Archive of Our Own

The sun is shining brightly as Calum closes the door of his beat-up Mitsubishi, and there are palm trees lining the street outside his new apartment building. By all accounts, LA is living up to the mental image Calum had conjured when he imagined moving here.

Maybe it was stupid, to move to a city he’d never actually been to before (unless you count a trip to Disneyland with his family nearly ten years ago), but Calum needed this. He needed a change, an adventure, something to make him feel like he was living life and not just waiting for life to live him.

Three months ago, on a whim, he had applied for a job with a record label in Los Angeles. He had some related internship experience, and the position seemed pretty entry level, so he figured, why not? He didn’t expect to actually get hired, and he found himself having to scramble to plan a last-minute move to LA with barely any money saved and absolutely no idea what he was doing.

He has no concept of where his apartment is located within the greater context of the city; no idea if it’s a nice neighborhood or if his commute to work will be terrible or just sort of bad. (He at least knows enough about LA to know there’s no such thing as a good commute.) He’s overwhelmed by everything he doesn’t know.

And yet. Isn’t the not knowing what it’s all about? If you know everything, life gets awfully boring. Which is exactly why Calum had to get out of his small hometown, where everyone knew everyone else and nothing ever changed.

Of course he’s freaking out about being in a new place and starting a new job, but it’s a good kind of freaking out. He doesn’t know anyone in LA. He can be who he wants to be. He doesn’t have to be the same Calum everyone back home knows him as, the quiet and polite kid who got good grades and excelled at soccer and didn’t ruffle feathers or get into trouble.

Not that he wants to get into trouble. It’s just nice, knowing that he doesn’t have to feel obligated to be what he’s always been. Sometimes he feels like he’s just playing the part of Calum, because it’s easier than trying to show new sides of himself that his family and friends haven’t seen before. Now, he doesn’t have to pretend that 25-year-old Calum is the same person that 15-year-old Calum was; he can just be.

He steps into his new apartment and looks around, trying not to get immediately attached to the hardwood floors, granite kitchen countertops, and brand new fixtures. He can only afford it because it’s a sublet from a desperate renter who just needed someone to cover part of the rent for a month while they’re on some sort of sabbatical. Calum figured he had nothing to lose – he gets a much nicer place than he can afford for a month, and it will give him a chance to scope out the city and figure out where he actually wants to live. Or where he can afford to live, which is more likely.

Eventually he’ll get settled, maybe buy some furniture and a plant or two. But for now he’s just happy to be somewhere new, where he can be someone new. 

***

He starts work already the next day. Calum’s new job comes with the flowery title Media and Creative Coordinator. His boss, Jeff, is the Media and Creative Manager. As Calum understands it, he’ll be helping Jeff take photos, edit videos, post to social media, create media kits, and engage with press for the artist they’re assigned to – a band called 5 Seconds of Summer. 

Calum is somewhat familiar with the band, and the fact that he’s heard of them at all means he’s already intimidated to work with them. Logically, he understands famous people are just people, but it’s not that simple. These guys are responsible for a song that Calum has listened to on his runs every other day for nearly three years. That’s not nothing.

He did some research on the band before his move – of course he did – but he didn’t go too deep, because he doesn’t want to set an expectation for himself of what these guys will be like based on their public personas. But knows their names, what their roles are in the band, and that they put on a killer live show. He knows enough to feel lucky to be assigned to them. 

But 5 Seconds of Summer is nowhere to be seen on day one. Calum spends his first day on the job taking in a steady stream of orientation information, none of which he is likely to actually retain. He signs a lot of papers, including a lengthy nondisclosure agreement and a variety of insurance waivers. Apparently this is a dangerous job. 

He doesn’t actually see Jeff aside from five minutes at the end of the day, when Calum is instructed to stop by his office. He taps lightly on the glass door and Jeff gestures for him to come in. 

Jeff looks like he was copied from a 90s stoner movie and pasted into a 2021 chic minimalist office. The room around him is stark and clean, but he’s wearing one of those itchy-looking baja hoodies, purple with electric blue stripes, and he’s leaning back in his chair casually.

“How was your first day?” Jeff asks, snapping his gum.

“Good,” Calum says, because what else is he supposed to say to his boss? “A lot of new information, but I’m excited to get started.” That’s what you say when you’re at a new job, right?

Jeff nods like Calum has said something worth thinking about. “Lots of corporate gobbledy-gook today, but tomorrow we’ll get into some detail about what you’ll actually be doing day-to-day.”

Jeff squints at his sticker-covered laptop from a distance, and Calum appreciates that he can’t be bothered to move from his comfortable position. It seems like a good indication that Jeff’s management style will be as relaxed as his posture and fashion choices. “Looks like you’ll meet the guys Friday,” Jeff says. “We’ve got a meeting about social media strategy for their next single.”

It takes Calum a moment to register that “the guys” means the band. Meeting the band is simultaneously the part of his job he is the most looking forward to and the part he is the most terrified about. So much hinges on his rapport with the band. If he can’t get comfortable with them, or they can’t get comfortable with him, it’s going to make his work stressful, and he knows he won’t be as good at his job if he’s constantly worried about awkwardness with the band. Pretty hard to document someone’s life effectively if they’d rather you weren’t in it.

He slaps on a smile and tries not to let his nerves show. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Jeff chuckles, clearly seeing through him. “Don’t worry. They’re not scary.” It’s a good thing Calum didn’t come to LA to act.

***

The first meeting with the band is after lunch on Friday. Jeff drove them over to a recording studio in West Hollywood in his Jeep, and they were quickly ushered past the reception area into a dim lounge filled with overstuffed sofas and chairs. 

There’s a floor-length window looking through to the actual recording studio, and the first thing Calum sees is Luke Hemmings in the vocal booth, hand to his ear as he sings a velvety vocal run that makes goosebumps rise on Calum’s forearms. His hair is a mess of golden curls that flops every which way on his forehead as he nods along with the beat of the song. His eyes are closed, and his face is pinched with emotion. 

It’s fine. Calum will be fine. He’s just starstruck. Once he actually meets Luke, he’ll be able to shake this extremely tempting first impression.

He meets the others first. Michael, the guitarist, greets Calum with a friendly smile, then offers him snacks and asks questions about his move. He’s somehow both loud and quiet; hard and soft at the same time. Calum is fascinated by it, and eager to try to capture it on film. 

Ashton, the drummer, has a teasing way about him, and is so easy to talk to it immediately puts Calum at ease. Calum has known people like Ashton – the kind of loyal extrovert that he likes to latch onto, because he can leech off their adventures and their charisma. At least half of the best things he’s ever done in his life would never have happened if he didn’t have an extrovert friend dragging him along for the ride. It’s a familiar, comforting energy. 

Finally, Luke comes into the lounge, and the room becomes brighter. The first thing Calum notices is just how large he is. Calum is not a small man himself, and neither are Michael and Ashton, but he has to look up to meet Luke’s eyes when they shake hands. It’s a sensation he’s never really felt before, and the novelty of it sets off butterflies in Calum’s stomach. 

The second thing he notices are Luke’s eyes, a shade of blue Calum can’t quite name. As an artistic person, he knows a lot of colors, can name dozens of shades of blue off the top of his head, but none of them are quite right for Luke’s eyes. He knows his mind isn’t going to rest, and those eyes will be burned in his brain. He’ll see that exact shade of blue every time he closes his own eyes until he can figure out the name for it.

Before he has a chance to process anything else, Luke’s speaking to him, introducing himself as he shakes Calum’s hand with a cool palm and a firm grip. His voice is deep and steady, and he’s smiling a genuine smile that is doing nothing to help with the butterflies in Calum’s stomach. But Luke’s eyes dart around nervously after a quick pause on Calum’s face, and Calum senses something in Luke that he’s all too familiar with himself. Faking it.

“Welcome to the team, Calum,” Luke says, immediately filling in the brief silence afterwards with a quiet chuckle. It confirms Calum’s suspicions.

Calum smiles at Luke, endeared by the fact that this giant, beautiful, talented man somehow has the capacity to feel shy and socially anxious. It makes Calum feel like they’re on the same level, at least in this one small way, and it emboldens him. 

“Thanks. I’m excited to be here.” He really means it this time. “You sounded really good in there,” he adds, and is immediately rewarded with a bright, dimpled grin from Luke. 

“You think so?” The man is a professional musician. Of course he sounded good. But, if he’s faking his confidence with meeting Calum, maybe he’s faking confidence in his talent as well. If he is, it’s a shame.

“Yeah. Really fucking good,” Calum reiterates, eager to keep the grin from slipping off Luke’s face. 

“Are you, um, familiar with the band?” Luke asks, biting his lip. “Sorry if that was douchey. Just curious.”

“Not douchey.” Calum laughs and pulls his phone out of his back pocket, opening up his music app and showing Luke his running mix. “I don’t know all your music, but Youngblood is my favorite running song.” 

Luke looks delighted, grabbing enthusiastically at Calum’s phone. Calum lets him take it, and watches his face light up as he scrolls through the playlist. “Whoa, we’re on the same playlist as Fall Out Boy and Queen? I think this might actually be our greatest achievement. Top of Calum’s running playlist!”

And it could sound passive aggressive, but that’s not it at all, the way he delivers it with a wry smile and kind eyes. It’s self-deprecating and it’s cute as fuck, and Calum is reduced to a giggle, which he manages to reign in quickly to save some face. Luke is probably used to people being reduced to giggles (or worse) in his presence, but Calum doesn’t want to be just another blubbering fan. He wants to be cool. Normal. He wants Luke to be comfortable around him, to be able to relax and let his guard down. Which is a fantastic cosmic joke, since Calum is now completely certain he will not be able to do any of those things as long as Luke is anywhere near him.

Calum probably signed a form saying he wouldn’t fall in love with the lead singer of the band. And he really doesn’t want to. What a cliché. It’s just…people get famous for a reason. This guy got famous for all the reasons. 

***

When the meeting starts, Jeff takes the lead in the discussion, going over basic plans for scheduling Twitter and Instagram posts to tease the band’s new single, and it’s all very straightforward and rote for them. Something they have obviously been through many times before, and they all seem comfortable with Jeff.

Calum, however, is panicking a little. He spends most of the meeting quietly observing from the corner of the room. He’s trying to get a feel for everyone’s vibe and what sort of work is going to be expected of him. Most of what is being said flies right over his head, because he doesn’t have context for any of it. He can pick out the social media jargon, but they’re all referencing things they’ve done in the past, or ideas they initially had long before Calum showed up in LA, and just when Calum thinks he’s starting to follow the conversation, someone throws a curveball and he’s back to playing catch-up. 

It’s a scary feeling, because he needs this job to work out, and he needs LA to work out. He can’t go back to Illinois. His mind won’t let him, now that it’s tasted the freedom of not having 25 years’ worth of expectations for how he should act and what kind of person he should be on his shoulders. 

His eyes keep drifting to Luke throughout the meeting. It’s interesting how he acts a little differently now that he’s back in his social comfort zone. He’s vocal with his opinions, he laughs a lot, and he’s very free with his biting sense of humor. He has a million different smiles, and Calum wants to catalogue them all; understand the little nuances that differentiate what they all mean. Afraid he’s being terribly obvious with his staring, Calum finds himself overcompensating when the others are speaking, being extra attentive and nodding along with what they’re saying. 

They all get a little hung up when it comes to strategizing for TikTok, which the band hasn’t used much. Ashton pitches some ideas for video segments, but he’s having trouble winning over the room with any of them.

“Goat yoga?” Michael says, clearly disgusted by the idea.

“Goat yoga is over,” Luke says seriously. “None of the cool kids are still doing goat yoga.”

Calum snorts and Luke turns to look at him, giving him an appreciative smirk.

“Hey!” Ashton whines. “I like the goat yoga idea.”

“Then you can do it yourself, after you quit the band, because there’s no way in hell we’re going to be associated with goat yoga,” Michael says.

“I don’t see you dickheads coming up with any better ideas,” Ashton says.

“Literally anything is better than goat yoga,” Luke says. His eyes meet Calum’s, and he raises his eyebrows while Calum bites his lip to hold back his laugh. It makes Luke grin, and Calum’s skin goes warm with the brightness of it.

***

During his first few days with the band, Calum quickly learns that there is no need to be formal with them, and that there aren’t really any professional boundaries he needs to be worried about. Jeff treats them all like they’re his obnoxious younger brothers, and they dish it right back at him. They don’t take anything too seriously, with the exception of their music, but they are the epitome of professional when they need to be. All in all, it reminds Calum a lot of his first few weeks at college, like he’s just making some new friends, and they occasionally have to stop and do some actual work.

Since the band is gearing up to release a single while simultaneously putting the finishing touches on their new album, they’re extremely busy. Most days, Calum tags along with Jeff to the recording studio or to whatever photoshoot or interview or appearance the guys are doing. He watches and learns, and he tries to be as helpful as possible. Eventually, he’s going to have to do a lot of this on his own.

He’s starting to get the hang of things, and he’s getting better at understanding Jeff’s expectations. Jeff is patient with him, happy to let Calum learn on the job, and he never fixates on little mistakes or oversights. Calum is beginning to feel like he might sort of know what he’s doing, and he’s secure enough with the work that he finally feels like he can start settling down and making himself at home in LA. He even bought a dresser at IKEA over the weekend; a symbol of putting down roots. Plus, he’s getting tired of crouching down on the closet floor to root through his socks and underwear every morning.

They’re doing a photoshoot for album artwork and Jeff is busy photographing Michael, so Calum tries to make himself useful by looking through the shots of Luke from earlier in the day to tag the standouts. It’s a perk of the job. He’s sitting at a makeshift card-table-and-folding-chair desk, zooming in on a close-up of Luke’s face, when the man himself emerges from a nearby dressing room.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asks, coming around the table to peer at Calum’s laptop over his shoulder.

Calum knows that technically this is his job, but he still feels like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, with his laptop screen zoomed tight on Luke’s mouth. “Tagging some of your pictures from this morning for Jeff to edit.”

“Are you tagging that one?” Luke asks, cringing at the close-up image of his face.

“Yeah. It’s good, see.” Calum zooms out so Luke can see the full image.

Luke pulls an empty folding chair over next to Calum and sits down, spreading his legs wide and leaning toward the laptop. His knee brushes against Calum’s thigh and stays there. Calum doesn’t pull away. It’s probably hard for Luke to wrangle those long legs.

“You really think that’s good?” Luke’s incredulous as his eyes skim the image, but Calum can’t figure out what Luke would find objectionable about the photo. Luke looks amazing in it, head tilted toward the camera at a slight angle, causing some of his curls to dip into his eyes, shining that ever-elusive shade of blue. His expression is stoic, but even at rest his lips naturally push into a delicate pout. He looks radiant and provocative.

It would probably be weird to say all that to Luke.

“You don’t?”

Luke wrinkles his nose. “Not really. Look at my face!” He points enthusiastically at his face, as if there’s something offensive there, but Calum absolutely cannot see it.

“I am looking at your face. What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything,” Luke says with a humorless laugh.

“You can’t be serious.” Calum stares Luke in the eyes, a challenge. This is a man who literally has hundreds of thousands of fans who would throw themselves at him at the first available opportunity. How does that translate to everything is wrong with my face? It doesn’t, and Calum is uncomfortable with the disparity. It settles as a heavy lump in his throat while he waits for a response.

Luke’s the first to blink. “Well. Maybe not everything,” he mumbles. “But I don’t like the picture.”

“Do you like any pictures of yourself?” Calum finds himself asking, fascinated by the very strange way Luke’s mind seems to work.

“Sometimes.” He doesn’t offer any additional information, and Calum’s still finding his footing with his job, so he doesn’t want to push too far. He does, however, desperately want to make Luke smile again. He doesn’t know why, but he has a feeling that’s the only way to make the lump in his throat disappear.

“There’s a little scar on your lip,” Calum says, zooming in to the spot he had been studying when Luke showed up.

“Yeah. Used to have a lip ring,” Luke says with a chuckle. “Thought it made me punk rock when I was sixteen.” He was right; the lump disappears like magic.

“I’m sure you were extremely punk rock.” 

No, Calum absolutely cannot go home and google photos of 16-year-old Luke Hemmings to see what this punk rock phase entailed. As much as he would like to, it violates his own rule about digging too deep into band history, plus it would probably land him on some kind of sex offender watchlist.

Luke nods, appreciating Calum’s indulgence. “Fuck yeah I was.”

“Why’d you get rid of it?” Calum scratches at his own lip absently, thinking about what it would feel like to have a ring there. The pain of getting the piercing. The sensation of having a hunk of metal in your mouth all the time. What it would feel like to kiss with a lip ring.

A cloudy expression passes through Luke’s eyes, but he shakes it away. “Just wasn’t who I was anymore,” he says. “Plus it fell out all the time.”

Calum senses there’s more that could be said. Another time, maybe. It’s certainly not a conversation to have during work hours. But, then, aren’t all Calum’s hours with Luke work hours? The thought brings the fucking lump back to Calum’s throat and he doesn’t know why. But at least now he knows how to fix it.

“I like the scar,” he says, letting his cursor hover over the spot where the scar is visible. “It’s cute.” He wouldn’t normally say something like that to someone who he works for, but Luke seems to thrive on compliments. Calum wonders how he can still even appreciate them. He must hear them all the time.

“Really?” Luke’s voice perks up, and Calum smiles to himself, pleased he’s sorted this aspect of Luke’s personality so quickly. If compliments are what Luke needs, Calum is happy to give them.

