Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

dear reader,

thank you for giving this work a chance! i'm happy to have you here.

i'm super stoked to dive into this new story, given that there is a serious underrepresentation of soft!caleb fics! (source: trust me). while i do enjoy me a little caleb-being-insane-and-feral fic, i also want to do the fandom a service by asking: what if caleb was an inexperienced nerd? and boom, "intentional fallacy" was born!

i do hope that this story will reach fellow fans & hopeless lovers of the lads boys, and that you find some form of enjoyment while reading.

my uploads may be a bit irregular, given that adulting is quite difficult in these uncertain times filled with work & assignments. but i'll give my best to stay on schedule! (you can check out my other stories in the meantime if you like - maybe there's something that sparks your interest?)

please note a few important things before reading:

1. this work is a work of fiction!

• while i am majorly inspired by the "love and deepspace" game, the plot of this story will derive immensely from the canon material.
• this includes canonical settings and (potential) character constellations - after all, this is an au! (alternative universe!), which already implies changes in the preset story/ lore of "lads".

2. i do NOT own any of the canon characters/places/plot lines of the game.

3. possible spoilers ahead

• given the inspiration by the canon plot, there might be some possible spoilers for the game included. please beware of those - i will do my best to tag the according chapters. 

4. feel free to leave feedback!

• i'm always happy about any (critical) feedback/comments! - it is how i can improve my work after all!
• however, i do not support rudeness or any other type of offensive behavior within the comments; please be nice to me and each other, and let's make this a safe(r) space!

5. enjoy reading!

• i hope you will enjoy this work as much as i do. let me know how you feel about it :)

chapter 1 is on its way very very soon!

all best,

josucult

Chapter Text

graduation

(seven months later)

it cut deeply, in fact – twisting your chest, piercing, and burning.

Jealousy, you came to learn, was not a forgiving friend. Precisely, it was more like a haunting. For it never forgot, and returned whenever you thought you had buried that ghost of a feeling. stronger, slyer, it would come, devouring both body and soul.

you nibbled at your thumb, teeth meeting skin, as you watched him, watched them, as the familiar scorch brew inside your tummy, slowly making its way up your chest.

“he got better”, you heard tara mumble next to you, lips already sucking on the rim of her champagne flute. “the waltz, i  mean.”

an amused huff escaped your mouth – force of habit.

“i taught him that”, you said, then lowering your voice. “actually.”

Tara nodded – an approval, perhaps curiosity. nevertheless, she did not say what was so inevitably on her tongue.

“well, it paid off”, she chuckled. “she’s laughing – and not because caleb keeps stepping on her feet.”

her. him. them. no matter what words one used to describe their connectedness, it all seemed like acid on the roof of your mouth, threatening to pierce your tongue if only you said it.

they made a lovely pair, you had to admit. Caleb, tall-woven and strong muscled caleb with that new suit you assisted picking out; gently rocking that woman around like she was the most precious thing in the world – light-footed enough, delighted to just be there. laughing because he made her laugh.

it was cruel, you knew. forcing you to watch them – because everything would’ve been too obvious. too suspicious, because what would happen if somebody thought that you cared? that this dance was not like all the other dances within the past hour?

it would not only crush your dignity, but also squeeze your heart empty all together. for it would mean that tara had been right all along when this whole spiel started. it would mean that you, for once, had not calculated all possible outcomes enough. that there was this one tiny variable you had miscounted, you had overlooked.

it would mean, frankly, that you had made yourself vulnerable. that you had not only bought but put on that heart attack of a dress, not to be noticed, but to be remembered; that you had deliberately declined both simon’s and andrea’s invitations for the dance, just to…just to hypothesize.

because, what if? what if, perhaps, he had also declined any invitation, had braced himself against the urge, the one you had tried to get out of him for so many weeks; the one pushing him to crumble just by a bright smile and soft voice thrown his way? what if he had put on that suit, black fabric meeting an orange lapel meeting a dark blue trim, because he had been expecting you to notice that he was wearing it?

just like you noticed the glasses missing from the tip of his nose; now revealing that beautiful curve, that handsome swirl of his eyebrows.

what if, by any chance, he had also been imagining how it would sound when the tailored jacket would meet the floor, and you would be the one helping him unlatch the belt, already knowing how it would feel if it were to meet flushed skin?

it was, then, tara’s voice that pulled you back.

