Deceptive Solitude is a Memoria Date with Caleb in Love and Deepspace.
| Completion | Rewards |
|---|---|
| 50% | Diamond x20 |
| 100% | Diamond x20 |
Deceptive Solitude (Caleb Memoria)/Diagram
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|videoKOR=. If it is not there, add it before the }}.<youtube>link to youtube video</youtube>|videoKOR=<youtube>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=urONohYpdVA</youtube>Midsummer's morning breeze slips through the open window and enters the living room, lifting the strands of hair on Caleb's forehead.
He focuses on the toy gun in his hand. The silvery-gray barrel regains its former sheen as he sands it down.
Although I say those words, I rummage through the tool bag Caleb brought and hand him the brush.
I look at the freshly painted brown gunstock and feel like it doesn't match the one in my memory.
Seeing Caleb's teasing eyes, I pick up the brush and move it around the palette, pretending to ponder.
Then I quickly dab on some red, feigning a surprise attack, yet playfully poke Caleb's cheek with the brush handle.
I shove the refurbished gunstock into Caleb's hand, stretch, and start rummaging through a wooden crate nearby.
As I gently touch the aged paper bearing our signatures, I notice Caleb skillfully assembling the gun's parts out of the corner of my eye.
I take the revamped toy gun, aim it at the Illustrated Guide To Wanderers on the shelf behind Caleb, and pull the trigger.
A rubber bullet whizzes through the air and knocks the book off the shelf, but the gun doesn't reload. Puzzled, I fiddle with the cylinder.
Caleb dismantles the gun and removes the cylinder. Beneath the casing is a crack hidden in intricate design.
I follow Caleb into a vintage shop on the outskirts of the city.
The shop is tucked away in the alley. Its walls, covered in Main Character, serve as a natural veil that adds to its mystery.
As the shop owner prepares to deliver a long speech, I awkwardly give Caleb a wink.
The shopkeeper confidently sets down his magnifying glass and retrieves a similar cylinder from the shelf behind him.
While the shopkeeper works on the cylinder, I drag Caleb along to admire the shop's dazzling array of vintage parts and accessories.
Out of the blue, I notice a proud twinkle in Caleb's gaze. It's as if the phrase "perfectly in sync" is written in his eyes...
Noticing my knowing, inquisitive look, Caleb smiles. He leans down to fasten the pricey gun holster around my waist.
After securing the holster, Caleb proceeds to pull out a movie poster that was on the same rack as the holster.
Seeing the revolver on the poster, a realization suddenly dawns on me. Astonished, I turn to look at the toy gun in the shopkeeper's hand.
The toy gun seems to glow brightly at that moment. I excitedly pinch Caleb's cheek.
Seeing Caleb's honest expression, I slowly relax my grip.
I nod and start to turn around. And then, a vintage cowboy hat in the corner catches my attention.
Its pattern and color perfectly match the holster on my waist.
I quickly walk over, grab the hat, and jog back to place it on Caleb's head.
I stand on my tiptoes and mimic Caleb's tone from earlier. I pull down the brim of his hat.
Softly chuckling, Caleb lowers his gaze, places his right hand on his left shoulder, and solemnly kneels to salute me.
After fixing the toy gun for half a day, Caleb and I decided to test our shooting skills against each other.
At the suburban shooting range, Caleb and I, wearing protective goggles, aim at the distant targets with our air rifles.
Our shots hit the bullseye almost simultaneously.
Caleb is referring to my "first shot" during his early college days.
As soon as I heard their college shooting club was planning an event out on the shooting range, I immediately insisted on tagging along.
Holding the air rifle, which felt real, I tried to appear calm as I took my shot. But actually-
Caleb sets his air gun down and walks up behind me. He lifts my right wrist, his warm breath fanning the hair near my temple.
Caleb pauses, and I turn. A subtle frown appears on his face as he stares at my goggles, his gaze showing he's somewhat distracted.
He shakes his head, plucks a leaf from my hair, and waves it before my eyes.
Before I can say anything, Caleb shoves the goggles into my hand, pats my head, and turns to leave.
As I watch him disappear into the distance, a sense of unease quietly rises in my heart.
A skinny man with dark circles under his eyes lurks behind the cabin at the shooting range. Nervous, he clutches a firearm.
Suspicious, he has a hidden earpiece in his right ear as he looks at the concession stand in the distance.
Startled by the familiar voice behind him, the man quickly turns around and aims his gun at Caleb.