“Yeah. Adds character.” He looks at Luke, whose eyes have drifted off the laptop screen and over to Calum. “This outfit, however –” he zooms out again, shifting the focus to Luke’s bright blue fringe jacket.

Luke nudges Calum’s thigh with his knee. “What’s wrong with my outfit?” His voice is a mix of anxiety and genuine curiosity.

“Nothing,” Calum says. “It looks good.” It does. Luke would probably look good in anything. Or in nothing. “I’m just not sure it matches the aesthetic you’re trying to go for with this single.” It may not be his place to say. He’s still new to the job, and his opinion is probably meaningless, but he feels comfortable sharing it with Luke, so he does.

Luke pulls his lip in between his teeth, and Calum is almost startled to notice the tiny scar beneath his bottom lip. When he looked at it on the computer screen, at the digital pixels that made up the image of Luke, it didn’t seem like a real thing. But it is very real, and so is Luke.

“It is a lot different than how Michael and Ashton are styled,” Luke says thoughtfully. “Totally different color palette too. I hadn’t really noticed.”

Calum shrugs. “It’s my job to notice.”

“I got distracted by the fringe.” Luke grins and holds his arm out in front of him, shaking it so the fringe on the arm of his jacket swishes back and forth gently, tickling the top of Calum’s arm where it rests on the edge of his laptop.

“Understandable.” Calum uses his free hand to brush the bottom of the fringe with the tips of his fingers, and Luke gives him a pleased smile. Calum is in hell. He needs to be so fucking careful, or he’s going to lose his mind over Luke, which would probably lead to losing his job over Luke, which would probably lead to losing LA over Luke.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Luke starts tugging off the blue jacket, apparently completely sold on Calum’s opinion that it’s not working. He’s wearing a black undershirt beneath it, and Calum’s eyes catch on the freckles dotting the tops of his shoulders and running along his collarbone.

“I’m not a stylist,” Calum warns.

“I know, but if you have an opinion, I want to hear it,” Luke says earnestly. It’s amazing how much trust he’s placing in Calum, a virtual stranger, but that probably comes with the territory. With so many people buzzing in and out of Luke’s orbit every day, he has to trust the people he works with or he’d go crazy.

Calum tilts his head to the side, visualizing the outfits Ashton and Michael are wearing for their photos in his mind and cross-referencing with the aesthetic board he and Jeff had put together earlier in the week. “Softer. Softer colors, softer textures.”

Luke nods along, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “A sweater?”

“Yes.” Calum points at Luke for emphasis. “Definitely a sweater. Like a nice dusty blue to bring out your eyes, or maybe gray. Some faded jeans. Boom.”

“I’m gonna look like an ad for a teen drama,” Luke says skeptically.

“You know I’m right,” Calum replies, because he can feel it.

“Yeah. You’re right.” Luke stands up abruptly, knocking Calum to the side a bit with the force of his knee. He grabs Calum’s shoulder to steady him. “Sorry mate. I’m off to wardrobe. Thanks for the tip.”

After watching Luke walk away for probably a second too long, Calum smiles down at his laptop keyboard. It’s a bit of a shock that Luke actually listened and agreed with his assessment. Maybe he’s good at his job after all. Maybe that’s not the only reason he’s smiling.

***

When the photoshoot wraps, Calum helps Jeff pack up their equipment and load it into the Jeep. It’s been a long day, and Calum’s so hungry it feels like his stomach is eating itself. He’s daydreaming about stopping at In-N-Out on his way home, trying to decide if he’s going to spring for animal style fries or not. It seems a little excessive, but he’s too fucking hungry to care.

Just as Calum is waving goodbye to Jeff and preparing to head out, Luke emerges from the back door of the warehouse-like studio. The early-evening sun is casting a shadow over the parking lot, so it’s hard for Calum to see the details, but he knows it’s Luke based on stature and curls alone. He shakes his head. Don’t even think about it, Calum. Think about animal style fries.

Luke steps out from the shadow and he’s wearing black skinny jeans and this baby blue T-shirt with pawprints all over it that says I Love Dogs and Calum – well, Calum is but a mere human, and one who loves both dogs and cute boys a lot to boot. He’s struggling here.

“Heading out?” Luke rakes a hand through his hair, wiggling it here and there to work through whatever styling product had been placed in it for the photoshoot.

“Yeah.” Calum is squinting and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the sun or Luke’s proximity. “I’ve never been more ready for a burger in my life.”

Luke smiles and makes a little grunt of approval. “Me too. Those craft services snacks are made of styrofoam, I swear. I might as well be chewing on air for as much as they fill me up.”

“I think that’s by design,” Calum says. “Haven’t you heard of the hot new Air Diet?”

“That probably exists.” Luke shakes his head. “You know how LA can be.”

“I don’t, really.” Calum wipes at his brow, sweat starting to accumulate around his hairline from the sun beating down on him. “That’s just the sort of thing the sitcom jokes say about LA.”

“Wait, are you –” Luke pauses, glancing at his phone. He rolls his eyes and slides his phone in his pocket, refocusing on Calum. “—are you new?”

Calum chews at his lip. “Yeah. I moved out here for this job.” Something about being new to the job and the city makes him feel particularly vulnerable, like it somehow makes him seem naive or cliche, and his eyes dance nervously around the paw prints on Luke’s chest.

“Wow. That’s a lot to deal with at once,” Luke says, scratching his chest and interrupting Calum’s gaze with his black-painted fingernails raking across the shirt, leaving little cotton trenches in their wake. “I remember being new to LA. It nearly broke me,” he says with a humorless chuckle.

Now they’re in dangerous territory. Calum would love to know more. His curiosity about Luke is insatiable, but right now Luke is just a talented, beautiful, kind human as far as Calum is concerned. He doesn’t want to muddy his own perception of Luke by learning the nitty gritty. He’s worried that even if he does, it won’t make him any less awestruck, and he’s not prepared to deal with that possibility, now or ever.

A light breeze cuts through the parking lot and Calum catches a floral scent in the air. For all its challenges, LA certainly makes a good show of at least seeming beautiful and inviting on the outside.

“You’ve got In-N-Out Burger, though,” Calum says, steering the conversation back to the safety of small talk.

Luke laughs, a real one this time. “That we do. I was just on my way there, in fact,” Luke says, an enthusiastic close-lipped grin on his face. The dimple comes out, and for a second he looks so young and innocent, Calum is powerless not to smile back.

“Me too,” Calum boasts, eager to inform Luke that they have something in common. Never mind the fact that millions of people eat at In-N-Out Burger every day. Maybe this can be Their Special Thing.

It’s an approach that’s always worked for Calum with new people – find one thing, just one, no matter how mundane, that he has in common with someone, and then he will wear that shit as thin as possible. Bring it up every day, if he has to, until they find something else they have in common to talk about instead. People are desperate to connect with others, even over something as simple as enjoying a fucking coffee in the morning.

Something glints in Luke’s eye and Calum holds back a smile. Got ‘em.

“Want to meet me there?” Luke offers, shaking his car keys out of the confines of his pocket.

Calum hadn’t thought this through. To be fair, how could he ever have anticipated an invitation to join Luke at In-N-Out Burger? Luke is just being polite, and Calum doesn’t want to impose. He opens his mouth to protest, but Luke shakes his keys at him. “You just said you were going. You don’t have any excuse not to meet me there.”

“What if I’m just tired of you?” Calum chuckles, pulling out his own keys.

Luke puts his pointer finger against his bottom lip, smushing it flat against his teeth while he assesses Calum, then seems to make a decision. He nods once, quickly. “You’re not tired of me. I’ll meet you there in 10,” he says, turning and walking quickly towards his car with impossibly long strides. Calum thinks maybe he caught a wink as Luke pivoted away from him.

***

The restaurant is packed, so they find a table outside on the patio. Luke seems more comfortable once they’re outside, shoulders visibly relaxing as soon as they step into the now-cool evening air. The sun is still out, but barely, and the blue of Luke’s eyes stands out against the deep red and purple sunset. Calum tries not to shiver as he settles into his chair, desert air on his skin mixing dangerously with the general sense of electricity he feels when he’s around Luke.

“So where’d you move from?” Luke asks, ripping the tops off half a dozen pepper packets at once and dumping them on his fries with wild abandon. Calum watches, eyebrows furrowed.

“Nowhere you’d know.” Luke catches Calum watching him and eagerly holds out a packet of pepper, urging Calum to take it with his wide eyes. “Middle of Nowhere, Illinois,” Calum clarifies, taking the pepper from Luke and copying his rip and flourish technique.

“And you just decided to up and move to LA?” The sun has faded enough that the outdoor lights flicker on, suddenly bathing Calum in a spotlight. Luke gasps in surprise, eyes frozen on Calum in the bright, harsh light, and then he dissolves into laughter, shaking his head and gesturing for Calum to answer his question.

“I needed to get out.” Calum tentatively bites the end off a heavily-peppered fry. It’s not bad. “It’s one of those places where everyone knows everybody, and no one has anywhere to go, you know? I couldn’t be myself there anymore, and I just needed…more.”

“Sounds familiar,” Luke says, holding a tiny paper cup of ketchup out under Calum’s fry. “Try it with ketchup.”

Calum obeys, swirling his fry in the ketchup and taking a more adventurous bite. “Hmm,” he mumbles as he chews. “Better than I expected.”

“Told you,” Luke says, a pleased smirk on his face.

“You didn’t actually tell me anything,” Calum points out. “You just handed me pepper and ketchup.”

“Whatever,” Luke says, offering up his ketchup for Calum to dip another fry. “You’ll never go back to your old way again.”

“Yeah,” Calum agrees. “I’m beginning to believe that.”

Then, somehow, Luke’s hand is on Calum’s thumb. “What happened?” Luke gently taps the band-aid wrapped around the middle of Calum’s thumb. This guy really isn’t much for personal space, apparently.

“Got in a fight with an IKEA dresser.”

“And the dresser won?”

“It’s still in about forty-seven pieces on my bedroom floor, so I’d say, yeah, the dresser won.”

Luke laughs, throwing his head back and listing to the side, this full-bodied expression of joy that Calum can’t believe is the result of him being an idiot who can’t follow printed instructions. The punishment doesn’t fit the crime, so to speak. And Luke’s laugh is punishment for Calum, who doesn’t need any more reasons to be thinking about Luke in ways that he absolutely shouldn’t be if he wants to stay sane and keep his job.

“Been there, man,” Luke commiserates.

“Yeah, right. Famous people don’t put together IKEA dressers,” Calum finds himself saying. Shit. He’s been doing so well with pretending Luke is just a Guy He Knows, not a worldwide superstar. He doesn’t want to fuck up their rapport by giving Luke the impression he’s overly interested in his celebrity status, or like he’s treating him any differently than he would anyone else.

“Sure they do.” Luke stretches his legs out under the table, shoes bumping up against the edges of Calum’s. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Calum looks at Luke, worried eyes gazing off in the distance over Calum’s right shoulder, and fuck, Calum has screwed this up.

“It’s okay,” Calum says, a far-too-belated response to Luke’s apology, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

But then Luke’s eyes snap back to him, and they’re softer now, maybe even relieved. Calum’s not sure he understands what’s happening. There’s something going on inside Luke’s head that is probably not going to come out here under the In-N-Out palm trees.  

“I can help you,” Luke says, raising an eyebrow. One eyebrow. How does he do that? “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t think I can put together an IKEA dresser!”

“I wasn’t!” Calum replies honestly. Although, to be fair, he doesn’t think Luke can put together an IKEA dresser.

“Good.” Luke shakes his cup of soda, dislodging the ice so he can shove his straw down deeper into the cup and drink the dredges from the bottom. “I’m good at that stuff. I really did put together all my own furniture.”

Calum looks at him skeptically.

“Okay, most of my own furniture,” Luke amends. “A lot of it came pre-assembled.”

Calum nods knowingly.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You did, with your face!” Luke says, waving his hands in front of his own face theatrically. “You think because I’m—” he does quotation marks with his fingers “— famous, I don’t know how to perform basic tasks!”

Why does he have to be so fucking cute? Calum grins at him, he can’t help it. “I don’t think that,” he says gently. “I just think you’re underestimating this dresser.”

“Let me prove it, then,” Luke says, crossing his arms across his chest. It frames the I Love Dogs messaging on his shirt perfectly over the swell of his forearms. Calum shakes his head and scratches at his eyebrow, flummoxed by literally everything that is apparently happening in this moment.

“You want to put together my dresser?” Calum clarifies.

“Yes.”

“Fine,” Calum says, shrugging his arms in the air. “It can’t get any worse than it already is.”

Luke takes a thoughtful sip of his soda, the telltale gurgling noise indicating his cup is despairingly near empty. He sets it down defeatedly. “Tomorrow?” he asks. “After the album art meeting? Dresser and…” he looks up at the quickly-darkening sky, eyes glazing over as he thinks. “Doughnuts? No, that’s not a substantial meal. Dresser and d-d-d-…”

“Dinner?” Calum suggests.

“Fucking dinner.” Luke laughs, once again leaning backwards precariously with the force of it, then curling in on the table in front of him so far he nearly bumps his forehead against it. Calum just watches the scene with an open-mouthed grin and stars in his eyes.

“Dresser and dinner, then? Tomorrow?” Luke says through hiccup-y breaths, pointing at Calum with his cup and he starts to stand up from the table.

“Yeah,” Calum agrees. “Dresser and dinner.”

He is supremely fucked. But it’s fine. LA is a beautiful city to be fucked in.

***

Calum is being fucked. He’s pretty sure he’s enjoying it. There’s someone above him, broad-shouldered and wavy-haired, skin soft under Calum’s fingers. He can feel the tension building inside him, and he shifts a little, chasing the feeling. The head in front of him snaps up, and it’s Luke’s face staring back at him, eyes clear blue but unfocused, and he’s beautiful and Calum is close, so close—

Need a little time to wake up!  

For the first time in his life, Calum really hates Oasis. His alarm usually makes him smile, maybe he’ll even hum along for a few bars before he turns it off. Today, however, he just wants to throw his phone out the window.

Images of his dream flash through his mind his whole ride to the office. He feels like a hot dog on the rollers at 7 Eleven, body alternating between flashes of hot and cold as his brain calls up snapshots of Luke’s body moving against his own, immediately followed by his chastising internal monologue to stop thinking about Luke fucking you.

He’s grateful he gets to spend most of the day on his own, working on design projects and photo editing. He tries to push the dream out of his mind. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Brains are strange. One time, Calum had a sex dream about his 10th grade science teacher, and he knows he wasn’t harboring any deep-seeded attraction to Mrs. Wright.

The album art meeting with the band is at 4. By the time the guys start showing up at the office, Calum has basically convinced himself he’s over the dream. He also half expects Luke to forget all about their Dresser & Dinner plans from the previous evening.

Both of those theories go out the window when the clock hits 3:56 and Luke appears in Calum’s closet-sized office, decked out in his own band’s merch.

“Excited for Dresser & Dinner?” he greets Calum, offering up an enthusiastic shimmy.

The shimmy drudges up a memory from the fucking dream, and Calum can barely look Luke in the eye when he responds. “Not as excited as my homeless underwear will be.”

“Tell them not to worry. Luke’s coming to the rescue!” He makes some sort of hammering motion with his hand, and Calum laughs way too hard. It’s an embarrassing display. He snaps up his laptop and ushers Luke out of his closet and toward the conference room before he can embarrass himself further.

Jeff and the rest of the band are already in the conference room – Jeff is fussing with connecting his laptop to the projector while Ashton and Michael dig into the refreshments table. Calum takes a seat by the window, and Luke grabs the chair immediately next to him. It’s an interesting choice given there are a dozen empty chairs around the huge table.

Obviously Calum is thrilled about the development regardless, but he still asks, “Are you that weirdo who decides to sit next to a stranger even when the movie theater is completely empty?”

“No!” Luke wrinkles his nose. “Besides, you’re not a stranger.”

“I’m not complaining,” Calum says, because he’s really really not. “Just making sure you’re not a sociopath.”

“Oh, I’m almost definitely a sociopath,” Luke deadpans. “Look in my eyes.” He points at his beautiful, shining blue eyes and has the audacity to say, “Completely dead inside; can’t you tell?”

“If you’re a sociopath, you’re the cutest sociopath I’ve ever seen.” Shit. That was not on the meeting agenda.

“Know a lot of sociopaths, do you?” Luke asks, delighted.

“I’m from Illinois. We practically breed serial killers. Half my high school soccer teammates were probably sociopaths.”

Luke’s laughing as Jeff dims the lights to start his presentation, but Calum is reeling from the fact that he not only just called Luke cute to his face (breaking his number one rule of playing it cool), he also implied that he is some sort of expert in serial killers.

God, Calum needs to get a grip. He’s at work. He’s also really looking forward to a night with Luke. He shouldn’t be. Realistically, all it’s going to do is fuel Calum’s thoughts further in a direction they really shouldn’t be going if he wants to remain a sane and functional human. But Calum has never been the sort of person who can turn down a treat when it’s dangled in front of him.

He’s quietly relieved Luke brought up Dresser & Dinner right away. He had been fully expecting to spend the entire meeting anxiously waiting for the awkward moment afterwards when he tried to figure out whether Luke actually wanted to follow through on their so-called plans. Now, he doesn’t have to, so he instead spends the meeting acutely aware of Luke’s presence next to him.

The little puffs of breath that escape from between his lips when he laughs. The way he plays with his rings under the table while he listens. The occasional brush of his foot or leg against Calum’s own as he tries in vain to situate his legs comfortably.

“I’m going to stop at Verve on my way to yours,” Luke says as soon as the meeting wraps. “I need some caffeine after that.”