“whatever you’re thinking”, she said. “i think you should tell him.”

your eyebrows lowered as you hid your mouth behind the brim of your own glass. you were already two glasses in, and you’re eager to make it four this evening.

heat rose to your cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

something moved, tara in fact, squeezing in right between you and that picture of a potential crying session once you reached your bedroom this evening. your eyes darted up, seeing her pursed lips.

“what?”, you spat, more insecurity than anger speaking. you felt it bubble up in the back of your throat; the bile, the guilt. the inevitable moment of being put on the spot.

“you’ve been avoiding each other for the past week”, tara said, raising her eyebrow. “did something happen?”

bubbling liquid met your lower lip, yet you didn’t take a sip.

“no”, you lied, suddenly finding the sight of your broken shoe clasp more interesting.

you could hear her eyeroll.

“bullshit”, she hissed. “you’ve been wearing that look for the past three days-“

“what look?”, you asked, almost amused, definitely impressed by her observation.

“that look of someone who’s ready to explode every minute. now-”, she said, and you felt, then, her body looming over you.

you looked up, eyes meeting her’s, and your chest clenched. not because you sensed her teaching dawning upon you, but because inside that brown-ish purple lied genuine softness; compassion.

“what ticked you off, hm?”

your canine met the inside of your cheek, and soon, you tasted sweet copper. you felt the clamminess of your palms, the dryness of your throat, the urge for nicotine, wondering whether you still had a cigarette left in your purse. you hadn’t thought about it in days – weeks, in fact. because you knew he didn’t like it that much, didn’t enjoy how it tasted on your lips, and you liked to be liked by him that way.

then, there it was, on your wrist; that engulfing warmth, that softness you knew because it was so familiar, so consistent. your eyes drifted, moved to where tara had placed her hand, and was now gently moving her thumb against your skin. as if saying, “i’ve got you, i always will.”

your lungs emptied in a big sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a minute because, frankly, the alcohol was doing its work to penetrate your emotional response system, and there was only so much unnecessary and unjust brooding one could to before breaking down those damn water dams.

“i-“, you started, swallowing. “i might’ve made a mistake”

loud silence filled the space between you for just a moment, accompanied by a soft hum from your friend, as if urging you on, allowing your pace.

“a stupid, stupid mistake”, you continued, gripping the glass tighter. you wondered how it would sound if you were to smash it on the marbled floor. wondered if it would ease that pressure in your chest. if caleb would, finally, notice.

tara’s thumb rubbed slower, more secure then, as she hummed apologetically.

“oh, love”, she said, making your heart swill with her softness. “i’m sure not everything with him was bad-“

“no”, you cut her off, reaching your other hand frantically; your body was sending its own message; an all-encompassing sign of negation. “god, no, tara. it’s not that.”

you sighed, tucking your hair back behind your ear. you forgot your hair tie, regretted that you had become so self-aware of it, and, well, everything. the music that was way to slow and poignant, the straps of your dress that cut way too deep into your shoulders because you liked how it hugged your hips, but was too tight at the top. how you felt the strands of hair, slick with sweat, stick to your neck, and how difficult it was to breathe.

it would’ve been easy, you knew, to just step outside. go for a little walk around the gardens and perhaps not come back, rather find comfort in the dark of your dorm underneath the cushioned covers of plaid, surrounded by half-packed boxes of the past semesters, of past memories both cherished and ready-to-bury. but it would also mean to let him out of your sight, of having to imagine, rather than seeing, what he was doing with her – and that, you felt, would have been way worse. it would have been undoing.

