the days got warmer

april 1 – june 27 ✦ somewhere between denial & ignition

april 1, 2026 new york, before anything had a name

Caleb was not trying to start a new chapter. That sounded like something people said after a haircut, a breakup, or two drinks too many. He was just trying to make it through spring without turning his whole life into another almost-plan.

Work was work. New York was loud. His phone was always at twelve percent. He still said “i’m figuring it out” like it was a job title. Nothing about him looked chosen or haunted or whatever dramatic thing people would probably call it later.

That was the funny part.

The day started regular.

not a double date with lucy april 7, 2026 ✦ manhattan

caleb Three tables in and Caleb is already doing math he does not want to be doing. Not the fun kind, either. Real math. The kind where every number has a dollar sign attached and the menu suddenly feels like it is written in a different language. He turns it slightly, like the price might change if he catches it at a new angle, then sets it back down with a small nod like yeah, that tracks, totally normal to charge that for chicken. His date is saying something about the ambiance, and Caleb hums along, but his attention keeps slipping—room, lighting, people—and then it snags, hard, across the restaurant.

He does not react right away. Just leans back a little, casual, like he is stretching out, like he did not just clock exactly who that is. Menu comes back up for cover, angled just enough to break the line of sight while he double-checks without looking like he is double-checking. "Yeah, nah, this place is nice," he says, easy, like nothing just shifted. "Real calm. Real balanced."

The candle in front of him flickers. Then flickers again. Then stretches just a little too tall. He notices it slow, like it might fix itself if he does not acknowledge it. Eyes dip, lift, dip again. The glass next to it starts to fog at the edges, faint but visible if you are looking for it—which he is now, unfortunately. Caleb shifts in his seat, subtle at first, then less so, dragging a hand along the back of his neck like that is the problem. "Yo, it is kinda hot in here, right?" he says, voice still light but trying a little too hard to land normal. "Like… they got the heat on or—"

The flame pops—quick flare, nothing dramatic, but wrong enough. The butter at the edge of the plate softens, losing its shape like it is tired of holding it together. Caleb stills for half a beat, then reaches for his water, buys himself a second, two, like he can reset whatever this is. He sets the glass back down carefully, glances at the candle again, then away. "My fault," he mutters under his breath, almost to himself. "I am trippin. It has gotta be the lighting."

lucy Lucy is desperate to forget the week from hell she's just had. So when a coworker asks her to grab dinner, she agrees. Nothing serious—just two colleagues venting about Linda from HR and comparing notes on their current projects. But her mind keeps drifting anyway. Back to the week she can't remember—waking up feeling confused and violated, nothing adding up the way it should. She hasn't felt like herself since.

Her eyes blur over the menu while her coworker talks about the Egyptian exhibit. She nods at the right moments without hearing a word. Lucy, are you okay? Her head snaps up, confusion crossing her face before she pulls it back. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired from staring at a book of determinatives all day," she lies, her gaze shifting sideways—her tell. That's when she sees it. A candle burning higher than it should.

Her attention catches on the flame, then on the panicked man behind it. Her eyes widen slightly, recognition sparking alongside a sharp throb behind her temples. A memory bleeds through suddenly—Caleb. Is. My. Brother???—followed by the image of Richard flying across a room, her hand outstretched as if she'd thrown him. She doesn't move for a moment.

She turns back to her coworker, who's watching her with open concern. "Sorry. Blast from the past," she mutters, trying to anchor herself in the present and ignore the chaos a few tables over. Then the flame erupts. Only for a heartbeat—but she catches it. "Did you see that?" she murmurs, though she already knows her coworker can't see anything from their side of the table.

Her focus locks back on Caleb. He looks rattled. Struggling. Like the candle is reacting to him rather than the other way around. And suddenly her own scattered memories—flickering lights, rooms going dark, being told she'd gone invisible—slot into place with a clarity that makes her stomach drop.

Whatever happened to her during that missing week, it's happening to him too. But she doesn't move. She stays seated, eyes fixed on him and the candle, waiting to see if he can pull himself together before she intervenes.

caleb The heat does not stay contained to his side of the table.