Caleb leans against the wall and dismissively flicks his fingers. Suddenly, the man's gun and earpiece fly out, hovering in midair.
Uncontrollably, the man falls to his knees.
Caleb crushes the earpiece in his hand and turns. The suspended gun dissolves into dust that scatters and falls into the weeds.
With bloodshot eyes, the man behind him musters up all his strength to lunge for the firearm at Caleb's waist.
When the man takes the bait, Caleb instantly grabs his wrist and flings him backward.
Tiny particles from the gun's grip burrow themselves into the man's fingers.
Caleb stops looking at the trembling man behind him and picks up his gun and meticulously cleans it.
A few minutes later, a command pops up on the communication device of Liam, the Farspace Fleet's adjutant.
"Target was sighted in Linkon and is heading to the second base. Follow the signal and prepare for pursuit."
The evening breeze in the forest dispels midsummer heat, but it can't dispel the unease in my heart.
Standing at the shooting range entrance with my backpack, I absentmindedly scroll through my chat with Caleb that's on my phone.
Caleb left in a hurry and made a flimsy excuse.
As a shadow falls over me, a cool sensation graces my still-warm cheeks.
I look up to see Caleb, who offers me a slightly melted smoothie as he relieves me of my backpack.
As Caleb takes my hand and leads me out of the shooting range, my gaze lands on the loosely fastened holster under his coat.
Caleb shows no signs of giving me a direct answer. I let go of his hand and grab a leaf from his head.
Caleb just smiles and says nothing. I sigh, walk ahead of him while holding my smoothie, and leave him trailing behind.
It's evening when we return home. I quietly curl up on the sofa, absentmindedly spinning the toy gun's cylinder.
The heavy curtains shield me from the sunset's prying eyes, wrapping my thoughts in the glow of a flickering projection.
Hidden there are memories of the past-
The frame freezes on Caleb's smiling face as I switch off the projector. Silence returns to the room.
Back then, his presence was a comforting warmth, but now...
Even though he's right here, it feels like he could slip away at any moment.
The shower has already been turned off, but there's no sound from Caleb. I set down the toy gun and head toward the bathroom.
Caleb silently stands in front of the fogged mirror. He's cleaning the firearm he usually uses while his head is lowered.
Droplets of water slide from his damp hair, tracing down his chest as it rises and falls, before disappearing into the towel wrapped around his waist.
Hearing my approaching footsteps, Caleb quickly masks his solemn expression and looks up to meet my gaze in the mirror.
Caleb's response prompts me to raise an eyebrow when I look at the gun reflected in the mirror.
I know Caleb is trying to reassure me, but his explanation does nothing to soothe my unease.
It's because my concerns have never been about a single, unannounced departure.
A nervous tension seems to pluck at invisible strings in the air. I shift my gaze to meet Caleb's eyes in the mirror.
The dangerous-looking gun obediently spins in Caleb's hand as he ejects the magazine and flexes his fingers.
A bullet drifts out of the magazine and lands in my hand gently.
The cold brass casing, bathed in the setting sun's fading light, briefly takes on a deceptively warm glow.
The prolonged silence solidifies the air, and the interplay of light and shadows blurs the space between me and Caleb.
My thoughts, tangled as if in a knot, flood my mind.
After a long pause, I sigh and look up at Caleb in the mirror.
The cold light illuminates Caleb's smooth right arm, and even the warm steam can't bring any warmth to that biomimetic skin.
My voice trails off. On hearing my response, Caleb seems to let out a sigh of relief.
He walks over to me, takes my hand from the doorframe, and gently caresses it.
Caleb leans down to look into my eyes.
Our hands are clasped tightly. Despite the bullet pressing painfully into them, neither of us wants to let go.
Run to him, face every challenge together, or pull him back before he drifts too far away from me.
As the steam clears, there's still some distance between Caleb and me in front of the mirror, but in its reflection, he's already holding me close.
Perhaps he already gave me the answer I wanted when he offered those choices.
No matter how far apart we are at the moment or how different his path is from mine.
No matter how much of his "former self" remains.
The Caleb in the mirror knows he hasn't strayed too far.
Caleb comes up behind me, wraps his arm around my shoulders, and holds my dangling hands in his calloused grip.
In the mirror, that familiar gaze blurs the boundaries of time for a transient moment.
In the corner of the shelter, a young Caleb stands before me holding a soaked paper gun.
The sun's reflection slowly sinks below the horizon and casts its final rays on the bookshelf in the corner.
There lie two paper guns, huddled together.
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