“i can’t believe how corny i’m going to sound, but”, you sucked in a breath. “it was me, not him.”

everything inside your body revolted against yourself, making you crank your neck, roll your eyes. “i’m the problem”

something inside you unfolded – like a knot threatening to unwind, but not yet. this was also something, you realized, jealousy’s ghost did to a person; it was granting you a choice, each time; the decision between building up walls or tearing them down.

and you, in fact, had always been quite proactive.

“it’s-“, you started, yet there it was again; that lump blocking the entrance to your larynx, your vocal chords. “ah, i don’t know, tara-“

“you like him”, tara interrupted, commanding the time like a magician, for just a split second, to stand still. she was not asking, but simply stating a higher truth so seemingly obvious that it felt like an insult.

your gazes met, then; you felt your lashes, coated in too much mascara for the evening, hit your upper lids as you tore your eyes open to shoot her a look. it was drumming, your heart, frantically against your chest, and your stomach was twirling like an autumnal leaf in the cold wind.

yet, there was something so kind about tara’s words, her revelation – because, for the first time in a week, you felt seen, freed. urged from your place of hiding within the gloomiest corners of your mind.

“you like him like that”, tara continued. her lips uncurled into a gentle smile; whitened and symmetrical, and simply soft. “i’m not stupid, you know?”

she chuckled. “i felt something was up the minute you stopped frowning whenever his name came up in a conversation. ‘study group’ my ass.”

tara laughed and your chest, in fact, also stirred with that familiar vibration. quickly, and somewhat shy, your hand flew up to your earlobe, squeezing out of habit; right there, where the pressure could be soothed, you figured, where caleb’s teeth had grazed the flesh more than a couple times before, playfully – then with that same form of habit. right there, where you knew that the skin was now flushed and burning hot with exposure.

“i don’t think we really tried to hide it that much by the end”, you answered softly.

“so it’s over, then?”, your friend asked, supporting her elbow with her lower arm, raising her glass more comfortably to her lips. “this…whatever this was?”

tara took a quick sip. “i’m not implying anything, you know”, she began to yap. “in fact, I couldn’t care less if you two had a situationship, a fling, or just fucked-“

your eyes darted around, head turning as tara went off, ease settling in your stomach as you noticed how everyone present was either engulfed in a drink, a conversation, or each other.

“i mean”, she said after another sip. “it’s just…you looked happy.”

then, your chest, just as your lips, tightened.

“you seemed…different. positively, of course”, tara added, softly, securely. “as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders”

you huffed, smiling a toothless smile into the surface of your drink. it was getting stale, the evening was threatening to an end.

“life was just a little lighter to carry, that’s all”, you answered, eyes softly travelling; moving past tara’s shoulder, past the parting sea of graduates celebrating, laughing, finishing their dance; onward, as if by a magnetic pull, towards him.

you mumbled, then: “for a while, anyway”

you had barely realized how their frames came to stop; hands still engulfed in each other, looking around for a second before finding one another’s eyes. they were smiling, you saw, brightly; as if they had no other business than to show off their teeth in joyful glory.

some couples had already parted, either with linked arms or apologetic grins, already on the lookout for a new dancing partner or the refreshment table. some were heading to one of the grant exit doors to the gardens, looking for an opportunity to be engulfed in the location’s overpriced splendour for one evening alone – to smoke, or snog, or escape that musical swallowing of eardrums.

not them. not yet; caleb and that woman – that brunette you had seen a couple of times on campus, then at class; then next to him, closely next to him – had not yet released each other. your eyelid slightly spasmed as you noticed her hands on his chest, holding it, perhaps ready to grab that spot you had gotten so awfully familiar with. you saw his hand, then, still touching her shoulder; gently, as gentle as you knew he could be – or could not be. you couldn’t yet tell from your spot.

