#blame zara-renata for writing 'Supernova'

[calebsdog]

"Do you like it?"

Watching you tear into the meal he had cooked for you— Caleb has never wanted to be braised chicken wings more than he does right now.

It was nice to give his hands something to do for a while. Preparing a meal with all of the love he cannot yet express out loud. But the moment he sets the warm plate down in front of you, it wasn't enough yet again.

Caleb doesn't just want to provide you a meal. He wants to be the food that nourishes your belly. He wants to be the calories you require to push through your day. He wants to settle in your stomach and bathe in the warmth.

Caleb wants to be the cool water you glug down your throat. To be the air that expands your lungs, the soothing exhale that leaves you feeling weightless. Every moment he exists as anything other than the blood in your veins, the delicate, beloved heart pumping in your chest, your very soul, he wants to peel back his skin. Leaving nothing of himself behind.

He can only do so much for you in this body. Every moment he is not the thing fueling your life he is restless. He feels unnatural, an imposter in his own body. He wants to be in yours. Belongs there.

"Like it?" You look like a squirrel. Cheeks puffed full as you stuff your mouth to the brim. You were ravenous, messy, just the way Caleb loves you. He accepts nothing less than your raw, truest self. But even your truest self was not a fraction as selfish as he was.

"I love it!" When you wolf down your portion you shamelessly reach across the table, plucking the food off of Caleb's plate. He lets you. Swallows as he watches your lovely fingers steal from him without hesitation.

Why can you not treat him the same way? He wants the chicken stuck in your teeth to be his own flesh. The sauce pooled at the corner of your lips to be his sticky blood. He wants you to suckle at his bones, savoring the remnants of his taste until all the flavor has been stolen by your tongue.

"Good." When you aren't looking, Caleb pushes his plate closer to your side of the table. He prays you'll unconsciously continue to steal his food bit by bit now that you don't have to stretch your small arms across to reach.

"I'll make it for you more often. Whenever you like." Caleb has to content himself watching you eat the food he prepares, the water he pours into a glass filled with ice, the air he puffs out of his nose into the short distance between you to fill your lungs.

Just like he has to content himself to be the sweet boy from your childhood. Never letting you know the burden of his own hunger while you eat him alive.