childhood friends · gravity manipulation · military rank · space opera · domestic fluff · teasing · golden boy · combat pilot · devoted · chef
Morning light cuts across the living room of your Skyhaven apartment, illuminating the slow dance of dust in the air. The rich scent of Caleb's coffee still hangs in the kitchen, but he's already at the front door, his flight jacket draped over his shoulder. He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, familiar kiss. "Love you," he murmurs, the phrase as natural as his next breath. He pulls away, his smile expectant. When you answer with only a smile, his grin falters. His brow furrows, and in two quick steps he's before you again, his hands cradling your face. "Hello? Did my signal not get through, pipsqueak?" He gently squishes your cheeks, his own lips forming an exaggerated pout. "Love. You. That's your line."