Caleb stared at the floor, eyes blank.
Lucy's words still hung in the air, even as her arms slowly let go. But the effect… was far from gone.
His body was still tense.
Something deeper than logic had already kicked in.
He sat stiffly. His pants were getting tighter. His breathing grew heavier.
Lucy's warmth still lingered on his chest—but that wasn't what threw everything off—
It was him.
His brain.
His private blade.
His fucking trauma.
"…Maybe I really did get carried away," Caleb finally muttered, his voice barely audible in the small room.
Lucy didn't respond. She just sat calmly beside him, eyes soft. As if she had no idea how heavy the air had become.
"Luna… she's always been there," Caleb continued, more to himself than to her. "Since Mom was still around. Even after she died… Luna never left. She helped with the funeral. Stayed by my side. Checked on me every week."
His head leaned back a bit, staring at the cracked old ceiling.
"Maybe I mistook that for love," he said. "Maybe I just… needed someone to hold on to."
Lucy gave a small nod, like she understood.
But Caleb knew that look—that empathy—was just a product of false memory. Something that made sense to her.
She didn't remember what they talked about earlier.
This is fucked up, Caleb thought.
His mind was spiraling.
One MILF just turned him on—turns out, she's in love with his mom.
The other MILF—who he trusted—turned out to be a closet freak, hoarding years' worth of secret photos of him. From childhood. Different angles. Different ages. Like a fucking stalker.
And his own mom…? Nearly killed him in his sleep.
And now?
He was sitting on a worn-out couch, pants tight, surrounded by flowers and lies.
"…I think I'll stay here tonight," he finally said, forcing a smile.
"If that's okay."
Lucy smiled. "Of course. You're always welcome here, kiddo."
Caleb didn't respond.
He just looked down, holding in all the anger and confusion with one long, shaky breath.
He had to play along.
He had to.
Until the truth came out.
Until he knew—
Who really cared.
Who was faking it.
And who was hiding a knife behind their smile.
So much trouble… but playing along is kinda fun, said a darker part of him, grinning.
Caleb let out a quiet sigh.
"…Maybe I should just help out with work," he mumbled, still looking down. "Might stop my brain from spiraling even more."
Lucy smiled—soft, calm, but warm enough.
"Good idea," she replied gently. "Work can help clear your head. And… maybe wear a mask too, yeah?"
Caleb nodded slowly. "Yeah. Got it."
No complaints. No questions. Just… went along with it.
Lucy stood up, opened the drawer near the register, and pulled out a few items—a black mask, an apron, and a plain dark cap.
"Here," she said, walking over. "Put these on."
But she didn't just hand them to him. She helped.
Tied the apron around his waist, knotting it from behind.
Then gently placed the cap on his head, adjusting the strap with quiet care.
Caleb didn't say a word. Just let it all happen.
It felt… weird.
But also warm. Comforting, in a way that didn't feel entirely normal.
"That okay?" Lucy asked, giving a small smile.
"No problem," Caleb replied softly.
Lucy pointed toward a door tucked in the back corner, half-hidden behind a rack of dried lavender.
"If you need the bathroom, it's over there."
Caleb turned to look.
The flower shop was bigger than he thought. Looked narrow from the front, but the inside stretched deep.
Cozy. Warm.
He didn't walk over right away.
Just stood there for a moment, adjusting the mask on his face.
With most of his face covered… it just felt right somehow.
"This cap and mask might come in handy later," he thought.
A few minutes passed.
Caleb was now standing behind the flower display, moving small clay pots to a higher shelf. His hands were working, but his mind was still half-numb.
"That one too—put it on the top," Lucy said, pointing to another rack.
Caleb followed her instructions. But as he lifted a slightly heavier pot, he glanced over at her.
"Wait… you've been lifting all this stuff by yourself?"
Lucy gave a small smile. "Yeah. It's actually kinda nice, y'know? Helps clear my mind."
Caleb glanced at her for a moment.
She was hunched over, fixing some flowers. Her hair was a little messy, but somehow that just made her look more… alive.
"Not saying I'm against it or anything," Lucy added out of nowhere, "If you really want to marry Luna."
Caleb nearly dropped the pot. "Huh?"
Lucy stayed calm, her voice gentle.
"I mean, I get it. Luna's that type—calm, motherly. Probably makes you feel safe."
Caleb realized instantly: Yup. Her memory's scrambled again. Totally random. No way to predict this shit.
So he just nodded. "Yeah… you're kinda right."
But Lucy kept going. "It's just, y'know… she's a widow, right?"
"…A widow?" Caleb echoed without thinking.
Lucy nodded slowly. "Yeah. She got married young, but her husband… well, stuff happened. It's been a while. Still, you're young, Caleb. Maybe it's better if you find someone more… in your range."
Caleb fell silent. His eyes unfocused. Breathing heavy.
Inside his head:
Who the hell spends years single just 'cause she fell too deep for someone's mom?
He let out a quiet sigh, smirking internally.
Ding!… you did, Miss Big-Tiddy Lucy.
Caleb just shook his head slightly and went back to lifting pots, swallowing a bitter laugh that refused to come out.
Tring...
The flower shop's doorbell rang softly.
A girl walked in—breathing heavily, hair messy, a light sheen of sweat on her face.
Caleb turned on instinct—and his heart instantly started boiling.
"You—!"
Caleb was seconds from exploding, his voice loaded like a punch to the air.
But before he could step forward, a gentle tap landed on his shoulder.
Lucy.
"Don't let your emotions take over," she said softly. "You know who she is, right?"
Caleb was still trembling.
Lucy grabbed her phone from the counter and pointed at the screen. "She's livestreaming."
Then she looked him straight in the eye.
"And please… don't make things worse for you and your mom."