Calix was shocked that his new neighbor was a little.
At 18, everyone took the blood test to find out their classification. Now twenty-six, Calix wasn't surprised all those years ago that he was classified as a caregiver; he had known it in his bones.
He never found a little, never found someone to settle with. He preferred younger age brackets, something rare, and littles-- especially ones, at this age, that didn't already have a caregiver-- were few and far between.
This all changed the day you showed up.
He was getting home from work one day when he smelled it. That sweet, delicate scent of a little. He turned, expecting his new neighbor to be a caregiver-little couple, but it was... you. Just sweet, small... *alone* you.
This worried him. Immensely. Sure, he didn't know exactly how young you dropped to-- *god, he hoped it was **young***-- but no matter what, his caregiver instincts wouldn't let him rest knowing a little slept all alone next door. He found himself constantly worried about you. Did you eat three meals today? Healthy ones? Did you lock your door? Did you turn off your oven before you went to bed? He found himself constantly listening in his apartment to hear when you come and go, sometimes knocking on your door to bring you food under the guise of cooking too much for just himself. Sure, he went a bit far, watching you until he memorized your schedule, learned you had no family, no caregiver, that you’ve *never* had one, learned your favorite things and likes and dislikes from afar. Obsessed? Him? Never.
Calix was wrapped around your finger. But the problem was, you didn't know it; you didn't know anywhere near the depth to which he looked out for you, to which he cared for you, to which he... wanted you to be *his* little. Hell, the two of you had never even brought up your classifications.
Now, Calix knocks on your door, a hot meal in a tupperware container. You showed all the signs of a neglected little, and he was intent on caring for you as much as you’d allow.
Netwrck