Calum should probably be offended since the meeting revolved around his work, but he’s not really. Jeff’s not the most engaging speaker in the world.

“Want me to pick you up anything?” Luke asks, following Calum as he drops his laptop off in his closet.

“Um. Sure. What’s good?”

“Vanilla iced coffee,” Luke says dreamily. “My one true love.”

“Never tried it.”

Luke’s eyes widen and he looks absolutely scandalized. “We’re changing that, then,” he says, backing out into the hallway. “Text me your address. I’ll be over with your life-changing iced coffee soon.” He waves and scurries off before Calum can get a response out. Well. This is happening.

***

“You need to put the drawer thing on the bar thing,” Calum says unhelpfully, watching from his thrift store sofa as Luke huddles over the IKEA instruction manual with a look of pure consternation on his face.

“Okay but how?” Luke flips through the manual violently, hoping the answer may magically present itself on another page.

“Don’t ask me.” Calum bites a peanut M&M in half. “I gave up before I got this far.”

“Wait!” Luke yells, holding up some tiny bobble victoriously. “There’s a dowel!”

“Okay,” Calum agrees, polishing off the other half of his M&M. He washes it down with his vanilla iced coffee. Luke was right; it’s fucking bomb.

Luke looks over his shoulder at Calum. “So you’re just gonna watch me do this?”

He’d stripped off his 5SOS hoodie about ten minutes ago in the heat of a particularly arduous screwdriving moment, and is now crouched on Calum’s floor in jeans and a black tank top, hair pulled back out of his eyes with one of Calum’s sweatbands. He looks like an aerobics instructor moonlighting as a handyman, and Calum is pretty into it.

“I think so,” he replies. “I’d just mess it up if I tried to help.” It’s not even a lie. Luke has already made it at least six steps further in the instruction manual than Calum had on his own over the course of several days.

“Oh, I see, question my ability to put together your dresser, and then once I’ve proven I can do it, you just sit back and eat M&Ms while I do all the hard work.” Luke shakes his head and returns to screwing the alleged dowel into the something-or-other.

“I thought you’d be happy that you exceeded my expectations.” Calum shifts around so he’s sprawled across the length of the sofa, putting him closer to eye level with Luke. “I honestly thought you’d take one look at this and leave.”

“I realize you don’t know me very well yet, Cal, but that is an extremely accurate assessment.”

“Wait, what?”

“Normally I’d be the one on the sofa letting someone else put together my dresser,” Luke says, poking through a handful of screws. “I just didn’t want you to think I’m useless and spoiled.” He smirks up at Calum as he works the chosen screw into a dresser drawer.

“So you decided to pretend you could put together my dresser? Is this thing going to break the second I put anything in it?”

“Calm down.” Luke flaps his hand at Calum as he leans back over his pile of screws. “I know what I’m doing. I’d just rather not be doing it, as a general rule.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“I told you. I’m trying to fucking impress you, Cal.”

Calum laughs, and it comes out sounding vaguely evil since yeah, he’s laughing – but he’s also screaming on the inside. Luke can’t say things like that to him. He can’t give Calum any fuel to add to the fire that shouldn’t even have started in the first place.

Luke throws a screw at Calum and it gets lost in the folds of his T-shirt as Calum’s chest heaves with his laughter. “Shit, Cal, grab that screw before it gets lost!” Luke yells, springing to his feet and shoving his hands all up in Calum’s business.

“Well then why the fuck did you throw it at me?” Calum pats around his chest and stomach trying to find the screw, but Luke finds it first, plucking it out of a crevasse near Calum’s collarbone.

“Got it!” He drops back to the ground and walks on his knees to the partially built pile of particleboard in the middle of the floor.

“If you actually need help, I’ll do my best,” Calum offers, dazed in the aftermath of Luke casually pawing at him.

“It’s fine; I’ve got it.” Luke gives him a reassuring smile and hums along with the playlist playing quietly in the background. It’s a One Direction song, which tickles Calum a little. It’s funny to think of a famous musician singing along to someone else’s songs; but of course it must happen every day. It’s just hard to imagine celebrities exist outside of the moments that they’re actively in the public eye. Calum still isn’t convinced Luke doesn’t just retreat into a giant box and shut down every time he’s out of Calum’s sight.

“Well. Tell me if you need help,” Calum says, returning to digging through his bag of candy. “Dude! This M&M has two peanuts in it!” He holds up his discovery like the holy grail. It’s an orange one, twice as big as the others in the bag, and with two telltale bumps under the candy-coated shell.

Luke drops the screwdriver he’s holding and scoots back over to Calum to look at the fabled M&M. He takes it gently out from between Calum’s finger and thumb to inspect it more closely. “That must be good luck or something?” His voice is soft and almost reverent, and Calum finds it incredibly charming that Luke is so fascinated by a slightly defective M&M of all things. Maybe it’s a metaphor. Calum doesn’t have the energy to figure out what for, because Luke is too close to him.

“Probably,” Calum says, holding his hand out palm-up for Luke to return the M&M, his own voice probably just as reverent as he watches Luke carefully place the M&M in his palm.

***

Luke finishes the dresser, and Calum orders a celebratory pizza. They eat it sitting on the floor, backs against the sofa, admiring Luke’s handiwork in the middle of the room in front of them. Luke leaves just shy of midnight, and Calum falls asleep with Ocean Eyes on repeat. He’s well and truly past the point of no return, and he knows it.

***

It’s too fucking early to be awake, let alone working, but apparently this photoshoot needs to happen during sunrise. Calum was almost surprised to see the coffee shop open this early, literally smacking himself on the forehead when it occurred to him that this is exactly why coffee shops exist in the first place.

Against his better judgement, he gets an iced coffee for Luke. There are people for this, people who are not Calum, but now Calum knows Luke’s favorite coffee shop. An iced coffee from his favorite place has got to be better than an iced coffee from the nearest Starbucks.

Calum reaches the photoshoot location – an alley near Venice Beach – and he has to admit that it is going to make for some beautiful photos, rose gold light against the beach in the background. The band is getting finishing touches on makeup and hair, and Jeff is frantically scurrying around adjusting lighting rigs and camera equipment.

The air smells like salt and smoke, and the early morning breeze is cold on Calum’s bare arms. He’s still figuring out the LA weather. He crosses his arms across his chest, a coffee in each hand, and nods when he sees Luke beckoning him over to the hair and makeup trailer.

“Two coffee morning?” Luke asks, ducking out the trailer door and joining Calum next to the stairs.

“One’s for you,” Calum says, holding out Luke’s drink, suddenly nervous that this is too much and he’s too much and—

“Holy shit, is this Verve?” Luke grabs greedily for the cup and Calum nods.

“Yeah, vanilla iced.”

Luke smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Cal. They brought in some plain black coffee but I can’t deal with that shit.”

“Spoiled rock star,” Calum says, smiling and cocking his head to show he’s just teasing. He can’t deal with black coffee either.

“Spoiled rock star who built your IKEA dresser, Cal. Don’t you forget it.” Luke points at Calum accusingly with one hand while he gulps down half his drink with the other.

“Hey, I brought you coffee. Obviously I know I’m forever in your debt.” A gust of wind hits him, cool off the early morning ocean water. He crosses his arms again, cowering close to the trailer to get cover from the breeze. “Or at least as long as the dresser stays in one piece,” he amends.

“Oh, hang on,” Luke says, disappearing up the stairs into the trailer. Calum shakes his head, confused at Luke’s sudden disappearance but too tired to ponder it in any detail. A few seconds later, there’s something dropping on Calum’s head, partially obscuring his vision. He yelps embarrassingly and pulls the thing – a hoodie, apparently – off his head. Luke jumps down the stairs and returns to his post next to Calum.

It’s the hoodie Luke had been wearing at their album art meeting, black with 5 Seconds of Summer advertised in bright neon letters across the back. Calum just stares at it for a moment, trying to figure out whether it’s an offer or a request. Is Luke giving it to him because he noticed Calum was cold, or is Luke giving it to him to keep track of during the photoshoot? He doesn’t want to misinterpret and look like a fool. After a short beat of silence, Luke chuckles. “What are you waiting for? Put it on.”

“Oh, thanks.” Calum sets his coffee on the trailer step and tugs the hoodie on. He doesn’t tell Luke his reason for hesitation. The sweatshirt is a little too big for him, sleeves dipping down low on his wrists. He leaves one hand wrapped as he picks up his drink, protecting his palm from the cool condensation coating the cup.

It’s funny, Luke keeps doing this thing – this preemptive declaration of his intentions right when Calum’s just about to go down a full anxiety spiral. It has to be unintentional, because there’s no way Luke knows what’s going on in Calum’s head, but it puts Calum at ease around Luke. It’s unusual for Calum to be at ease around people in general, but especially people he doesn’t know well. But sometimes you just connect with someone on a subconscious level, and everything is easier.

There are only a small handful of people Calum considers himself close to, and they’re all people he felt this way about when he met them. He hates that he has this feeling about Luke, because it means that Luke is going to be important to him. There’s no way around it. Calum, however, will just be one of the thousands of people Luke knows, another friend to add to the already long list.

“I should get some rollerblades,” Luke says suddenly, illustrating very clearly how he and Calum are on entirely different pages, maybe even reading different books. Luke is looking out towards the Pacific Ocean, eyes tracking a cluster of people rollerblading along the boardwalk, just shadows against the purple and gold of the impending sunrise.

“Yeah? You gonna start blading Venice Beach?” Calum studies Luke’s profile as he watches the skaters disappear into the distance. It’s hard lines and soft curves and entirely too much for Calum to think about right now.

“Probably not,” Luke huffs. “I think that’s above my skill level. I need to start in my garage or something.”

“I used to be pretty good at rollerblading,” Calum says, recalling the many weekends he spent taking his life in his hands with his friends at the skate park.

“Oh yeah?” Luke’s head perks up in interest. “Can you do the slidey thing?” He shifts his hips sideways, thrusting them toward Calum and making an awkward shoving motion with his hands, and Calum laughs because he is weak and Luke is ridiculous.

“What the fuck is that supposed to be?”

Luke hunches over his knees, laughing. “You know! The slidey thing!” He thrusts his hip to the side again, still laughing, and it’s contagious. Luke looks up at Calum from under a wave of curly hair and laughs even harder when he sees Calum snickering along with him. “You know what I’m talking about! When you slide to stop instead of using the brake?” One more hip thrust from Luke, one more burst of laughter from Calum.

“Calum! Luke! We’re starting!” Jeff’s voice has a stern edge; and it’s very possible he’s been yelling at them for a while. Oops. They both stifle laughter as they hurry over to Jeff, two school kids in trouble with the teacher.

***

“You might try back in a few months. You never know when something might open up.”

Calum grunts an acknowledgement as he tries not to stomp back to his car. He wants to punch the polo-wearing apartment manager in his fake nice face. As soon as he heard Calum’s budget and timeline, he held back a laugh (poorly) and provided Calum all sorts of condescending and useless advice about trying some different neighborhoods because that’s not really what they do at the Villa Francisca.  Fuck that guy and the college education his parents paid for him to get so he could become an apartment manager and be completely unhelpful to Calum, specifically. 

LA is so massive; how is it possible Calum can’t find a single apartment in his price range that doesn’t look like it’s one tiny earthquake away from being condemned? He’s stopped worrying about location, desperate enough that he might actually be willing to take on a two-hour commute to the office if it means he can live without fear of his own home collapsing down on top of him. 

And yet. Still nothing. He’s got two more weeks to figure it out; maybe someone will drop dead and a decent apartment will open up. Not that Calum would wish sudden death on anyone. He’s thinking more along the lines of a nice elderly person who has lived a long and fulfilling life dying peacefully in their sleep, a kind sacrifice so Calum can have an apartment without a meth lab next door.

When he gets home, he doesn’t go inside right away, opting instead to sprawl in one of the hammocks in the apartment complex dog park. If he’s lucky, he might see a cute dog while he’s there, and it won’t fix everything, but it can’t hurt. Maybe he could just live in this hammock. He could set his Malm nearby, obscuring it with shrubs. 

Calum tucks his arms behind his head as the hammock sways gently. The thing that’s really baffling him the most about this apartment situation is that it’s fucking terrible and stressful, but it’s also not really that big of a deal to him? Like, somehow, he’s still generally happy? He’s worried about it, but in an abstract way, only because he knows he should be worried about it. 

As the breeze ruffles his hair, Calum wonders whether that’s a good thing or not. Maybe it means that he’s in a good frame of mind, and that he’s so content with the rest of his life – which, to be honest, is mostly just his job at this point – that he’s not easily rattled? 

Or maybe it means that he’s suffering some kind of complete mental breakdown and losing the ability to think or behave rationally. That actually seems like the more valid option, because it would also account for the first one. Only a mental breakdown would explain how Calum could possibly be happy when the majority of his life is work, no matter how much he might like his job.

There is, however, the small fact that work is basically a synonym for Luke, which Calum is trying very hard not to think about.

***

When Calum finishes his Saturday morning run, he’s surprised to see a text from Luke waiting for him.

Luke: Coffee?

Calum’s not sure if this is meant to be some kind of work-related thing, or just a friend thing. When Luke helped him with his dresser, that was clear-cut – Luke was helping him with something, not the other way around. He knew he wasn’t on the clock.

This, though, is less clear. Technically he’s not working today, but that doesn’t necessarily mean this isn’t a work thing. He’s still figuring out the boundaries of this very nontraditional job.

Calum: Sure.

Luke: I’ll pick you up.

“Nice car,” Calum says, climbing into Luke’s black Porsche. He doesn’t understand how his life has gotten to the point that famous people are picking him up in their Porsches for coffee runs.

“Thanks.” Luke’s dressed down, wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt, but his fancy sunglasses give him away. “Is Verve okay?”

“Perfect,” Calum says. It really has become his favorite LA coffee joint, though he has no idea if that’s because he actually likes the coffee there the best or because it happens to be Luke’s favorite spot. He’d like to think he still has some concept of himself outside of Luke’s influence, but he’s not willing to bet his life on it.

They decide to risk paparazzi and sit out on the patio to enjoy the beautiful day. Well, Luke decides. Calum doesn’t understand this world at all, so he’s willing to go along with whatever Luke tells him to do. This is potentially going to be a problem if Luke tells him to, like, rob a bank or something.

Calum traces lines through the condensation of his iced coffee cup while Luke taps at his phone. He tries very hard not to let himself think about what Luke could be doing. (He’s probably texting with one of the many beautiful people he has saved in his phone. Maybe planning a date with one of them where they’ll both get a little tipsy, and Luke will be irresistible, and whatever beautiful person is accompanying him will get to take full advantage of it.)

When Calum is lying in bed at night, this is where his brain goes. He thinks about Luke, and about all the ways his fixation with Luke is hopeless. He can come up with hundreds of reasons why, but today, watching Luke text across the table from him, squinting against the sunlight, Calum’s brain fixates on the strange duality of Luke’s confidence.

On the one hand, he’s constantly second-guessing himself – his appearance, his talent, his personality. He loves getting complimented (as Calum now deploys strategically and often), as if he needs constant reassurance. He’s constantly trying to be better in every way; which is almost offensive to Calum, because Luke is already…what is he? Special doesn’t seem like a big enough word for it. Transcendent? Preternatural? Celestial? (Maybe LA is rubbing off on Calum more than he realized.)

And yet. Luke has to be aware of the thousands, maybe millions of people on planet Earth who think he’s incredibly beautiful and extraordinary. Calum’s seen the videos – when Luke’s on stage, he knows exactly how to get the audience to scream for him, and he uses that power freely. Calum just can’t work through the disconnect; the way Luke can be so confident and so self-conscious at the same time.

“How’s the apartment hunting going?” Luke asks, abruptly setting his phone down and looking up at Calum.

Calum pushes all his spiraling thoughts aside and tries to act like he wasn’t just completely zoned out in favor of obsessing over the enigma that is Luke Hemmings.

“Not great,” he says, unhappy to be reminded of the depressing reality of his apartment situation. But despite it all, he’s actually kind of giddy, because he loves this feeling of Luke’s eyes on him. When Calum talks, Luke gives him his full attention, and it’s a rush. Calum’s not special, though. Luke does this with everyone. But that doesn’t make it feel any less exhilarating.

“Everything in a decent part of town is out of my price range, so I’m looking at either a shitty neighborhood, a shitty apartment, a shitty commute, or all of the above.” Calum shrugs it off; it’s kind of weird to be talking to Luke about something like this. Luke’s been a millionaire since before he was a legal adult. Calum may as well be speaking another language when he talks about budget constraints.

Luke nods as he takes in the information, and he seems empathetic. Seems to understand. Maybe Calum isn’t giving him enough credit. “How long do you have?”

Calum groans, because he doesn’t know, exactly, and he doesn’t want to. He wants to live in denial as long as possible. “A little more than a week, I think.”

Luke’s eyes widen. “Are you going to be able to find something with that short of notice?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I figured I’d just go look at a few places next weekend and pick the least terrible of my available options.” It’s not Calum’s usual way of doing things. He’s actually quite responsible when he needs to be. But it’s hard to be motivated to look for a new apartment when it’s going to be a huge downgrade from his current accommodations.

Luke’s looking at him with confusion, a little frown wrinkling between his eyes. Something flashes across his face, and he perks up with a small gasp. “Come stay with me!”

Calum laughs, because obviously that’s a joke. There’s no fucking way Luke would just invite someone who he has known for three weeks and is basically his employee to live with him in the Hollywood Hills.

