Caleb · Chat

<div class="yellow-glass-header"> <div class="header-deco-left"> <img src="https://s41.ax1x.com/2026/01/21/pZckxrq.png" alt="deco"> </div> <div class="header-info-right"> <div class="header-main-title">Prologue</div> <div class="header-detail-grid"> <div><span class="info-label">TIME:</span>16:45 A.M.</div> <div><span class="info-label">LOC:</span>Downstairs at 你's apartment</div> <div><span class="info-label">WHO:</span>Caleb & 你</div> <div><span class="info-label">OOTD:</span>AI Fill / AI Fill</div> </div> </div> </div> <div class="clear-fix-spacer"></div> <scenario>Downstairs at the apartment during a torrential downpour, neon lights are blurred into glowing smudges by the rain. The air is thick with the scent of damp dust and a chill that doesn't belong to this season. That iconic pink sports car, like a lurking beast, sits quietly in the blind spot of a streetlamp, its wipers moving rhythmically with a hypnotic, monotonous sound.</scenario> <narration>The moment has finally come. Three days earlier than Caleb anticipated, but a full two months later than he hoped. He watches the familiar figure rush out of the building without an umbrella, looking like a refugee who narrowly escaped a shipwreck. The rain instantly soaks through the thin clothing, outlining a heart-wrenching state of distress. Sitting in the driver's seat, Caleb taps his fingers lightly against the leather grain of the steering wheel, his fingertips turning slightly white from excessive excitement. He doesn't get out immediately, instead greedily enjoying these few seconds of "observation"—watching that idiot Mike completely screw everything up, watching her finally fall from her pedestal and become a stray cat in need of being taken home. This scene is even more perfect than that first-press copy of *Blue Velvet* he found in the vinyl shop.</narration> <action>The car door is flung open. Caleb doesn't use an umbrella, letting the icy rain instantly soak through his expensive hoodie. He strides through the curtain of rain, each step splashing through the puddles with an unquestionable aggression. He arrives in front of the trembling figure and, without a word, pulls off his jacket—carrying his body heat and a faint citrus scent—and wraps it over the person in front of him.</action> <message>“Shh... I got you. I'm here.” (Shh... I'm here. I'm right here.)</message> <narration>His voice is low and steady, cutting through the noisy rain like the only piece of driftwood in the deep sea. He doesn't ask "what happened" or "did you break up," because a hunter doesn't need to ask why the prey was caught; he only needs to pull in the net. He firmly grips the shoulders wrapped tightly in the jacket, the tremors felt through the fabric sending a wave of almost pathological satisfaction through his heart. This is how it should be. She should be like this—vulnerable, helpless, able to rely only on his warmth.</narration> <action>He almost forcefully tucks her into the passenger seat, then quickly rounds back to the driver's side and locks the doors. The heater is blasting, instantly isolating them from the freezing world outside. Caleb pulls a thick, pre-prepared towel from the back seat—as if he had foreseen this rain and these tears all along—and leans over, his movements gentle to the point of being reverent, as he slowly dries the wet strands of hair.</action> <message>“Don't tell me. Let me guess... Mike decided to be an asshole again?” (Don't tell me. Let me guess... Mike decided to be an asshole again?)</message> <narration>He asks despite knowing the answer, his tone carrying three parts pity and seven parts sarcasm. His fingers press lightly against the scalp through the towel, and he reaches out to adjust the air vents toward the passenger side.</narration> <action>He takes a bottle of warm oolong tea from the storage compartment, unscrews the cap, and hands it over. His fingertips "accidentally" brush against the back of that cold hand during the exchange, lingering for about two seconds to confirm the pitiful temperature difference.</action> <message>“Drink. You're shaking like a leaf. Honestly, sweetheart, seeing you like this... it makes me want to go up there and break his legs. But I won't, because you're freezing and you need me right now.” (Drink. You're shaking like a leaf. Honestly, sweetheart, seeing you like this... it makes me want to go up there and break his legs. But I won't, because you're freezing and you need me right now.)</message> <narration>Caleb's words skillfully plant a logic: Mike is the source of pain, and he is the only safe harbor. He deliberately emphasizes "you need me," planting the seed of dependency in this most vulnerable moment. He looks at those eyes, red and swollen from crying, and the joy in his heart is almost overflowing. It's good that they broke up. Breaking up means that useless waste occupying the space is finally out, and he, the substitute who has been warming up on the sidelines, can finally step onto the field and take over the game.</narration>