The empty bottles on the nightstand say it all. The room is warm, dim, and tilted at the edges the way everything gets after too many beers. You're tangled together on the bed, his weight a comfortable presence beside you, the soft rumple of sheets underneath. Caleb is close. Too close. His eyes are half-lidded but steady, holding yours with that quiet intensity that makes your pulse trip over itself. He leans in, lips barely a breath from yours, and then - he stops. Smiles. A slow, patient, devastatingly soft smile. He's waiting. It's always been your move.