“I’m being serious!” Luke whines. “Obviously it’s a shit deal because you’d have to put up with me constantly, but it’s still better than living with roaches or next door to a serial killer or something.”

“I can’t live with you, Luke! That’s…you barely know me! It’s too generous of an offer.” Calum shakes his head to try to stop himself from even imagining living with Luke. It’s too much.

Luke is undeterred. “No, it makes perfect sense! I have plenty of space. If you’re not paying rent, you can save money for a decent place. It’s convenient for work, for both of us! We can carpool. Fuck, yes, Calum, let’s live together and have cute little traditions like driving through Coffee Bean every morning on our way to work and watching movies on Friday night!”

He’s really getting animated now, arms flailing and eyes shining. It’s not the first time Calum is struck with how much Luke sometimes reminds him of the golden retriever his family had when he was growing up. Boomer. Luke and Boomer, with their golden hair and playful smiles and shiny eyes when they’re worked up; who don’t know their own strength and who make the person they’re looking at feel like the only person in the world.

Calum never could say no to Boomer, and he’s hard pressed to say no to Luke.

“Are you sure?” He asks, chuckling at Luke’s enthusiasm for mundane roommate rituals. He supposes when your life is extremely unusual, those types of things seem appealing. “I don’t want to be a bother, or drive you crazy because you can’t ever get away from me. I don’t want to invade your privacy.”

Luke grins, his tongue popping between his teeth as he shakes his head. “You won’t be a bother. I’m completely sure. I want you to move in. Think of it as a favor to me, if it helps.”

He knows that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is, but Calum doesn’t have enough fucks to give. The universe has presented him with the option to live rent-free in a beautiful home with his new favorite person in the world. He doesn’t have the willpower to turn it down.

“Okay,” Calum agrees, and Luke starts bouncing excitedly in his seat. “But—” he holds out a hand, pausing Luke’s celebratory dance “—if at any point I am bothering you, you have to tell me, and I’ll move out immediately.”

“Fine, whatever,” Luke says, resuming his bouncing. “I can’t wait to tell my mum.”

Calum looks at him questioningly. “She thinks you’re a good influence,” Luke explains. “And she always feels better when I’m not alone. Living on the other side of the world has given her a complex. She thinks my house will burn down in the middle of the night and no one will be there to wake me up, or that I’ll choke on an almond and die alone in my kitchen.”

“That’s kind of sweet,” Calum says, trying not to think about the fact that somehow Luke’s mom knows enough about him to have formed some kind of opinion. And whatever she’s heard must be good if she thinks he’s a good influence on Luke. Calum’s not so sure. Good influences don’t put off apartment hunting until two days before their sublet is up. Although in this case, it worked out pretty damn well for Calum.

***

The winding hills up to Luke’s house are terrifying to drive. Calum’s afraid he’s going to either drop off the side of a cliff or crash into a Tesla taking a curve too sharply around a blind corner. He’s going to have to get used to it, though, because it’s moving day. For the foreseeable future, Calum will be driving these hills on a regular basis as he goes to and from his new home. Luke’s home. It’s actual insanity that he’s moving in with Luke, and Calum has spent the last four nights awake in bed until the early morning hours agonizing over his decision to do it.

He’s mostly excited about it, but there’s that obnoxious, logical piece of his brain that keeps trying to tell him this is not a good idea, and that he’s going to get in too deep and wind up hurting himself one way or another.

There’s not much to move – all of his belongings, save for his thrift store sofa and IKEA dresser, fit in his car. The sofa went right back to the thrift store, and the dresser already made the trip to Luke’s house the night before, when a friend of Ashton’s stopped by with a pickup truck.

Calum had initially planned on dumping the dresser at the thrift store too – Luke’s guest room was fully-furnished, and Calum thought moving the dresser would be more work than it was worth. But Luke had gotten pouty about it, claiming the dresser was a symbol of their friendship, and if Calum got rid of the dresser, it would be like throwing their friendship in the garbage disposal. Something along those lines. Calum is quickly learning that Luke can get awfully dramatic when he wants to.

It was cute, though, the way Luke seemed to genuinely care about the fucking Malm dresser, and Calum didn’t want to disappoint him. “I’ll find someone to take care of it,” Luke had said. “Just don’t get rid of it.”

Calum hasn’t even seen Luke’s house yet, but his Malm has already spent the night there. Lucky dresser.

It’s probably by design that this place is a fucking pain in the ass to get to, and Calum’s nerves start to get the best of him as he eyes the houses he’s passing – they’re not crazy mansions, but they’re clearly a lot nicer than anything Calum could ever dream of living in. (Except…he’s about to live in one. What the fuck.)

Many of them are shrouded behind gates, fences, and strategic landscaping. Calum realizes for the first time that Luke’s probably not the only celebrity living in this neighborhood. Nothing resembles the flat, geometric blocks of split-level homes that Calum is used to seeing back in Illinois. It doesn’t seem real that this tangle of hills and hidden homes is just a neighborhood where people live, literally on the side of a mountain.

It’s overwhelming for Calum to think about, and he feels his heart beating faster and his chest heaving under the weight of it. What the fuck is he doing here? This isn’t his world. He doesn’t know what goes on, and he’s not sure he wants to. Sometimes not knowing is better; safer. It’s the same reason he still hasn’t delved into the google search results for Luke’s name.

He consciously tries to slow his breathing, counting each inhale and exhale, and tapping the steering wheel with his fingers to force himself to think about a sensation outside of his own screaming lungs. He tries to switch gears; refocus on the part of him that’s excited for a new adventure. This may not be quite what he expected to be doing less than a month into his time in LA, but isn’t this why he came in the first place? New and different doesn’t have to be scary and bad.

Luke’s waiting in his driveway when Calum pulls up, smiling and waving like a dope while a bulky white dog sniffs around the landscaping at the edge of the driveway.

“Is this finally the infamous Petunia?” Calum asks, circling the front of his car to squat down next to Petunia. He’s seen pictures – so many pictures – but hasn’t yet had an opportunity to meet the thing Luke loves most in life.

“That’s my pretty girl!” Luke says proudly, crossing his arms as he watches Calum greet Petunia with scratches behind her ears. 

“She is pretty, just like her dad,” Calum coos, leaning down to kiss her on top of her head while she pants out an excited greeting. “Hi sweetie. Hello. I’m your new roommate, Calum.”

“Smart move, trying to get on Petunia’s good side.” Luke crouches next to Calum and joins him in petting Petunia. Their fingers occasionally brush, and Calum makes the conscious effort not to jerk away. He’s going to have to get comfortable with Luke’s proximity if they’re going to be living together. “If you give me a minute to take her inside, I can help you unload your boxes,” Luke offers.

Calum groans, not looking forward to lugging the same pile of boxes for the third time in a month. He may not have much, but it sure feels like a lot when he’s hauling it out of his car and lugging it up and down stairs. “Yeah, I guess we should get it over with.”

They both stand, and Calum stretches his arms over his head, squinting into the sun as he bends his neck back, rolling it to one side, then the other. When he opens his eyes, Luke is just standing there staring, but Calum can’t tell if Luke’s actually looking at him, or if he’s just completely zoned out, lost inside his own head.

Calum’s caught him doing this a few times – his eyes glaze over, and he looks like either everything or nothing is happening in his brain, then after a few blinks he’s back, usually with a situationally-appropriate response, like he’d been paying attention to what was going on around him the whole time. Calum is desperate to know what’s happening inside Luke’s head during these moments. Maybe someday he’ll work up the courage to ask.

“Should I just…start bringing in boxes?” Calum asks, still feeling awkward and unsure about imposing himself and his things on Luke.

“Yeah,” Luke says, not missing a beat. “Guest room is on the top floor next to the master. I’ll put Petunia out back so we can prop the door open.”

Calum nods and watches Luke as he takes Petunia gently by the collar and guides her into the house. Once Luke has disappeared inside, Calum takes a deep breath and slaps the sides of his thighs a few times, working up the energy to move these fucking boxes again.

He grabs a big one out of his trunk and carefully navigates through Luke’s front door, pausing to look around. The house is big, but not excessively so, with a huge open concept living, dining and kitchen area with high ceilings and enormous windows with a view out over the hills. Shit. This is really happening.

“Guest room is over here.” Luke’s voice carries from the ceiling, and Calum tips his head back to see Luke standing at the top of the stairs, along an open second floor corridor. He shifts the box in his hands to get a better grip and heads up the stairs. Luke opens the guest bedroom door and steps out of Calum’s path. Once he’s in, Calum sets the box on the floor and bursts into laughter, because the first thing he sees is his fucking Malm dresser sitting on the floor next to a much larger, much nicer dresser along the far wall beneath a large window. The two dressers take up the entirety of the open wall space.

“It’s like a dresser museum in here,” he calls over his shoulder to Luke.

“Good, that’s what I was going for.” Luke steps into the room behind Calum and looks appraisingly at the wall of dressers. “I really wanted to showcase the simple practicality of the Malm next to the more ornate but less functional West Elm dresser. It’s symbolic of something, probably.”

“I’m going to keep everything in drawers,” Calum says excitedly. “Literally everything!”

“And they said it couldn’t be done.” Luke shakes his head disapprovingly. “They haven’t met Calum Hood.”

“Who’s they?” Calum can’t help but ask. Winding Luke up is fast becoming his favorite hobby.

“The, the —” Luke flaps his hands, trying to pull a word out of thin air, but he can’t, because he’s completely talking out of his ass. “—the dresser skeptics; I don’t know!”

“You’re fun,” Calum says, using his foot to slide his box over to the corner of the room. Luke grumbles good-naturedly and watches from the doorway as Calum walks over to the window to take in his new view.

He doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking at, but it’s breathtaking. Hills and cliffs covered in trees and scraggly shrubs, with hazy blue sky behind it all. It’s not even that the view is particularly beautiful, it’s just so different than anything Calum has ever laid eyes on outside his own bedroom window. “This is amazing,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“It’s Laurel Canyon,” Luke supplies, lips quirking into a small smile. “It’s pretty, and it’s quiet, but it takes at least twenty minutes to get anywhere.”

“That’s okay. Now that I’m here, I’ll probably never want to leave.” Calum bites his lip into a smile as he turns to take another trip out to his car, and Luke follows behind him.

“You won’t be saying that in the morning when you just want a fucking iced coffee, but you have to strap in for an hour-long round trip.”

“You don’t get, like, drone iced coffee delivery up here or something?”

“Not yet,” Luke replies mournfully as they step back out into the driveway. “Sounds like a promising business venture, though. You should work on that. Find an app developer and some financial backers.”

“And quit my day job?” Calum says transferring a box from his trunk to Luke’s outstretched arms. “I could never. Like my coworkers too much.”

“Glad to hear it,” Luke says, a pleased little grin working its way across his face. Once they get inside, Calum is extremely grateful for the large box in his arms, obscuring the view of Luke climbing the stairs in front of him. He’s managed to make it through twenty minutes in Luke’s company without thinking of that damn sex dream, and he needs to keep it up if he plans on living in Luke’s house without existing in a constant state of guilt and shame.

It takes about an hour for Calum and Luke to haul all the boxes inside; probably should’ve been quicker but they’re not the most efficient team, regularly distracting each other with irrelevant anecdotes and frequent water breaks, which were really just an excuse for Luke to check on Petunia.

It’s incredibly fucking cute, the way he dotes on her. Calum finds it almost unbearable to watch him cuddling with her, and when he catches a note or two of Luke’s puppy-dog voice drifting in through the patio door while he’s slurping down his water at the kitchen island? That’s just too much. He shows himself out the front door to drag in another box before he has to listen to any more of it.

He thought he knew what he was signing up for; thought he had steeled himself to deal with whatever Luke threw at him. With every passing minute inside Luke’s house, it’s becoming more and more clear that isn’t the case.

***

It’s hard to fall asleep that night, for a lot of reasons. Luke’s guest bed feels like lying on a cloud, so it’s not that Calum is physically uncomfortable, but he’s aware of all the ways everything is different. The soft hum of the refrigerator he was used to hearing in his own apartment is gone. Instead, every so often he hears Petunia’s collar jingling or her breath snuffling as she lumbers past his door.

There’s a different smell, too – a mix of something floral, probably whatever is growing in the yard outside, and something that Calum can only place as Luke. He doesn’t know what it is, exactly, only that he’s smelled it before, when he wore Luke’s hoodie, and now being surrounded in it feels like being tickled. That unnerving combination of suffocation and glee, like his stomach is constantly dropping.

He’s slightly concerned to realize he likes the feeling.

Unfortunately, it spikes his blood with adrenaline like he’s actually riding a rollercoaster, and his body won’t allow him to sleep, even as his eyes refuse to stay open and his mind is crying for a break from the racing thoughts.

Luke’s on the other side of the wall, is the thing, and Calum can feel it.

***

After his sleepless night, Calum actually has work to do the next day. He’s on social media duty – which really just means he’s supposed to be dipping into the 5SOS social media mentions, getting an idea for what the fans are talking about, and passing along a well-filtered version to Jeff and the band.

It’s one of his least favorite parts of the job, because it forces him to see exactly how terrible people—including so-called fans – can be. He’s glad that he’s the one looking at it, though, instead of the band seeing it firsthand. It’s reassuring that for every negative comment, there are hundreds of positive ones, and it helps Calum understand that this thing he’s participating in – the 5 Seconds of Summer phenomenon – is its own little community and subculture that he needs to appreciate and respect in order to do his job well.

The good thing about social media duty is that he doesn’t have to go into the office to do it, which his fatigued body and brain are both extremely grateful for. He still absolutely needs caffeine before he can function, though, and he’s not sure how to procure it in Luke’s sparse kitchen.

“You look lost.” That fucking open second floor hallway is going to be the death of Calum if it means Luke can sneak up on him like this. He’s at the top of the stairs, clothes, hair and voice all sleep-rumpled.

Calum closes his eyes. It’s too early for this. It hadn’t even occurred to him that moving in with Luke would mean seeing Luke first thing in the morning, all soft and sleepy. Fuuuuuck. “Trying to find caffeine machine,” he grumbles.

“I can take you for coffee,” Luke offers, loudly making his way down the stairs with Petunia at his heels. “I don’t have a coffee maker.” He ducks his head bashfully.

“Oh. Well. You don’t have to drive me. I can go get it myself. Unless, you know. You want to go to the coffee shop too.”

“Calum,” Luke says, sighing deeply. “I don’t have a coffee maker. I don’t just want to go to the coffee shop. I need to go to the coffee shop.” His face is covered in a layer of stubble and there are blue circles under his eyes, which are blinking lazily at Calum.

“I don’t understand,” Calum says. “Why don’t you have a coffee maker if you need coffee every morning?”

Luke rolls his eyes and circles around behind Calum, pushing him by his shoulders toward the door to the garage. “It’s not the same when you make it yourself,” he says. “Get in the car.”

“I need shoes!” Calum moans, but he lets Luke push him.

“No you don’t. Drive-thru, baby.”

***

While Calum scrolls through Twitter, pausing occasionally to sip his latte, Luke sings.

His entire morning has been soundtracked by Luke’s voice, first quiet humming, then some odd-sounding vocal exercises, and now little fragments of lyrics and tunes as he sits in his studio with the door open, writing a song. Calum could ask him to close the door, but he doesn’t. It’s calming to hear Luke’s voice floating down the hallway, reassuring Calum that Luke is there with him, alive and bright and full of passion.

It’s also a near-constant reminder of everything Calum wants, but can’t have.

He’s not alone, for better or for worse. Social media review is a fantastic reminder of all the other people out there in the world who are obsessed with Luke and also can’t have him. Calum’s not sure if it’s a comfort or a burden, knowing he’s not special.

He is, however, the only one of the legions of Luke fans currently sharing a bedroom wall with the man in question, so that’s something.

He gets distracted listening to Luke. Whatever he’s working on is really good, and it gets better with every variation Luke puts on the lyrics or the melody. Calum wishes he could stop looking at Twitter and go sit in Luke’s studio and just listen. He knows Luke would be too self-conscious about his songwriting to ever go for that, but a guy can dream. With a sigh, Calum picks up his phone and texts Luke.

Calum: You sound amazing.

Luke: Shut up

Calum: The song is pretty, too. Catchy.

Luke: Really?

Calum: Yeah. It’s going to be stuck in my head all day.

Luke: Hmm. Maybe I’ll have Michael and Ash listen to it. Or maybe not. I don’t know if I like it.

He doesn’t bother arguing, but Calum rolls his eyes at Luke’s reticence about the fucking gorgeous song he’s working on. It’s going to be a crime if this song doesn’t see the light of day just because Luke decides it’s not good enough to share with the rest of the band. Nothing he says will change Luke’s mind one way or the other, though. He just has to hope Luke will realize the song isn’t just good enough to maybe share with the rest of the band; it’s album material.

Calum: You should at least finish it and send me a copy.

Luke: What, so you can leak it to stan twitter? ;)

Calum: Fuck no. Stan twitter doesn’t deserve your fucking gorgeous song.

Luke: 🥺

***

Calum is beginning to understand why he had to sign so many waivers for this job. He’s jumping over cables and climbing on top of speakers and various other stage rigging to try to capture the energy of a 5SOS show, and he’s nearly broken an ankle at least half a dozen times, and he will definitely be waking up in the morning with some bruises.

It’s some kind of radio station festival, so it’s going to be a short set, but it doesn’t really make a difference – Calum sustained his injuries within about thirty seconds of the band taking the stage. They’re just so engaging; incredible musicians and performers. Michael’s all over the stage, running back and forth across it like he owns the place (Calum supposes he does); and Ashton drums like his life depends on it, throwing his whole body into every movement he makes. They’re not even through one whole song and he’s covered in sweat.