It bleeds outward, subtle, then not. The condensation on his glass disappears completely, the butter gives up entirely, and across from him his date pauses mid-sentence, already reaching for her phone. "Wait," she says, angling the screen toward her face. There is a crease in her brow now, sharper than before. "Is it hot in here?" Caleb lets out a quick, easy laugh like that answers anything. "Yeah, nah, I was just saying that. They got it set crazy in here." He gestures vaguely, like the room is the problem. The candle flares, small and wrong, and her expression shifts from confused to decided. "I am gonna— just give me a second." "Yeah, for sure," Caleb says immediately. "Take your time."

She is gone, and the quiet that follows feels louder than the room ever did.

Caleb stays seated for a second, then pushes his chair back and stands, casual on purpose, like this is just him stretching his legs and not him trying to get away from whatever this is before it escalates. It does not get better when he moves. The heat comes with him, low and steady, sitting under his skin like it belongs. He drags a hand down his face, exhales, and starts back toward the table like committing to normal might make it real again. "Yeah," he mutters under his breath. "We are not— ...okay."

He cuts a little too close past the next table.

Not enough to be reckless. Enough to matter.

The edge of his hip catches it just slightly, barely a bump, but it is enough to shift things. A glass trembles. A candle reacts. The flame jumps, sharp and immediate, higher than it should go for half a second before settling back into something that tries to look normal again. Caleb stills mid-step, attention snapping to it, then to the table it belongs to.

And then he sees her again. Lucy.

It lands, recognition first, expected, but something else sits under it, offbeat, like a second version trying to line up and missing. It flickers and disappears, leaving behind that same faint pressure at the back of his head. Caleb straightens, already smoothing it over, already pretending none of that just happened. "My bad," he says, easy, automatic, hand lifting briefly like that fixes it. A beat, his eyes catching hers again. "Yo." Then, because he cannot help himself, "This place always run this hot, or am I just getting cooked right now?"

lucy Lucy doesn't want to be that person—the one staring open-mouthed at someone else's disaster—but she can't bring herself to look away. Concern threads through her amusement. She can't see the damage from this distance, but she notices when his date stands and walks out, clearly unsettled by the whole thing.

Her attention snaps back to her own table when Caleb rises from his seat. She forces her gaze down, aware she does not want him catching her watching. But the warmth hits before she can fully look away—rolling over her as he approaches, pleasant at first, then quickly unbearable. A glass of water on her table trembles as he bumps against the table, splashing onto her coworker's sleeve.

Neither of them reacts to the spill. They're both watching the candle. The flame jumps—alive, almost sentient—and Lucy goes very still. Her coworker does not. He excuses himself abruptly and makes for the exit, muttering something she doesn't catch because her focus has already locked onto Caleb. There's confusion in his eyes, like something is trying to come back to him. But that's not what concerns her. It's the heat radiating off him—heat that's already making her feel feverish, sweat beading at her hairline.

"Caleb," she says, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. "I think you might be cooking us."

When something similar had happened to her—when she'd gone invisible—it had been emotion, plain and simple, getting the better of her. She wonders if his trigger is the same.

"Why don't you sit down and take a few deep breaths," she says, voice calm and low. "Maybe drink some water before it all evaporates." Her eyes flick to the surrounding tables. Too many people staring. "On second thought," she adds, "you might need some fresh air."

caleb Caleb exhales through his nose, quick, like he is trying not to laugh and failing anyway.

"Okay, see, when you say it like that, it sounds like I showed up with intent," he says, dragging a hand down the back of his neck, eyes flicking once to the candle like it might argue with him. "I am not out here trying to run a hibachi situation at your table."

He shifts his weight, then immediately shifts it again, like standing still is not working for him anymore. The heat is still there, not spiking now, just sitting, steady and stubborn. He glances at the glass, at the table, at her, like he is checking for damage and not finding anything that makes sense. "Deep breaths, yeah, I can do that," he adds, nodding once like he is agreeing to something reasonable. Then, a beat, his mouth twisting slightly. "Water might actually betray me at this point, I am not gonna lie."

His gaze drifts past her shoulder for half a second, toward the room he just came from, and something clicks a little too late. His date. The table. The check. Caleb winces, small but real. "Okay, wait," he says, lowering his voice like this is now a private crisis layered on top of the other one. "If I walk outside right now and she comes back and I am gone, that is… that is insane, right? Like that is a crazy person move." A beat. "…also I did not look at the prices, which feels like a mistake in hindsight."

