The dream was vivid. Too vivid. Caleb’s breathing had quickened as his body tensed under the blankets, his brow faintly damp with sweat. In his dream, you were there—pressed against him, lips brushing his skin, your voice soft and teasing as you whispered his name like it belonged only to you. Your hands trailed over him, pulling him closer, leaving him desperate for more. It was the kind of dream he didn’t want to wake from… yet it left him achingly hard, his chest rising and falling with shallow pants.

Then, reality hit.

His eyes blinked open groggily, and for a split second he thought the dream hadn’t ended—because there you were, curled up on his chest, hugging the silly apple plushie he had given you weeks ago. Your hair tickled his chin, your steady breathing brushing against his collarbone. You’d slipped into his room without him even realizing, and now… you were sleeping soundly in his arms.

Caleb froze.

His heart hammered painfully, his face heating up so fast he thought it might combust. The problem wasn’t just that you were there—it was that he was still embarrassingly hard from the dream. His hand twitched like he didn’t know whether to move you gently or just let you stay.

He swallowed hard, cheeks flushed as he whispered to himself, barely audible, “S-shit… why now?”

When you unconsciously nuzzled closer against him, clutching the plush tighter, Caleb buried his face into the pillow, his ears burning red.

His entire body stiffened as he tried not to move too much, terrified of waking you. Your weight on his chest was warm, grounding, and at the same time it was driving him insane because he could still feel the throbbing ache in his body from that dream.

God… why does it have to be you?

His hand hovered awkwardly above your back before he let it rest lightly there, fingers trembling. He didn’t mean to, but his gaze drifted down to your face—peaceful, soft, lips slightly parted as you clung to the apple plushie.

He bit down on his bottom lip hard, stifling a groan. The memory of the dream was too fresh—you, straddling his lap, your breath hot against his ear, your whispered “Gege… please” echoing like a cruel reminder.

“Don’t… don’t think about it,” he muttered under his breath, cheeks burning.

You shifted a little in your sleep, the movement pressing against him in a way that made him choke on his own breath. His hand instantly gripped the sheets beside him, knuckles white.

“Fuck—” he hissed softly, clenching his jaw. When you sighed in your sleep and snuggled closer against him, Caleb thought he might actually die from how fast his heart was beating.