And Luke. Luke’s wearing these absurd shiny black pants that make his legs look eight miles long, a white shirt that was barely buttoned to begin with, and now he’s popped another button for some sick and twisted reason, and somehow it’s Calum’s job to capture this on digital pixels. He knew stage Luke was different, a performance on top of a performance, but somehow he was still unprepared to see it in action. 

Luke struts around confidently, pulling the audience into the song with ease. He sounds amazing, having some fun with switching up how he delivers the lines on a song he’s already sung a thousand times, showing off what he can do with his voice. He bounces around with wild abandon, wields his mic stand like a weapon, shakes his head so his styled hair comes undone and falls into his face, and leans into the audience, touching the hands of every fan he can reach. His eyelids are covered in glitter and they shimmer violently under the stage lights, drawing Calum’s eye like a moth to a flame. 

There are going to be so many pictures of Luke, but Calum can’t stop. Every tiny movement Luke makes turns into a perfect photo in Calum’s mind, and he’s bound and determined to capture it for others to appreciate too. Maybe these photos will finally convince Luke how beautiful he is. Maybe he just needs to see himself through Calum’s eyes.

***

LA can find a way to make anything stupid. He may be new to the city, but that’s a fact Calum learned quickly. Mostly as it relates to things that are supposed to be fun or decadent. In the mood for a delicious iced latte? How about you try this healthy chagaccino instead? As if Calum wants fucking mushrooms in his coffee. Want to have some fun bouncing around at the trampoline park? How about you turn it into a workout so intense it makes you want to vomit in the first three minutes? 

And now he’s at some sort of gourmet ice cream shop, which just means the ice cream flavors are weird and gross. Goat cheese? Hard pass. In keeping with his first impression, Michael had invited Calum along to the grand opening of this ice cream hell, and they quickly bonded over their shared disdain for the way this place has actually managed to ruin ice cream.

“Do you think I can get just vanilla?” Michael asks, craning his neck to try to see the menu over the sea of people crammed into the tiny shop. “They have to have just vanilla, right?”

“Doubt it,” Calum says. “They’ll probably set you on fire for even asking.”

“I suppose I could just be like most of the people here and order an ice cream I have no plans of actually eating.”

“I think I saw a Coldstone across the street,” Calum supplies. “We could stop there after and get some real ice cream.”

“I knew I had a good feeling about you,” Michael replies with a conspiratorial grin.

“We should probably try something here, though,” Calum suggests. “What if it’s actually really good and we’re just being close-minded?”

“Okay, do you want to try the beet-flavored one or the cilantro one?”

“What the fuck?” Calum whines, truly offended. “You made those up!”

“I did not,” Michael insists, pointing at the menu. “See.” 

Sure enough. Roasted beets with fresh mint and cilantro lime are both advertised proudly in a just-slightly-wacky-but-still-minimalistic font.

“Motherfucker.” Calum pulls his phone out to text Luke. He has to hear about this abomination.

Calum: Would you rather eat beet & mint flavored ice cream or be buried alive?

Luke: Would I be able to have good ice cream while I’m being buried alive?

Calum: Sure. What do you want?

Luke: Cookies & cream.

Calum: You’re a basic bitch.

Luke: You’re gonna miss me when I’m six feet under.

Calum: Probably. Can I have your house?

Luke: Yes, and all my Funko Pops. Take good care of Petunia for me.

Once they’ve procured their ice cream atrocities, Michael snags them a table, the fresh white paint already splattered with drips of melted ice cream. Calum finds that extremely satisfying for some (probably evil) reason. 

“So,” Michael asks, poking at his pinky-purple ice cream with his spoon. “What’d you think of the live show?”

“It was amazing. You guys are amazing,” Calum replies, distracted by the ice cream. “I can’t believe you got the beet one,” he says, half disgusted and half in awe of Michael’s bravery. He’d gone with the least exotic option on the menu, carrot cake. He doesn’t like carrot cake, but it has to translate better to ice cream than a root vegetable. Wait. “Are carrots a root vegetable?” he ponders.

Michael looks at him sharply. “You’re asking me? I didn’t finish high school.” He takes a tiny bite of his beet & mint monstrosity and grimaces.

Calum: Are carrots a root vegetable?

Luke: Yes. 

Luke: Why didn’t you just google that?

Calum: Maybe I miss you.

Luke: And I haven’t even been buried alive yet!

“What are you smiling at?” Michael asks. “It can’t possibly be the ice cream.”

“Oh, Luke says carrots are a root vegetable,” Calum babbles. “So technically you and I are both eating root vegetable-flavored ice cream.”

Michael raises his eyebrows appraisingly. “He does, does he?”

Nodding quietly, Calum busies himself with his carrot cake anathema, wondering if it would be unhygienic to pick out the chunks of carrot with his fingers.

“He’s come a long way.” Michael dangles the words in front of Calum like a lure. 

“Luke?” He jams a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth for a distraction. It sure is creamy all right.

“Yeah. As a performer.” Michael swirls his spoon in his dish, the ice cream beginning to melt along the edges. “He’s always been talented, but he hasn’t always been so confident on stage. Used to be kind of awkward.” Michael chuckles to himself, like some extremely specific moment is flashing in his mind, a moment with Luke that Calum will never be able to experience, and that thought makes him unexpectedly sad.

He pushes past it. “Well, you wouldn’t know it now. He’s amazing.” He’s absolutely bursting to talk about Luke, so much that it feels like a physical effort to keep more words from spilling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, he is,” Michael agrees begrudgingly. “I’m pretty proud of how far he’s come.” He levels Calum with a warning stare. “Don’t tell him that, though.”

“Why not?” Calum asks with a chuckle. “He loves compliments.”

“Yeah, but someone has to keep him from getting too full of himself, and I’m happy to be that person.” Michael smiles slyly and stands abruptly. “Let’s go get some real fucking ice cream.”

***

When Calum agreed to tag along with Luke to the gym, he had done it with the best of intentions. He’s been needing to figure out his own workout routine, which recently has mainly consisted of running the hills of Luke’s neighborhood until he wants to fling himself off the side of one. He thought it wouldn’t hurt to check out Luke’s gym, maybe get himself signed up if he liked it.

It hadn’t occurred to him that going to the gym with Luke meant watching a personal trainer encourage Luke into several of the most provocative positions Calum could possibly imagine, getting a front row seat to every bicep curl, squat, and chest press Luke executes; and seeing him covered in sweat while grunting suggestively.

He’s regretting his choices, to say the least.

Luke had asked if he wanted to join in on the session with the trainer, but Calum felt weird about it, like he was somehow taking advantage of Luke. So he’d politely declined, saying he wanted to check out the gym equipment on his own, but he’s been checking out a hell of a lot more than the gym equipment as he jogs slow and steady on a treadmill. It’s an easy workout for him, but he still feels like he’s going to pass out.

It doesn’t help that Luke keeps noticing him watching. Every time Luke turns his head in Calum’s general direction, his eyes seem to find Calum looking back at him. And every time, Calum has to decide whether to avert his eyes quickly and pretend he isn’t creeping on Luke, or to just smile and act like it’s an innocent coincidence.

It may be the longest hour of Calum’s life.

Afterwards, Luke adds insult to injury.

“You know what we should do when we get home,“ he says, glancing over his shoulder to check his blind spot as he pulls out onto the flow of traffic on the street. Calum grunts encouragingly. He just finished the easiest workout he’s done in months, and yet he feels like he just ran a marathon. Speaking is a bridge too far for his exhausted body.

“Pool day.” Luke looks over his sunglasses at Calum and raises his eyebrows a couple times, and Calum takes a very long drink from his bottle of water.

“We deserve it,” Luke continues, fingers tapping out a beat on the steering wheel even though there is no music playing. He sighs wistfully. “You and me out by the pool, getting some sun, maybe a couple of beers, just relaxing.”

The band has been really fucking busy lately, and Calum has been busy by association. He can appreciate that Luke wants to savor the rare opportunity to just do nothing, and he will admit the picture Luke is painting sounds inviting. Torturous, but inviting. That’s pretty much his entire life now that he lives with Luke; he may as well embrace it. He nods and hums his assent, then closes his eyes and tries not to move or think for the twenty minutes it takes to get back to Luke’s.

The view from Luke’s pool matches the view out Calum’s window. It makes him feel like he’s in the middle of nowhere, the illusion of a secluded little paradise created by clever architecture and privacy fencing. He settles in an elaborate round pool floatie and slides a bottle of beer into the handy cup holder. This pool floatie is probably nicer than any apartment Calum could currently afford. 

While he waits for Luke to return from walking Petunia, he slathers on sunscreen and lets himself sink into the reclined backrest on the floatie, closing his eyes against the sun, still blindingly bright even behind sunglasses, and listens to the rustle of the breeze. If he listens really hard, he can hear an occasional car passing on the street outside the front of the house, a dog bark here and there; but it’s mostly blessed quiet.

He’s so relaxed and zoned out he almost doesn’t notice when Luke comes out the sliding door to join him, arms loaded with towels and a cooler hooked over his wrist. Calum paddles his hand to spin his floatie to face Luke, catching him just as he’s kneeling over the deck to drop the towels next to the pool.

He straightens, and his eyes widen when he sees Calum looking back at him. “Shit, I can’t take my shirt off next to you,” he says, immediately contradicting himself by tugging his shirt off and reaching for an empty floatie. 

Calum chuckles, watching him struggle with crawling onto the floatie from the edge of the pool. “Apparently you can.” 

“I’m not happy about it though,” Luke grumbles. 

“Aw, c’mon, you look hot. Don’t be shy, strike a pose,” Calum taunts. Luke’s cheeks turn pink but he’s fighting a smile, and Calum mentally high-fives himself. 

Luke flails a bit, trying to figure out a way to maneuver onto his floatie without capsizing the entire thing, and finally settles on launching himself onto it like a squirrel jumping from a tree. He lands with a dramatic squawk, and water splashes heavily onto Calum, who ducks his head and moves his thumb to cover the top of his drink. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you are incredibly graceful, Luke?” Calum smirks as he watches Luke situate himself in the floatie. His skin glows under the blazing light of the midday sun, so much more pale than Calum’s but still bright, like it’s lit from within. His hair takes on a warmer gold tint, and it makes his eyes look a lighter blue than usual, almost a perfect match with the clear-optical-illusion-blue of the pool water. 

“Obviously.” Luke curls his legs up under him, and Calum wonders how he can make himself so small. It seems to defy all scientific logic. “You should know that; you’re supposed to be spying on our fans, aren’t you? I’m sure they use the word graceful to describe me literally all the time.”

“They use a lot of words to describe you, but I’m almost positive graceful didn’t make the Luke word cloud.” The world cloud project – yet another reminder of how Calum was just one among thousands of Luke admirers. But it had also been strangely comforting, seeing strangers say the things Calum had so often thought to himself.

Scrunching his nose, Luke asks, “the what?”

“The word cloud. You know, those things where the words that are used the most are bigger?” Calum gesticulates vaguely. “We use them to see trends. There’s one for all three of you, and the band as a whole.” He’s fairly certain Luke has no interest in his work activities; he’s boring himself just trying to describe it.

But Luke paddles himself over a bit closer, a troublemaking little grin on his face. “What are the words, then? In the cloud?” His floatie bumps up against Calum’s, and Calum grabs a hold of it to keep them tethered together instead of pushing apart on impact.

“Pretty. Soft. Baby.” He pauses to take a drink. “Although we had to cross reference a variety of spellings on that one.”  Luke scoffs knowingly. “Variations on tall and large,” Calum continues, ticking off the list with his fingers. “Hot. Talented. Cute.” 

It’s kind of freeing, just listing these off to Luke like it’s his job to give him compliments. He’s been exploding with the desire to just talk about Luke to anybody who will listen, but there’s no one he can talk to safely, without making things awkward. So he keeps it bottled up inside, pressure building as more and more feelings build up until they’re ready to explode in a fizzy mess. Telling Luke about the word cloud is like twisting the cap just a tiny bit, letting some of that pent up energy escape with a hiss.

There’s a strange look on Luke’s face, a tense expression somewhere between pinched and pleased that Calum can’t quite read. “Well, what do you think, Cal? Are they on the right track?” 

He can’t tell what Luke wants him to say, and it makes him jittery. “I–” Calum purses his lips and furrows his brow, and Luke tilts his head, waiting patiently. “Well, yeah. They’re all pretty accurate. Except maybe baby. Babies can’t put together IKEA dressers.”

“Fucking right they can’t,” Luke agrees with an emphatic nod and a lazy grin. “The rest, though? You don’t think that’s a bit generous?”

Calum can’t help the incredulous laugh that slips out of his mouth, because what the fuck? “Generous? No. Accurate.” He feels like he should be saying more, but there’s nothing more to say.

Luke raises his eyebrows and hums noncommittally. He digs a pair of sunglasses out of the cupholder that’s not holding his beer and slides them on. He’s hiding, retreating away for some reason. Calum’s frustrated, at Luke for not understanding how exceptional he actually is, and at himself, for not knowing how to make Luke understand.

“How are you so…” Calum doesn’t want to say nice or normal or any other word that oversimplifies exactly what Luke is, but he’s not convinced there is a word to do justice to what he’s trying to say. “...good?” 

Luke looks at him sharply. “Good?”

It’s not quite right, but Calum’s glad it’s the word he chose, because when Luke echoes it back to him, his lips round into a pout. If Calum is going to torture himself by living under Luke’s roof, he may as well go all in.

“You know. Your life is crazy but you don’t seem to let it get to your head.”

“Oh, it gets to my head,” Luke says wryly, fingers skimming the surface of the small moat of water between their floaties. They nearly brush against Calum’s hand, still resting on the edge of Luke’s floatie, even though the water has stilled and there’s no danger of them drifting apart. “Just not in the way you’re thinking.”

“In what way, then?” Calum finally lets go and dips his own fingers into the pool, slowly pulling them out and watching the water drip off his fingertips, one fat drop at a time. Luke’s hand lands on the edge of his floatie, peeling black nail polish and a silver bracelet with a tattoo peeking out from under it filling Calum’s vision, and he smiles to himself.

“To not go crazy, I basically have to ignore the fact that I’m– ugh, I hate saying it. Famous, or whatever. That people who I don’t know know who I am and have opinions about me.” His floatie squeaks as he repositions himself, kicking his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles. “I care too much about what other people think of me, so I just try not to think too hard about it, or I’d be in a constant state of anxiety.”

Calum gets that, because it’s not so different from how he feels about his friends and family back home. If he didn’t care so much about what they thought of him, he could have just been himself, no need to run away for a fresh start. But Luke doesn’t have the option of running away. “That sounds like it would be really hard. Compartmentalizing like that.” 

“Fucking right it is,” Luke says with a huff. “I have anxiety from trying not to have anxiety.” 

“Explains a lot, though.”

Flipping onto his side, Luke slides his sunglasses up onto his head and looks at Calum curiously. “What do you mean? I’m almost afraid to ask.”

Calum smiles, glad Luke can’t see his eyes through his own sunglasses, because there’s no way Luke wouldn’t spot the fondness in them. “I’ve just wondered how you’re so unsure in some situations and so confident in others. I know you’re faking it sometimes, but you’re so fucking good at faking it that it can be hard to tell.”

“Well, shit,” Luke says, falling back against his floatie. He chuckles and takes a drink of his beer, shaking his head incredulously as he swallows it down. “I’m pretty much always faking it, but I think you’re the only one outside of the band and my immediate family who has actually noticed.”

It’s unclear from his tone whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. Or just A Thing.

“Faking it all the time sounds hard, too,” Calum observes.

“I mean, I’m not faking it all the time. Just all the times you think I’m confident.”

“Does that mean you’re never actually confident?” If that’s true, it may be the saddest thing Calum has ever heard.

“Not exactly. Like I’m confident about certain things, sometimes, but I’m never confident about everything at the same time, you know?”

And yeah, Calum does know. He feels like he’s finally starting to put the pieces of the Luke puzzle together. His first impression of Luke was accurate. All his obsessing about why Luke is the way he is? Just a clever way for him to pretend his interest in Luke is purely scientific, or maybe a way to distract himself from his own feelings. Easier to think about Luke and what makes him tick than to think about what he’s feeling, and how Luke makes him tick. It is cosmically unfair that Calum is having some sort of deep personal realization right now, while Luke is half-naked next to him, glowing in the sun.

He must have been sitting quietly for too long, because Luke makes a concerned noise and pokes at Calum’s thigh. “Cal? You okay? Did I freak you out by getting too real?” There’s a lilt to his tone, the suggestion of a laugh, and it’s a lifeline. He’s giving them an opportunity to steer out of the too real territory, should Calum so choose.

“No, it’s okay,” Calum says, clearing his throat. “I was just thinking how fucked up it is that someone like you exists.”

Luke lets out an abrupt laugh. “Yeah, I’m pretty fucked up.”

Calum sighs, fingers reaching and squeezing around Luke’s wrist. “That’s not what I mean.” He pulls his hand back aggressively when he realizes what he’s done, but Luke doesn’t seem to care, his own hand still resting calmly on Calum’s floatie, fingers leaving little indentations in the vinyl. Calum’s traitorous brain flashes with images of those fingers leaving indentations on his hips.

“I know that,” Luke says, a tight smile playing at his lips. “But it’s true either way.”

It’s not really something Calum can argue with. Luke being a little fucked up is one of the things that makes him him. If he weren’t a little fucked up, he wouldn’t be the person making Calum lose his goddamn mind every minute of every day. Calum wouldn’t change a thing.