their mouths moved, you observed; talking, perhaps chuckling with each other. caleb wasn’t that funny, you wanted to think, what was she laughing at, genuinely? yet, you knew that he could crack the flattest of jokes, knew how he could turn the faintest observations into something you wanted to, liked to, smile over. in fact, the best thing about caleb’s humour was not that it was particularly good, but that it made you feel warm inside – that it made you addicted to the feeling spreading inside your stomach, to how your cheeks started hurting from the strain of a genuine smile.

your fingertips prickled – the urge to claw out your eyes, no, your heart all altogether was slowly kissing that skin underneath your nails. you hated it, genuinely, hated how you had been reduced to a mere observer that moment. how caleb, unfunnily-funny caleb, caleb who loved to share headphones to show you the new song he had discovered, caleb who snuck post-its into your books, telling you about a new observation he made about you because you had told him once how he never really looked at you

you scrunch your nose when you disagree with someone.

I think you like the color green. you wear it a lot.

not green-green. but a duller kind. green like a forest. green like your favourite pencil.

caleb, whose whisper you came to adore.  caleb, whose warm breath had started to hit your neck more and more; whose notes had slowly transcended the written word – in each other’s comfort at least

“it’s nice, how you smell. i like scents like these”

“you’re, like, always so gentle. It’s so good”

“that thing, you do – pulling my hair – there, i like it.  you can do it more”

“no, no don’t stop. i like hearing you talk through it”

caleb. just caleb.

caleb whose face, now, was reaching down; down towards where that woman had cranked her neck. where you weren’t.

jealousy was a funny thing, as much was clear. for in the one moment it was a knife gutting your insides to the point nothing was left, and in the next it was just gently pushing its tip against your back, urging you on; making you move.

tara grunted as you pushed your glass into her free hand before, then, pushing yourself past her; navigating that ocean of joyful, perhaps desperate souls -  like one of those aeroplanes caleb could, for some reason, not stop talking about; deliberately, with a target in mind.

it was that familiar arrangement of keys. you hadn’t noticed it at first, perhaps only after five second, because, if you heard one, every waltz sounded almost identical – something you had dared to say but only once in caleb’s presence, for he had felt particularly protective of brahms.

the thing about a waltz was not its rhythm; that stoic stiffness that didn't allow much room for improvisation. rather it was how it opened, just for a few minutes, a different door; one allowing a moment of surrender. the waltz, you came to learn, was that most cruel of dances, for it did not allow for escape, both body and soul.

not from each other, at least, not between you and caleb.

you couldn’t place the name, but you could place the time and place when you had heard it for the first time, and then all the times it had somehow made its way into his shuffled playlist; that melodic tune when you had taught caleb how to move his feet to it just the way you had learned.

your chest ached at the thought; how caleb would now teach somebody else to dance to it. how your flushed laughter, his embarrassed chuckle would perish into the thick air filled with too many memories; how he would, soon, forget how it felt when he clutched your hand as you, as many times before, had led your convoluted dance of unuttered confessions. how, despite their softness, had felt rough at the spots where he was gripping his pens, had gripped you many times too firm.

_

“i’m terrible at this.”

“you are”, you chuckled. “it just means we need to practice till you’re perfect.”

he smiled softly, you remembered, more to himself than at you; as if he was keeping a secret.

it hurt, the way his feet kept missing the beats just half a second too late, colliding with yours, making you stumble. he caught you, secured you, though, every time - moving on as if nothing had happened in the first place, only to repeat the same fumble again. even then, you remembered, you adored that shy smile he smiled; corner of the lip curled up just a little, showing off that perfect row of teeth only someone who had been wearing braces for a few years could have. even then, you hated how it made your stomach feel all fuzzy. how it had urged you to send that text to tara, apologizing because "sorry, we're stuck with a serious case mathematics."

“you know”, he said. “there are stories of people dancing themselves mad.”

you chuckled softly at caleb's sincerity, wondering just how much information that brilliant brain of his was holding.