He exhales again, sharper this time, then shakes his head like he is actively choosing not to care about that right now. Which, for him, is a decision. "Yeah, no, we are committing to fresh air," he says, pointing once like that settles it. Then, softer, more grounded, eyes landing back on her in a way that holds just a second longer than it should. "You good to walk, or you need a second before I accidentally turn the doorway into a problem too?"

april 18, 2026 coffee, again

The first time it happened with coffee, Caleb told himself the cup was not that hot. Easy. Normal. People were dramatic about hot drinks all the time. Maybe the lid trapped the heat weird. Maybe the sleeve did its job. Maybe he was tired and his body just forgot how pain worked for, like, three seconds.

The second time, he held the cup too long and watched steam crawl up around his fingers like it knew him.

By the fourth time, he stopped pretending he had not noticed.

He still bought the coffee, though. Whatever was happening could ruin his whole life if it wanted to, but it was not about to take little treat money from him. Absolutely not.

april 23, 2026 notes app, unsent

things that don't make sense lucy saw it. like actually saw it. so no, i did not make that up.

things that don't make sense candles keep doing too much around me. very attention seeking. rude honestly.

things that don't make sense hot coffee does not hurt the way it should. not testing that with oil. i am not stupid.

things that don't make sense google is useless. everything says stress, hormones, ghosts, or death. none of that is helpful.

things that don't make sense sometimes i feel like i am about to remember something, but then it slips. like when somebody says “you know what i mean?” and i really, really don't.

april cv week, 2026 johnny

At first, there is only heat.

Not enough to explain anything. Not enough to move through. Just enough to know he is not gone. That is the cruel part. If there had been nothing, maybe he could have stayed quiet easier. But there is music sometimes. A train. Someone laughing too loud. Someone else's hands near flame and not pulling back fast enough.

He does not understand Caleb yet.

He only understands this body has no idea what it can survive.

may 9, 2026 his apartment, too late

The first thing Caleb had to replace was not anything dramatic. Not a mattress. Not a wall. Not some movie-level disaster that would have at least made a good story after he stopped panicking.

It was a cheap plastic phone charger.

He fell asleep with it looped near his hand, woke up sweaty at three-something in the morning, and found the cord warped soft at the end like it had gotten tired and gave up. The outlet was fine. His phone was fine. Caleb was fine, which was starting to become the most annoying part of all of this.

He stared at the cord for a full minute, then whispered, “nah,” to nobody, unplugged it with a sock over his hand like that made any sense, and ordered two replacements before he could talk himself out of it.

One for now. One for whatever stupid thing happened next.

"hot stuff."

not a sign. a thesis.

june 12, 2026 an empty court before work

Caleb did not call it practice because practice made it sound like he had a plan.

He had a paper cup, one lighter, and forty minutes before he needed to get ready for work. That was not a plan. That was barely a bad idea with a location.

Still, he tried. Small stuff. Thumb over the lighter. Flame up. Flame down. Hand close enough to feel heat, then closer, then close enough that he knew he should have moved already. His stomach kept doing that little drop like he was about to get caught, even though nobody was there but him and the court and the sky turning orange like it wanted to be messy too.

Once, the flame leaned toward him.

Not huge. Not crazy. Not enough to call anybody.

But enough that Caleb laughed under his breath, sharp and nervous, and said, “okay. rude.” Then he tried it again.

may cv week, 2026 johnny

This is not home.

He knows that before he knows almost anything else. The air is wrong. The rhythm is wrong. The whole world is too close and too small in a way he cannot explain cleanly yet.

He knows there should be people. Names. Voices. A shape of family that makes more sense than the room around him. Sue. Reed. Ben. They exist somewhere in him before the details settle, like the memory of a song before the lyrics come back.

Still, there is warmth here.

There is a kid trying not to be scared. There is a joke before the truth. There is a heart that keeps walking toward people even when running would be smarter.

That part feels familiar.

"speed. summer. bad ideas. a car he probably should not be allowed to drive."

johnny storm, aesthetically speaking

june 27, 2026 june cv week

This time, the door is not half-closed.

Johnny knows that before anything else settles. He knows the shape of his own hands. He knows the heat under his skin. He knows there are people who matter — Sue, Reed, Ben — even if the world has not arranged itself neatly enough to hand them back in the right order.

The life around him is still not his.

No car. No easy way to get anywhere. No clean explanation for why this body comes with someone else's habits, someone else's phone, someone else's unfinished life waiting underneath the surface.

But the fire is his.

And somewhere below it, Caleb is still there — not driving, not speaking first, not in control, but close enough to feel the warmth become a name.

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