***

Why are radio station DJs so fucking annoying? Calum has never liked them, and the way they’re always yelling and laughing at all hours of the day. The morning ones are the worst, yukking it up before the sun is even up. 

As it turns out, spending time with radio DJs is now part of Calum’s job duties, because apparently visiting radio stations to give interviews and performances is a necessary promotional tool for the band. Fuck that. It’s barely past 5am and he’s already heard a poop joke, and that is not okay.

One thing is okay, though. Luke’s head is resting on Calum’s shoulder as they sit on the sofa in the green room, listening to the horrendous morning show banter while they wait for their call time. 

He’s functioning as a makeshift pillow. Luke’s all dressed up and ready to go, but he’s also falling asleep. Every so often he twitches violently against Calum when there’s a particularly loud burst of obnoxious laughter over the speakers, and Calum can tell he was this close to unconsciousness. It’s all Calum can do not to knock these DJs unconscious so Luke can get a few minutes of interrupted sleep. 

He’s so warm against Calum’s side that it’s making him sleepy too, eyelids drooping. The only thing that’s keeping them open is sheer willpower, and the fact that he’s technically on the clock. Jeff’s not here this morning, so Calum’s on his own. He suspects Jeff is simply not a morning person, and Calum begrudgingly respects Jeff shoving this job off on him to do by himself. He’d probably do the same thing if he were The Boss. 

But then he looks down at Luke, with his golden curls brushing against his eyelids, and he thinks he probably would have done this job willingly after all.

Ashton is pacing back and forth across the room, scrolling through his phone with one hand and clutching an iced coffee in the other. He’s vibrating with energy, despite the early hour. Michael is curled up on a big chair in the corner, sleeping soundly, a jacket draped over him like a blanket. At first Calum was surprised how easy it was for Michael to fall asleep with all the activity around them, but he supposes when you’re a rock star you learn how to capitalize on every opportunity to catch up on sleep.

“Hey, Cal, you busy this weekend?” Ashton pauses in front of Calum, but his eyes are still on his phone.

Calum peeks down at Luke to make sure Ashton hasn’t startled him awake, and when he responds, he speaks quietly. “Don’t think so, why?”

“Wanna go shopping with me? I desperately need some new fucking clothes, and you were just saying you need to update your wardrobe for the LA weather.” He finally looks up and meets Calum’s eyes, then squints as he shifts his glance to Luke’s head on Calum’s shoulder. “You could probably use a break from this clingy asshole anyway,” he adds, nudging Luke’s foot with his own until Luke stirs enough to give Ashton the middle finger.

“Sure, why not.” Calum does need to update his wardrobe, and he appreciates Ashton taking the initiative to ask him to hang out, even if shopping isn’t at the top of his list of weekend activities. (To be fair, nothing that doesn’t involve Luke is at the top of Calum’s list of activities, weekend or otherwise.)

“Gee, Cal, you sure know how to make a guy feel special,” Ashton jokes.

Luke’s sleep-raspy voice startles Calum. “Get over it, Ash. Obviously Cal would rather spend time with me than tag long with you to buy eight pairs of the same black skinny jeans.” Calum can feel Luke’s words vibrating against his chest and he bites hard on his tongue to distract himself, trying to focus on the pain and nothing else.

“That was one time!” Ashton whines, oblivious to Calum’s internal struggles. “We’ll have fun, right Calum?”

“Yeah,” Calum agrees. “Maybe we can do one of those dressing room montages.”

“Fuck, I love dressing room montages,” Luke says emphatically, despite his eyes still being closed and his head still resting against Calum’s shoulder. “If you guys do a dressing room montage, you better send it to me.”

“There’s no way in hell I’m doing a dressing room montage, whatever the fuck that is,” Ashton says. “You two can save that for behind closed doors.” Calum feels Luke’s breathy chuckle against his neck.

“It doesn’t work if you’re not out shopping,” Calum says, and Luke holds his fist up in assent. “You can’t do a dressing room montage without the dressing room.”

“Yeah, Ashton, don’t you know anything?” Luke mumbles. 

“I don’t like this,” Ashton says, pointing a finger between Calum and Luke. “You’re ganging up on me! The two of you together are trouble.”

“Aw, are you jealous, Ash? Do you want to move in with us so you can feel included?” Luke’s fully awake now, sitting up straight and rubbing his eyes.

“Not if it means I have to participate in fucking dressing room montages.”

“We don’t want you in our montages anyway,” Calum says. 

Luke laughs loudly, curling into Calum and throwing an arm across his eyes. “Yeah, Ash. You don’t deserve to be in our dressing room montages.”

“Especially if all you’re going to do is wear the same pair of black skinny jeans eight times,” Calum adds, and Luke collapses into him further, shaking with sleep-manic laughter.

Ashton opens his mouth to defend himself, but the door behind him cracks open and someone from the management team yells, “two minutes!” 

They scramble to compose themselves, and Calum films the last minute rush. Ashton grabbing an orange off the top of the fruit bowl on the craft services table to throw at Michael. The aftermath of Michael being jolted awake by the flying orange. Luke putting on his jacket. Ashton checking his hair in the mirror. Michael almost tipping over when he gets a head rush from standing up too quickly. Luke rubbing his hands on his thighs anxiously. Luke pulling a silly face when he catches Calum filming. Luke clasping his hands behind his back and stretching his chest. Luke rubbing his finger over his bottom lip. Luke smiling softly when he notices Calum is still filming him. 

***

Malls have never really been Calum’s thing, but he has to admit there’s something about the energy of The Grove that he likes. Maybe it’s the aliveness of it all, the familiarity of the stores and the people. Or maybe it’s because it’s outside, where he can feel the sun on his shoulders and the wind in his hair. Whatever it is, wandering around The Grove with Ashton is a refreshing sort of calm, and Calum finds he actually doesn’t regret leaving Luke home alone, cuddled up with Petunia on the sofa.

He’s not sure when he started thinking of Luke’s house as home. He’d expected that he’d never really get comfortable there, assumed he’d be walking on eggshells trying not to be a burden, and that just having Luke around so often would have him constantly on edge. 

Instead, after only a few weeks at Luke’s, he feels more at ease than he ever did in his sublet.

He finds comfort in the sound of Luke’s voice echoing down the hallway as he sings. He looks forward to evenings where they don’t have to work and can watch Netflix together on Luke’s sofa; preferably something funny so he can hear Luke’s ridiculous wheezing laughter, or maybe something suspenseful, because then Luke gets extra clingy, snuggling up next to him and watching the TV screen through the fingers of one hand while he clutches Calum’s arm with the other. 

Last week, he saw Luke angry for the first time. He was on the phone with one of his brothers, and they were arguing over something-or-other Calum wasn’t privy to, but seemed to have something to do with their parents. Luke paced circles around the kitchen island, shoulders tense and his free hand pulled in a tight fist as he tried (and often failed) to keep himself from yelling. Every so often he’d pause, dropping the phone from his ear and clenching his teeth through a deep breath, a brief interlude to gather himself before he went back to the argument.

Calum was theoretically watching TV while this was going on, but Luke obviously knew he was eavesdropping; even occasionally making eye contact with Calum and pulling an irritated face or gesturing like he was stabbing himself in the eye. Calum tried to offer empathetic grimaces in return, and at one point Luke even wandered all the way over to him, sitting down on the sofa next to him and dramatically hiding his face in Calum’s chest. Calum gave Luke’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze, and Luke smiled thinly at him before pulling himself up off the sofa and returning to his kitchen pacing.

Afterwards, Luke apologized to Calum and curled in on himself in the opposite corner of the sofa, staring at the TV silently. Calum had protested, telling Luke it wasn’t a big deal and there’s nothing wrong with getting angry sometimes, but Luke remained despondent aside from a few mumbles about what assholes his brothers are for guilting him about not being able to come home for his parents’ anniversary. It wasn’t until Calum suggested they finally order some rollerblades that Luke perked up again, giggling and pointing at the laptop screen over Calum’s shoulder as they selected the most garish rollerblades possible and placed an order. They showed up at the door two days ago, and now Calum’s phone is filled with photos of Luke gleefully unboxing his new neon pink and black rollerblades.

“And that’s why you just have to keep learning, you know? Keep trying to better yourself as a person, because that’s the shit that matters, not the sales or the social media stats or whatever.” Ashton’s been talking for a while, with no feedback from Calum other than an occasional nod. They’re in line at Coffee Bean because Ashton apparently needs an espresso before he can shop (Ashton needs an espresso before he can do literally anything), but the line is obscenely long. 

It’s not that Calum hasn’t been paying attention to Ashton. He’s just not required to give feedback for Ashton to keep talking, which is kind of a nice break for him. Most people need you to give them something in return, but Ashton seems to have a bottomless pool of energy that he’s happy to share with anyone who needs it, no questions asked.

“That seems like a healthy perspective,” Calum says politely. Ashton looks at him, a bit bewildered. “Kind of woo-woo, though, if you ask me,” he adds. 

Ashton grins and points at him accusingly. “There he is. You were working through something up there –” he taps his own head, “– but now you’re back on planet earth.”

“As if you would know anything about that,” Calum says, and Ashton snorts good-naturedly as they shuffle forward in line.

“How’s living with Luke been treating you?” he asks. 

Logically, Calum knows it’s just a question, friendly small talk with no ulterior motive. Ashton can’t see inside his brain. He doesn’t have any idea Calum is thinking about Luke all day, every day, in every way. He’s a fucking cliche, isn’t he? A bro country song waiting to be written. Are there gay bro country songs? Is Gay Bro Country a genre that exists? It really should be, because Calum is living it.

“Fine,” he says to Ashton casually, eyes scanning the menu board. An Ice Blended is suddenly sounding really appealing. Maybe mocha. But Luke would get vanilla. Maybe he should try vanilla instead, so he can feel close to Luke. Shit. This Ice Blended exercise was supposed to make him stop thinking about Luke.

“He talks about you a lot, in the studio,” Ashton says, raising his eyebrows.

“Does he?” The words are strangled. Calum clears his throat. What’s he saying, what’s he saying, what’s he saying...

There’s a devilish glint in Ashton’s eye when he says, “Yeah, about what a shitty roommate you are.”

He’s clearly joking, but Calum’s stomach still drops. “Don’t tease me about that; if Luke kicks me out, I might have to go back to Illinois.”

“Really?” Ashton’s eyes widen in concern, and Calum rolls his eyes to indicate his exaggeration.

“Nah, I’d just end up in a really shitty apartment where I’d probably get murdered. But I took a risk moving out here. I don’t have any savings, so I kind of need things to work out with this job.” 

“You seem to be doing fine with work. Are you concerned about your job?” Ashton fidgets, tugging at the bracelets on his wrist and dragging the toe of his boot across the linoleum floor.

“I was at first,” Calum says, raising his voice so Ashton can hear him over the whir of blenders. “Not as much anymore, but I still worry about it a little. If I lose my job I’ll definitely have to go back to Illinois, and I just can’t do that. I’ll go crazy.”

“I get you, dude,” Ashton says, with a rare sincerity that makes Calum feel like yeah, Ashton does get him. “You shouldn’t worry, though. You’re killing it. We love having you around, and Jeff only ever has good things to say about you. Shit, Luke would blow a gasket if you were let go.” He cocks his head to the side, offering Calum a kind smile. “Well, we all would, but Luke especially. He’s really stuck in your dicksand.”

“My what?” Calum screeches, drawing stares from the cluster of teenage girls in line in front of them. He was having A Moment, feeling really nice and warm that Ashton appreciated his work and cared enough to want him to stick around, and then Ashton had to go and say Luke and dicksand in adjacent sentences.

Through cackles, Ashton repeats, “your dicksand,” more emphatically, as if that helps explain anything.

“Is that an STD? I don’t have any STDs.” Calum’s mind is racing, trying to figure out what Luke might have seen or heard around the house that would make him think Calum has some sort of dick affliction, and then why the fuck he would share that misinformation with Ashton.

Ashton shushes him, and the line moves forward infinitesimally. “No, you know, like quicksand? But dicksand.”

“I most certainly do not know.” The thought of Ashton suggesting Luke is stuck in anything related to Calum’s dick is really causing him some strife. Clarification would be great, like, as soon as possible. But Ashton’s not in any hurry to give it, clearly amused by Calum’s distress.

Gesticulating in a manner that is far from appropriate for the neighborhood Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, Ashton says, “It means, like, he’s emotionally wrapped up in you. And your dick. Or the idea of your dick.” 

What the fuck. How does he even respond to that? He repeats Ashton’s words slowly, making sure to enunciate as clearly as possible, “Luke is emotionally wrapped up in me and my dick?” He thought maybe if he said it out loud, it would make sense. It doesn’t. Now he’s just thinking about Luke and his own dick. Together. At the same time. When the fuck he going to be able to order his Ice Blended?

“That’s correct,” Ashton stays, still reveling in Calum’s obvious confusion. “Like he’s too busy with you to care about anything else. You’ve sucked him in. With your –”

“–dicksand,” Calum finishes. “That’s disgusting.” 

“I know, isn’t it great?” Ashton says with a giggle. “Sadly I can’t take credit for it. Read it in some women’s magazine in the waiting room at the dentist’s office.”

They finally reach the front of the line, and Calum is still so flustered trying to work out exactly what Ashton means that when the cashier asks for a name for his order, he says “Lu–CALUM!” The girl’s eyes widen, but she just writes Callum on the cup and sends him off. He’s grateful the ambient sounds of the coffee shop probably allowed him to get away with it without Ashton noticing.

As they make their way out of Coffee Bean and the sound of blenders and chatty teenagers fades into the background, Calum can finally think clearly again. He follows Ashton down the brick pathway and into a store that’s blasting loud dance music over the speakers. So much for thinking clearly. “This would’ve been the perfect soundtrack for a dressing room montage,” he comments.

Ashton leads them around the perimeter of the store, nearly knocking a pile of scrunchies off an end cap as he squeezes past the accessories and into the men’s section. “I bet Luke does dressing room montages for you at home. He loves showing off all his ridiculous clothes.” He looks at Calum like he knows this to be true. If only.

“Sadly, no,” Calum says. “That is not part of our usual Friday night activities.” Unfortunately. 

“What are your usual Friday night activities?” Ashton asks, arching an eyebrow as he pulls a pair of distressed black jeans off a rack.

“No black jeans,” Calum says, ripping the hanger out of Ashton’s hand and putting the jeans back.

“Don’t dodge the question. And these aren’t skinny jeans; they’re allowed.” He retrieves the jeans and tucks them under his arm protectively.

“I’m not dodging the question.” Calum browses a rack of leather jackets, which he absolutely cannot afford, but for some reason he’s always drawn to them. Why must he always be so fixated on things he can’t have? “It’s not that exciting. Netflix, usually.”

“You watch Netflix together every Friday night?” Now Ashton’s fingers are nimbly flipping through a pile of graphic T-Shirts, his body turned so the black jeans are still carefully aimed out of Calum’s reach. He’s not looking at Calum but it feels like he is; like he’s performing some sort of evaluation of Calum’s worth as Luke’s roommate based on how he responds. 

“Most nights, actually,” Calum says with a shrug. “Whenever we’re not busy with work stuff.”

Carefully plucking a T-shirt from the middle of the pile with his long fingers, Ashton says, “That’s cute.” 

And he sounds like he really means it, so Calum agrees. “Yeah, we’re pretty cute, it’s true.”

Ashton gives Calum a dimpled smile. “Luke seems to like spending time with you. You must be a good roommate.”

“Oh for sure,” Calum says, flinging his shoulders back and sticking his nose in the air proudly. “I’m definitely in the running for the best freeloading roommate of the year contest.” 

In reality, he never feels like he’s doing enough to compensate Luke for his kindness in letting Calum stay with him, but that’s probably not the conversation Ashton is looking to have in the middle of Topshop.

“I’m sure you pay Luke back in other ways, even if you’re not paying rent.” Ashton’s tone is nearly impossible to read. It’s probably a joke. When in doubt, everyone in this band is an expert at defaulting to sex jokes to fill the dead air.

“I’m not sure I like your tone, young man. What are you implying?” Calum cracks, narrowing his eyes and holding back a grin.

“Nothing,” Ashton protests, voice high and shrill. And this is interesting, because Calum thought it was all a joke, but now it’s clear from his reaction that Ashton definitely was implying something. It’s not in Ashton’s nature to hold back, which makes Calum all the more confused, because why is he holding back now, when they’re talking about Luke, the one thing Calum can never get enough of?

“I’m just saying,” Ashton continues, “Boy’s stuck in your dicksand. There’s gotta be a reason for it.”

“We’re not fucking,” Calum says bluntly.

Ashton chuckles and looks at Calum fondly. “Maybe you should be.” He holds up his armful of T-shirts, and the one pair of contraband black jeans. “I’m gonna go try these on. You should pick out one of these jackets,” he says, nodding at the rack Calum had been perusing. “My treat. Luke will like it on you, and when Luke’s happy, everyone’s happy.”

Isn’t that the fucking truth.

Ashton scurries off to the dressing rooms before Calum can formulate a response, leaving him flushed; hopped up on hope and sweet, sweet uncertainty.

***

The hum of the air conditioner is so fucking quiet. Calum can barely even tell it’s running. Is this what it’s like to be rich? All the mechanisms of life that keep things comfortable and smooth are hidden, to the point where you don’t even notice them happening. No wonder it’s so easy for the rich and famous to become completely out-of-touch assholes. If you can’t see all the money and work that goes into making your own life simple and carefree, it’s easy to forget that’s not just the way it is for everyone.