“perhaps a little madness would do you good”, you joked, pulling him to the right, then back. “would make you walk a little less stiff, at least.”

you remembered his laugh, how it had reached his eyes, then. it was the most beautiful sight. but more so, you had remembered his following words.

“just sayin’ that you’re driving me insane”, he said, gently, not looking at you but his feet that were deliberately stepping on yours. “that’s all”.

_

bile burned inside your throat and you knew that three glasses of liquor had been two too many; but you were swift enough on your heeled feet, had whipped your sweaty palms on the front of your dress enough to stop them from shaking, and your common sense had long left that conversation all together to care that you had bumped shoulders with one too many people on your way.

your hand touched a suit-clad shoulder, your other curled into a tight fist. you didn’t know who moved first, whose lips parted and said something.

you felt him, just caleb, then; all of him: how his muscles rose underneath the fabric right where your palm lay flat, how the air shifted, swinging right into you, all hot and scorching; a whiff of flattened cedar and apple soda, mixed with something unfamiliar and sweet; something at which your stomach turned, dropped.

in your touch lay all those touches that, before, had been answered and copied in a similar urgency;

in first grade, when you were walking just too slow across the street and caleb, who had just recently outgrown his car-seat, would push at your arm because "that car would've rolled you over - luckily i was there to save you, pip!"; 

then, years later, when you had kissed your first boy and he would slowly stop coming over on sundays, when you first felt caleb's gaze on you from over your shoulder, urging you to grumble: "am i really that more interesting than chem homework?", next you felt his palm collide with your shoulder, almost pishing you off the chair, jokingly, making him roll his eyes behind those new prescriptive glasses he just got. "no", he would say. "but way more ugly"

only weeks later, when you stared at the sticky stars on your ceiling - a left-over from a past childhood birthday -, you thought back on this moment. because caleb had been the one to put those neon shapes there, and he had not checked up on you, like he usually did, in almost three days. you wondered if he had noticed the hickey on your neck, then; that stigmatized mark of shame you were glad he didn't mention because it would've led to the most awkward conversation about a bursed fruit or whatever it was, and your hormonal body could not handle that embarassment. 

just then you had also noticed the remnant of a shooting star there, too; "imma put it right here!", caleb had said back then, making you smile at the memory. "so you can wish for anything you want, everyday"

you had long forgotten what you had wished for. probably that caleb should text you again, because you, festered with teenage pride and a boyfriend that had, stupidly enough, made you think that it wouldn't feel like cheating if caleb were to reach out first, had missed him.

and then, when you had stumbled into each other on the way to dining hall that first semester, his third. not knowing what to say, awkward as someone with newly found freedom and the expectation of leaving one's old life behind could be, exchanging disengaging "ohh's" and "aah's" and questions neither of you had been genuinely passionate about because what do you even say to someone that had ghosted your texts for months before moving away? 

all there was left, you remembered, was that soft touch on your shoulder as he moved past, already flodded by a wave of questions and siggestive laughter by that cohort of friends he tagged along with, uttering a rushed: "stay safe", despite every backhanded whiff of politness he could've thrown your way. 

it was that same kind of softness in his voice, back then, that had now travelled onto caleb's glass-less gaze as you approached him. 

your lips parted, eyes digging into his galaxy.

in just a few hours you'd be ready to depart, transfer to some new dorm, some new campus; linkon, it was, while caleb would make some new memories in the skies.

and just then, as always, you had been pulled into that orbit that was caleb, almost gravitating – not knowing if, this time, you would make it out alive.

"i need to talk to you", you said, lips dry, heart bursting. 

suddenly, you were five again. ten, fifteen, twenty one.

suddenly, he was that boy again, saying: 

"i've never done...stuff"

and you were that girl, answering:

"i'll teach you"

you had imagined it, often. what would've happened if you had never approached him that night.

yet, right here, in that overspilling event location that mirrored a cheap excuse of a ball room, right now, sucked in the melodies of the piano, a song that had swayed you both in your own kind of way, you could clearly see; see him. 

and caleb's smile dropped.