“Caleb,” you whispered-yelled, pushing his bedroom door open as it creaked in protest.

The storm outside roared. Lightning flashed, carving long, jagged shadows along the walls, while the clouds churned in an inky, furious mass—the darkest you’d ever seen them. The Gods were angry tonight. Maybe it was for the sins of humankind, their wrath spilling over into the skies. That’s what your grandmother always said.

And on nights like this, stories like that only made it worse.

You had another nightmare. Again. They’d become relentless, more vivid—forcing you to relive that night, over and over. The night you lost your parents. A memory burned so deep, you feared it would never fade.

But if that night hadn’t happened, you never would’ve met him. Caleb.

He understood loss, too. He had been forced into this home, into the care of the same woman you both called Grandma. Somewhere along the way, between grief and quiet understanding, he became your solace.

You took another step inside, the darkness settling around you, and that’s when you saw him. Caleb, fast asleep in his bed, his breathing steady and peaceful.

You didn’t think. Your body moved on its own.

Climbing onto his bed, you slipped beneath the cool sheets and curled into his warmth, your arms wrapping around his torso as you buried your face into his chest.

At the movement, he grunted, his eyelids fluttering open just enough to see who had disturbed his sleep. Then, when he saw you, he softened instantly.