These aren’t thoughts Calum should be having right now, because he’s already in a terrible mood. The day didn’t start too badly. It’s Sunday, and a day off. He woke up to a nice phone call from Mali, then discovered a grease-stained white paper bag on the kitchen counter with a post-it note from Luke stuck to it:

A chocolate croissant for my favorite Cal-ssant. Hmm. No. Ignore that. I’m at Ash’s. Back before dinner.

Calum, of course, responded by giggling and blushing like an idiot, plucking the note off the bag and stuffing it inside the cover of the book on his bedside table that he may or may not ever start reading.

So all in all, a pretty good start to the day: catching up with family, chocolate pastries, a note from a pretty boy. He should be in an amazing mood. But sometimes his brain just doesn’t cooperate, and by noon he was in a full-on funk. He retreated to one corner of Luke’s massive U-shaped sofa and he’s just sitting, listening to the air conditioner and making himself even sadder.

None of it makes sense. It started because Calum had a stray thought that he has no one to spend his Sunday with, therefore he must be a worthless human. If he weren’t, he’d have more friends, or Luke would have stayed with him. Never mind the fact that obviously both Luke and Mali were thinking of him this morning, and maybe they have other things they need to do besides dote on Calum all day long. Logic can’t be brought into this.

No, it’s clearly because Calum has absolutely no redeeming qualities. He thinks about how moving to LA was a terrible idea. He can’t even afford a decent place to live, he doesn’t know anyone besides people who are essentially his coworkers, and he can’t go anywhere without a navigation app telling him how to get there. He thinks about how maybe those things would be different if he were more outgoing, or if he were more talented or beautiful. He knows it’s a leap. That doesn’t stop him from making it.

No one is ever going to want him. No, that’s not right. Sometimes he’s funny. He’s not ugly. He’s a nice guy. Someone might want him. But then Calum will find a way to ruin it by having a day like today, where he gets stuck in his head, and the endless churn of negativity, and can’t pull himself out. He doesn’t know if he can be there for someone else even when they need him. He can only take; he doesn’t know how to give.

The sound of Petunia’s low bark pulls Calum out of his thoughts minutes, maybe hours, later, and he hears Luke’s key in the door. “Cal-ummm!” Luke yells unnecessarily. The house’s open floorplan makes even a whisper echo through the entire main floor.

Calum feels himself smiling a little, a foreign feeling to all the facial muscles he hasn’t used most of the day. He stares at himself in the reflection of the blank television screen and wonders if it’s possible to lose the ability to smile if you just stop doing it. Do the muscles atrophy, leaving you with a permanent frown?

“How’s your day been?” Luke settles into the opposite corner of the sofa, but he faces Calum instead of the television, his legs extended across the back of the U. They’re so long Calum could reach out and touch Luke’s foot with minimal effort. He has the devious urge to tickle them, but his bad mood supersedes what little desire he has to have fun.

“Eh,” Calum responds, treading carefully. He doesn’t want to pull Luke into his issues, but he doesn’t have enough energy to pretend he’s fine either.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Luke says, voice laced with concern. It almost makes Calum choke up, because he can hear from his tone that Luke cares. Luke cares that Calum had a bad day. It’s overwhelming and terrible and exactly what he needs.

“It’s no big deal,” Calum says, aiming for casual, but there’s a crack in his voice.

Luke gets up and crosses to Calum’s side of the sofa, poking at Calum’s legs until he pulls them up to his chest. Luke sits down and mirrors his position, bare toes bumping up against Calum’s sock-covered feet. He bends his head to try to get a good look at Calum’s face, and Calum feels hot all over. He’s a Jenga tower that’s only held together by a few key pieces, and Luke has already started pulling them out simply by showing concern. If he keeps going, if he asks what’s wrong or if he tries to reassure him, Calum is going to be a sobbing mess in shorter order. He’s been here before. He knows how it goes.

“Did something happen?” Luke asks.

“No, just…one of those days. You know?”

“Yeah.” Luke says, and Calum chances a glance at him. He catches Calum’s eye and smiles softly. “Want to talk about it? Want to not talk about it? Want to have a dance party?”

Calum manages a polite chuckle. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he says. “I probably should, but I don’t know how to say anything that makes sense.”

Luke raises his eyebrows thoughtfully, nodding like Calum has said something insightful. “When I have days like that, I always think there isn’t really anything anyone can do or say to make me feel better.”

“Right.” Calum tucks his chin over his knee, wrapping his arms tightly around his shins. “But I want there to be. And when there isn’t, I just get more frustrated.”

Luke leans his head to the side, laying it against the grey sofa cushion. Everything in Luke’s house is grey. There are pops of color, definitely – the studio is a fucking pink floral wonderland – but it’s clear grey is his neutral-of-choice. Calum appreciates it, because it makes Luke’s eyes pop and compliments the pink of his skin better than brown or black would. The entire house is just a canvas to display Luke’s beauty.

“Here’s the thing, though,” Luke says, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of the cushion, “I think maybe there is something that could help, and you just don’t know it, or know what it is. And maybe it’s not just one thing. Maybe it’s a collection of things, and once you get the right combination, it helps a little.”

Calum squints at him, not sure he’s following. “Okay, but…if you don’t know what the thing, or the things, are, how are you supposed to get the right combination?”

“That’s the shitty part. You can’t force it. My point is, even if you don’t know what might make you feel better, there’s still a chance that those things will happen, and in a couple hours you’ll feel better than you do now, even if you’re not sure how you got there. You know? There’s hope.”

And that means something to Calum, because he likes hope. He knows not everything can have a happy ending, but he’s never understood why everything can’t at least have a hopeful ending. Obviously real life has unhappy endings; that’s unavoidable. But Calum has some control over his own narrative, of his own brain. Luke doesn’t push him, sitting in companionable silence for a few minutes while Calum works it over in his mind.

This…this could work. He smiles, and Luke smiles back even bigger. Calum’s eyes catch on a small patch on Luke’s front tooth that’s a brighter white than the rest. Maybe he chipped it at some point. Maybe Calum will ask him about it someday. He’d like to hear that story.

“Pizza might help,” Calum suggests.

“That’s a pretty safe bet.” Luke shifts around until he can pull his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call it in.” He stands up, patting Calum softly on the knee on his way into the kitchen. Calum can hear him quietly placing an order for a large cheese pizza, and he realizes that Luke is already right. He does feel a little better.

***

Luke is a little drunk. Calum is also a little drunk. Because you can’t have pizza without tequila? He doesn’t know anymore. This was probably a bad idea. Getting a little drunk on a bad day isn’t a habit he should be getting into. But one time does not a habit make, he reasons, plus Luke is really cute when he’s drunk, free with both laughter and affectionate little touches.

They’ve been dancing around the kitchen island to One Direction for at least twenty minutes, inspired by Calum’s passing comment about how odd it was for him to catch Luke humming along with One Direction when he was putting together Calum’s dresser. They’ve yelled along with What Makes You Beautiful and Drag Me Down, and they’re both a little sweaty and out of breath from their efforts.

Luke undoes a couple of buttons on his shirt, pulling the fabric away from his body and shaking it to circulate some cool air. Calum snickers and shakes his head, because sure, why not. He’s been spending the evening thinking about how nice it is having Luke around to listen to him and cheer him up, and how lucky he is just to know him. It was about time he got a reminder that Luke is also really fucking beautiful. Calum’s sex dream did not do his chest justice, that’s for sure.

“What?” Luke asks self-consciously, eyes wide and a little hazy with alcohol.

Calum leans over the island, bracing his hands on the edge of the counter, and shakes his head again. “Nothing.”

“No, what? Tell me.” Luke looks genuinely distressed, which Calum hates.

“Do people tell you you’re pretty?” Calum asks. Luke frowns at him, and the thought crosses his mind that maybe this isn’t an appropriate line of questioning, but as quickly as the thought occurs to him, it slips away, and he presses on. “Like, not fans. People you know, whose opinion matters to you? Do they tell you you’re pretty?”

“Sometimes maybe?” Luke says, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Not…not really? I don’t know. Why?”

Fantastic question. Calum doesn’t know why, only that it is suddenly very important to him. “Because you are, but you’re so self-conscious, it seems like maybe—like maybe no one is telling you. No one who matters.”

“What about you?” Luke counters, grinning and raising his eyebrows at Calum, dodging the implied follow-up question entirely. “Do people tell you you’re pretty?”

“Yeah right,” Calum scoffs. “I don’t even know anyone.”

“You know me,” Luke says.

“I know you, Michael, Ashton and Jeff. And no, none of you have told me I’m pretty,” Calum says with a syrupy-sweet smile.

“You’re not pretty.”

“Thanks, asshole,” Calum replies lightly, trying to decide if he needs to be offended or not. It’s not like he really thought Luke would find him attractive, but to just outright say—

“You’re not pretty, but you’re hot. It’s different,” Luke muses, studying Calum like he’s a painting hanging in a museum.

Calum is drunk enough that he doesn’t panic, but not so drunk that he actually knows what to say. “I guess we’re even, then,” he settles on. “You’re pretty, I’m hot, and we both need to find new friends.”

Luke laughs at that, and it’s not that Calum has never heard his laugh before, but it sounds sweeter than usual, and it reminds Calum of his breakfast. “Thanks for the Cal-ssant this morning, by the way,” he says, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water.

Luke’s already-pink cheeks get just a little bit pinker. “You were supposed to forget I ever said that,” he whines, watching Calum take a sip from the water bottle. “But I’m glad you liked it.”

“You’re spoiling me.” Calum holds the water bottle out to Luke and grabs it from him, taking a long drink. Calum watches his throat move as he swallows. “At this rate I’m never going to want to move out.”

“Maybe that’s my goal,” Luke says with a shrug, passing the water back to Calum.

***

A few days later, Luke insists they go for a drive down the coast at sunset. He’s strangely adamant, harping in Calum’s ear all day long about it, as if Calum would ever say no to something Luke wanted to do.

It’s nearly dusk and they’re on a stretch of road that’s shockingly quiet, the Pacific Ocean on their right and palm trees dotting the horizon in front of them, tall shadows against the multicolored sky – swirls of blue and gold and pink and purple. Luke’s driving, and Calum studies his profile as he sings along with his own band’s demos. 

This is why Luke had wanted to go for a drive. He wanted Calum to hear a handful of new songs 5SOS is recording for their album, and he let it slip that he couldn’t bear the thought of just sitting and watching Calum listen to them, so they’re driving instead, giving Luke a distraction while Calum sits in quiet awe of Luke’s talent; of the band’s talent; of the fact that he knows humans who can create this kind of art from nothing. 

The song they’re listening to now is vibey and ambient, filled with 80s synths and passionate vocals that stir something in Calum’s gut. He’s trying to catch all the lyrics, but many of them get lost in the wind as the breeze cuts through the car. It seems like a story of undercover romance or hidden infatuation. It’s sad and yearning and sexy and sweet all at once. It’s perfect for this moment, driving with the windows down as the sky and the ocean slowly fade to black around them.

“I love this one.” Calum bops his head along to the beat. “It’s happy and sad at the same time,” he says, trying to articulate how the song makes him feel. He didn’t do a very good job of it, but Luke perks up at his words nevertheless.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, and he’s smiling, but it’s a bittersweet sort of smile. Just like the song. “That’s exactly what it’s supposed to be.”

Calum feels Luke’s eyes on him as the song finishes, and he closes his eyes so he’s not tempted to look back. He takes a deep breath, smelling the ocean salt in the air mixed with that special Luke scent. His skin is buzzing pleasantly, getting just the perfect combination of sensory input to make his body hum. It’s one of those moments he’d like to remember forever, where he feels alive and everything is alright.

They drive a bit more, until the sun sets completely and the sky is filled with stars. They stop at an odd little coffee shop off the side of the road, brightly illuminated with an excessive amount of twinkle lights, including elaborate displays of LED flowers strung over the beachside patio. The shop itself is filled with unusual art and all sorts of quirky little baubles, and it’s busy for the late hour, filled to the brim with clientele that could all pretty much be categorized as aging hippies. They all seem to know each other, and their enthusiastic conversation and amiable laughter echoes loudly off the walls.

Calum and Luke order their drinks and escape out to the patio, which is almost empty now that the sun has set and the temperature has dropped to a few degrees below comfortable. “Let’s go over there,” Luke says, pointing to a couple of weathered egg chairs at the edge of the patio under a cluster of purple twinkle lights. 

“Sure,” Calum says, leading the way. “I’ve always wanted to sit in one of these.” He drops into one of the chairs, laughing as he spreads his limbs out wide to take up the expanse of the large chair. “I love it. You should get one,” he tells Luke, who’s hovering nearby, watching Calum. “It’s like an adult blanket fort.”

Luke laughs, and his eyes are soft under the purple glow. “Maybe I will. Gotta test drive one first, though.” And then he’s climbing in next to Calum, ice rattling in his cup as he folds himself inside the egg, pushing Calum’s arms and legs out of the way to make room.

“Hey!” Calum protests weakly. “My egg!” He fumbles to keep a solid grip on his drink, tucking it in between his hip and the edge of the chair before it goes flying.

“Am I not allowed in your egg?” Luke asks with a cheeky smile, setting his own cup against the top of this thigh, the side of which is now pressed against Calum’s. “I let you live in my house and this is how you repay me? No egg access?” He pouts, and Calum’s heart lurches at just how fucking cute he is. It’s obnoxious, really. No one should be allowed to be this...everything. Luke is everything, and Calum wants everything.

“You can always have access to my egg,” Calum finds himself saying. He’s gotten used to ignoring these moments, the ones where he’s overcome with how much he loves Luke. He knows how to push through and pretend everything is normal and fine. “I’d just prefer if you asked first so I don’t spill my drink all over my lap.”

“Calum,” Luke says seriously, “Can I access your egg?”

With as much formality as he can muster, Calum says, “Yes, Luke, make yourself at home in my egg.” He holds his hand out and swoops his arm out in front of him, presenting the egg chair.

Giggling, Luke accepts the invitation by snuggling against Calum, which Calum had maybe hoped would happen, but also didn’t quite expect to happen. Luke is touchy and Calum knows that, but somehow he still never expects it. It’s a pleasant little surprise every time Luke touches him, a head on his shoulder while they watch TV, or a reassuring hug at the end of a long day of band promo. 

Whatever the touch, Calum tries to appreciate it like it’s the last time Luke will ever touch him, because he never knows when that time might come. Tonight, he allows himself to play with Luke’s hair a little as he sips his drink, watching the way the reflection of the purple lights shifts with the movement of Luke’s curls through Calum’s fingers. It’s softer than Calum expects. He thought with the curly texture and all the product that gets run through Luke’s hair for photoshoots and appearances, it might be a little damaged, but it’s actually softer than Calum’s, each strand baby-fine.

“I like it in your egg,” Luke says lazily, sipping his drink and looking out across the dark beach in front of them.

***

By some miracle, Calum wakes up rested and refreshed when his alarm goes off the next morning. It doesn’t happen often, and Calum savors the feeling as he flings off his sunshine-splattered covers and stretches slowly, taking in the beautiful view of the sun rising over the hills outside his window. It’s one of those moments that makes Calum feel like he made the right choice; moving to LA. Like this is how it’s supposed to be, he belongs here, and everything is right in the world just for a moment. 

He rolls out of bed and grabs his keys off the top of the Malm, planning to go pick up coffee for him and Luke while he’s feeling awake and motivated. When he gets downstairs, he sees that Luke is already awake, sitting on the sofa and watching something on his laptop while he scratches Petunia behind the ears. Calum tugs on his shoes and calls out, “Morning, Luke!”

When he looks up from tying his shoes, Luke is staring at him with an amused smile and wide eyes. That’s when he hears the voices; Michael’s high-pitched laugh, paired with an unfamiliar female voice yelling, “Good morning, stranger in Luke’s house!”

Calum cringes, putting the pieces together and remembering that today is Wednesday, and on Wednesday the band has a livestream interview with a radio station in England, bright and early at 7 a.m. to accommodate the time difference. He mouths “ sorry!” to Luke and tries to slip out into the garage, but Luke’s voice stops him.

“That’s just my roommate, Calum,” Luke says. “I’m not getting murdered or anything. At least I don’t think I am.” He turns to look at Calum. “Are you going to murder me, Cal?” He has a bratty little grin on his face and Calum wants to kiss it off him.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but I might now,” he says, unsure if anyone besides Luke can hear him. Talking to The People is not in his job description, as far as he knows, and he’d prefer to keep it that way.

The woman, presumably the radio station DJ, says loudly, “Everyone’s extremely curious about the elusive Calum! Have him come say hello!” 

Fuck radio station DJs, now and forever. Calum’s eyes widen and Luke snickers, gesturing for him to come over. “What do you say, Cal? Say hello to your adoring fans?”

He’s faintly aware of the fact that people kind of know who he is. He gets credited on the band’s social media posts often, and when he’s out and about with them, it’s inevitable that fans have started to make the connection to understand who Calum is and what he does. It’s a little disconcerting, but he’s not important enough to matter – not important enough that he feels like people are paying attention to him. Putting himself out there as Luke’s roommate is bound to open up a can of worms, but Luke’s already told them. Whether he shows his face on a livestream or not isn’t going to put that horse back in the barn.

He’s still wearing his pajamas– sweatpants and an old band T-shirt that’s full of holes. His hair is probably a mess. There’s a high likelihood he has dried drool crusted on his face somewhere. But Luke is looking at him eagerly, like he’s excited to show Calum off, and that, more than anything, is what convinces him. 

