t letting it go again.