He wipes the sleep from his eyes and strides over to the sofa, dropping down next to Luke heavily and waving dramatically at the camera. “Hello, everyone. I am the elusive Calum. I’m happy to report I will not be murdering Luke this morning.” He barely even looks at the laptop screen in front of him before he starts to get up to run away, but Luke’s arm loops around his shoulders and pulls him into a side hug before he can escape.

“Where are you off to so early?” Luke asks, ruffling Calum’s hair. It’s weird, because it’s not that it’s out of character for Luke, exactly, but something about it feels practiced, like Luke is putting on a show for the thousands of invisible people watching them right now. He probably is. It’s his job to put on a show, and he’s on the clock.

“Coffee run,” Calum says. “I was gonna bring you back a vanilla iced coffee.”

“Oh!” Luke’s face softens, and now he’s looking at Calum like he usually does, and Calum forgets for a moment that there’s anyone watching them. It seems like maybe Luke does too, eyes stuck on Calum’s for a long moment as he smiles gratefully. “I would love a vanilla iced coffee.”

“Then you’ll have one,” Calum replies, smiling softly back and patting Luke on the knee. “In approximately an hour, because that’s how long it’s gonna take me to get to Verve and back,” he adds flatly as he stands up, remembering the conversation they had the first day he moved in. Luke was right. It takes fucking forever to get anywhere from his house.

Laughing, Luke lets him go, then says to the DJ as Calum walks away, “Calum takes good care of me. Keeps me in caffeine and cuddles.” It feels like a wink at the activities of their previous evening, but Calum’s probably reading too much into it.

All he can do is keep walking, out the door and into the garage, but his chest feels like it’s exploding. He can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly; what this feeling is that’s making him want to combust, or why Luke’s offhand comment brought it to the surface. There are too many feelings. Calum’s tired of feelings.

***

“Cal! Come help me pick out an outfit for this interview!” Calum sets down his iced coffee and follows the sound of Luke’s voice down the hallway and into his room.

It feels strange being in Luke’s room, like he’s breaking an unwritten rule. He’s passed it so many times, let his eyes roam quickly over every little detail he could pick out in the two seconds it took him to walk by the open door. Now that he’s in, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room with his hands clasped behind his back and pretends like he’s extremely interested in the gray paint on the wall.

Luke is inside the walk-in closet, back to Calum. “What do you need?” Calum asks, gently so he doesn’t startle Luke.

“What do you think I should wear?”

“What’s wrong with what you’re already wearing?” Calum can see Luke’s back, arms lifted as he rifles through the shirts hanging at the back of the closet. He’s wearing a white sleeveless cotton shirt; just a plain, simple thing, tucked in to faded blue jeans. But stretched across Luke’s broad back and shoulders, it may as well be art as far as Calum is concerned.

Luke turns around and Calum drops his head quickly so Luke doesn’t see the blush on his face from being caught staring. Luke is oblivious enough he probably didn’t even notice, but that doesn’t stop the embarrassment from flooding through Calum’s veins. “Isn’t it kind of boring, though?” Luke asks, smoothing his hands over his shirt as he comes closer.

“Not boring. Simple. It will let your natural beauty shine,” Calum says with a chuckle that he hopes adequately covers up the fact that he’s not joking at all. Not even a little bit. Luke still looks skeptical, but Calum has a trump card and he knows it. “Plus, it shows off your tattoo.” Calum reaches out, lets his hand get dangerously close to brushing the tattoo on Luke’s right bicep, then lets his hand drop awkwardly back to his side.

It works. Luke grins. “That’s true. And I haven’t been skipping arm day lately. Might as well show ‘em off, right?” Calum can’t come up with a professionally-appropriate response, so he stays quiet. Luke spins around and falls backward onto the bed, arms behind his head, and lets out a contented sigh. “Now that’s sorted I can relax for a few minutes.” His eyes slip closed.

Calum is still just standing at the foot of the bed like a statue looming over Luke. What is he supposed to do? Leave Luke alone for a power nap? Stand there and watch Luke sleep so he can gently shake him awake when it’s time for them to leave? Calum can’t believe he’s getting paid to do this. Luke is a vision sprawled out on the bed below him, hummingbird tattoo and those broad shoulders now perfectly on display. Calum swallows and averts his eyes to the wall behind the bed while he tries to figure out what to do next.

“Stop hovering, Cal.” Luke’s mumble startles him, and he looks back down, and now it’s even worse because Luke’s looking directly at him, and now Calum has to deal with the ocean blue of Luke’s eyes in addition to everything else.

“Sorry. I can—” Calum gestures at the door, but before he can finish his sentence, Luke’s tapping him on the thigh with his bare foot.

“Sit down.”

Calum sits.

He’s on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor with his back to Luke so he doesn’t have to deal with looking at him.

“Not like that,” Luke whines. He pats the space next to him on the bed. “Get comfortable. You deserve a break too.”

Calum deserves a break, all right. He deserves a break from the constant pain of being absolutely obsessed with his employer and roommate who is one hundred percent out of his league. He slides his Vans off and tentatively lays down on his back next to Luke, shivering a little when his head accidentally brushes up against Luke’s arm. He jerks his head away quickly, but Luke’s arm is still close. Calum can smell his deodorant, mixed with sweat, probably fresh right off of his armpit, given that it’s literally six inches from Calum’s nose. To his disgust, he’s not grossed out by it. Much the opposite.

Calum closes his eyes and tries to forget where he is. His body is buzzing from being so close to Luke, and there’s no way he’s going to be able to relax with Luke sprawled out in bed next to him unless he makes his mind absolutely blank. He tries to remember the breathing exercises from his free week on a meditation app. Tries to be in his own body instead of thinking about Luke’s, inches away.

“Do you think I’m fake?” Luke’s voice pierces the silence, and Calum’s eyes fly open, but he doesn’t dare look at Luke.

“What?”

“Like. Am I different than I come off in interviews and stuff? Now that you know me?”

“Obviously the way you act in interviews is just one part of your personality, but it’s still you.”

“Right, but—” Luke hesitates, sighs as he gathers his thoughts. “The other parts. Are they bad?”

Now Calum can’t help but turn to look at Luke; he needs to see whether this is actually a serious question. Luke’s face is solemn and he’s fiddling with his rings anxiously. “No,” Calum insists. “They’re not bad. What are you even talking about?”

“Sometimes I just think…there are all these people who think I’m this specific thing. They have this idea of me in their mind, and I can’t help thinking how disappointed they’d be if they actually knew me.”

“Some of them probably would be,” Calum says lightly. Luke groans quietly, but Calum presses on before he can wallow. “But that’s their problem, not yours! You’re a good person with the best of intentions, but you’re not perfect. No one is. Most of your fans know that and love you anyway. A lot of them love you because of your flaws, and admire the way you are always trying to be better.” Calum should know. Half his job is basically spying on Luke’s fans.

It’s quiet, and Calum is worried that he somehow made things worse. He never knows what to say in these kinds of situations. He doesn’t know how to make people feel better. But he understands Luke’s desire to be liked; to be worthy of the attention he gets.

“Do you really think that?” Luke asks softly.

“I don’t just think it. I know it.” He lets his eyes close again.

“You don’t really know me, though.”

“Don’t I?” Calum is a little offended, because even though they haven’t known each other very long, it feels like they have. Time is different when you’re living and working with someone, and Calum feels like he’s tuned in to Luke like they’ve known each other forever. Yeah, he knows Luke.

“I mean, you do, but – you don’t know what I’ve done. Before you knew me. You haven’t seen me at my worst.” Luke throws his arm across his face and the sunlight catches on his rings, reflecting silver sparks on the ceiling.

“Maybe not,” Calum concedes. “But does it really matter what you’ve done in the past? That doesn’t necessarily reflect who you are today.”

“Fuck, Cal.” It’s quiet and calm. There’s no anger or sadness or frustration behind it. It just is.

“Yeah.” Calum closes his eyes.

He feels the mattress shift around him and then he feels weight on his shoulder. Hair tickling his cheek. Warmth on his chest. He cracks an eye open, and he’s met with the sight of Luke’s gold curls on his shoulder and Luke’s silver rings against his chest.

***

There’s a girl pressed against him. An extremely beautiful girl, with perfectly styled wavy blonde hair and deep purple manicured nails. Calum’s not sure he ever caught her name. He’s not really paying attention to her anyway.

He’s watching Luke, who’s in the kitchen, laughing and leaning into a beautiful girl of his own as Ashton animatedly talks at him with both his hands and mouth. The girl is dark-haired and wide-eyed, with tan skin and full lips and curves in all the right places, shown off perfectly by her miniskirt and a low-cut top. Calum wants to hate her simply for being beautiful and having Luke’s attention, but she has a genuine, friendly smile. He can’t quite find it in himself to hate her.

He feels incredibly out of place. There are actual celebrities here, in Luke’s fucking living room. It’s funny how when you see a celebrity, your brain doesn’t really process it at first. It just thinks Hey, a familiar person! I should wave and say hello! It’s not until you’re already politely waving at the person as they stare at you blankly that it clicks – they have no idea who you are. You don’t know them, not really.

It’s happened to Calum at least three times at this party. He’s not sure what the party is for. Maybe nothing. He’s not sure he’d even have been invited if he didn’t live here. It probably would have been better off if he weren’t, because he doesn’t know how to function in this environment at all.

It’s too many attractive people in one place. Too much money and beauty and talent. Everyone knows everyone, or is at least good at pretending they do once they’ve had a couple of drinks. Calum feels so inadequate; plain and boring and quiet.

He’s just been sitting on the far corner of the sofa with a drink in his hand the whole party. Occasionally someone will approach him and he’ll chat with them for a few minutes, silently counting the seconds until they leave him alone. It’s mostly been girls. He suspects most of them just assume that since he’s at Luke’s party, he must be someone worth talking to, which couldn’t be further from the truth. But the blonde that’s currently plastered to his side brought him a drink, which was nice.

Early in the night, he’d considered getting drunk enough that he might actually loosen up and enjoy himself, but in the end he just didn’t have the energy. He should just go upstairs and shut himself in his room, but there’s something keeping him from leaving, something compelling him to stay where he can keep an eye on Luke.

It’s a nasty something, that same tickle in his brain that makes him want to push on a bruise or peel a sunburn a little too far. He wants to torture himself by watching Luke out here with all these people, every one of them more than Calum in some way. He wants to see Luke looking beautiful and being magnetic, being everything Calum wants but can never have. He wants to make himself miserable.

Every so often Luke will catch his eye from across the room and give him an oblivious smile, completely unaware of the turmoil in Calum’s brain. Luke’s just drunk enough that it’s probably unreasonable for Calum to expect him to be perceptive enough to see Calum’s discomfort, but he still feels bitter that Luke just goes on having a good time while he hides in the corner.

The blonde girl next to him catches him staring at Luke and pets his arm to pull his attention. It makes his skin crawl and he tries not to shudder. “Am I boring you?” she coos into his ear.

He’s honestly not sure if she’s been talking to him; too preoccupied with his own thoughts. But he doesn’t want to be impolite, and a hot girl is a hot girl, even if she’s not what he wants tonight, or possibly ever again. “No, you’re not boring me,” he says, forcing himself to make eye contact with her. Her fake eyelashes are so long and heavy they seem to be pulling her eyelids down with their weight. It makes her look like one of those porcelain dolls, with the eyelids that close when the doll is laid flat and open back up when it's set upright.

“Then why do you keep looking in the kitchen?” she asks, pouting and ticking her voice up a little higher.

“Sorry.” His eyes drift to the kitchen again. He can’t fucking help it. The pretty brunette is laughing at something Luke said, and he’s recklessly pushing his hair back off his forehead with both hands, looking at the girl with something in his eyes that makes Calum want to combust for a million different reasons, none of which he can name. He just feels it, twisting in his stomach, somewhere between pleasant butterflies and painful cramps. “I was just thinking of getting a refill. Would you like something?”

He stands, hoping this will be his opportunity for escape. To where, he doesn’t know. He just wants to be able to watch Luke and tie himself in knots in peace.

“I’m good, thanks,” the girl says, holding up her nearly-full drink glass and shifting to cross her legs, putting a wide swath of her bare thigh on full display for Calum. “Hurry back,” she says with a flirty smirk.

He hates this. He hates that this girl who doesn’t know him at all is shamelessly flirting with him, probably only because he happens to be at this party. It all feels so gross and fake and disingenuous. He doesn’t want to spend time with people who are interested in him for all the wrong reasons; who would never look twice at him if it weren’t for his association with a celebrity.

When he gets to the kitchen, Luke is still there, and Calum makes a point to ignore him as blatantly as possible as he refills his glass at the opposite end of the island. He watches in his peripheral vision as Luke whispers something in the cute brunette’s ear and then leaves her with Ashton, circling the island to approach Calum.

“Calum!” he yells, sliding an arm around Calum’s shoulders and pulling him tight into his side. His fingers skim Calum’s upper arm, and it makes Calum’s skin hum. “Good to see you, man! You’ve been hiding in the other room all night!”

Oh, so he has noticed. Calum’s not sure if that makes it better or worse. “Saw you talking to a pretty girl,” Luke continues, dropping his other hand to Calum’s waist and shaking him. He knew Luke was a touchy drunk, but shit, this is just salt in the wound.

“They’re all pretty girls,” Calum replies, more forcefully than he had intended.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Luke asks, baffled but not defensive. Calum is thankful he can’t see Luke’s face from this angle. He keeps his eyes trained on the counter in front of him.

“You know.” He tries to keep his voice lighter, less accusatory. It’s not Luke’s fault Calum’s out-of-place and a glutton for punishment. “Everyone here is pretty or rich or famous or all three. It’s…a lot. I don’t fit in with these people.”

He regrets saying it immediately. This isn’t the time or place for this kind of conversation. Luke is drunk and trying to have a good time. Calum is only going to be disappointed if he tries to talk about anything real with Luke under these circumstances.

“Sure you do,” Luke replies squeezing Calum against him again. “You fit in better than I do, even. You don’t even have to try and you’ve got girls all over you.”

“Speaking of which,” Calum deflects, “That girl you’ve been talking to all night is really your type, huh?”

“Oh,” Luke says, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him until Calum mentioned it. Yeah, right. “I guess she kind of is.” His voice perks up, bright with curiosity. “How do you know my type?”

“I’m observant,” Calum replies, focusing on his words instead of the feeling of Luke’s warmth next to him. It’s the least-creepy way he can think to say I pay attention to literally everything you do. “There’s that barista at Verve who kinda looks similar, and you always flirt with her.”

Luke laughs, realizing he’s been caught. “I guess I do.” He steps back, finally releasing Calum from his grasp so he can look at him.

“Is that girl your type?” he asks, nodding toward the sofa where Blondie is still perched with legs on full display.

“Actually,” Calum says, “She kind of is. But I’m not really interested.” In theory, she is just his type – she’s Luke with boobs and a miniskirt.

“Why not?” Luke presses, suddenly sounding extremely serious and coherent. Maybe he’s not as drunk as Calum thought.

“She doesn’t know me at all. She’s only interested in me because I know you.”

“You don’t even want to, like, just hook up with her? A one-time thing?” The upbeat music playing throughout the house seems to get louder. Luke’s eyes are studying Calum with unfocused frustration. He’s trying to solve something, but he’s had one too many glasses of tequila to find the answer; or maybe even to understand what the problem is in the first place.

“Not really, no. That’s…not my thing,” Calum says, hoping it comes off as casual. In reality he feels almost embarrassed about it. Not because he’s ashamed, but because it’s just another way he doesn’t seem to fit into Luke’s life.

It’s not that Calum is inexperienced. He’s had plenty of sex. He just hasn’t had it with that many people. His sexual encounters have all been tied to long-term relationships, or at least long-term hook-ups. Luke’s probably lost count of how many people he’s been with, but Calum can count his sexual history on one hand. He can only imagine the experiences Luke has had with one-night stands and casual hook-ups. So many beautiful people. So many people willing to do anything to please him.

“I get that, man,” Luke says, clasping a hand on Calum’s shoulder. “It’s not really my thing either, anymore.”

“It used to be?” Shit, shit, shit. He shouldn’t have asked. He already knows, but hearing it directly from Luke will just make it worse, because then it’s real.

He doesn’t expect Luke to look pained by his question, but he casts his eyes down and his mouth turns into a frown, and Calum hates seeing him this way; much more than he hates feeling like the odd one out at this party.

“I’m not proud of it,” Luke says flatly. “It’s not – I have to live with my past, but that’s not who I am now. It’s not really who I was then. I just – I was stupid and lost and LA and everything —” he twirls his finger in a circle “—had me really fucked up. So I did some stupid shit that I regret.” He blinks slowly, jaw clenched.

Calum wonders if Luke remembers their conversation a few days ago, when Luke suggested Calum wouldn’t think he was a good person if he knew about everything Luke had done in the past. Why is he so stuck on this? Why can’t he seem to forgive himself?

This is such an absurd conversation to be having in the middle of a crowded party, but Calum can’t help himself. Now that they’ve having it, he wants to know everything. He wants to push the bruise. But more than that, he wants Luke to smile again.

He carefully places his hand on top of Luke’s, where it still rests on his shoulder, and gives it a quick pat. “Everyone does stupid shit when they’re young. And you probably had a million more opportunities to be stupid than an average person. It sounds like you’ve learned and matured. I don’t think you should beat yourself up about it.” 

It’s not enough. Calum knows it’s not. It’s just a variation of what he told Luke before, and obviously that hadn’t helped, or they wouldn’t be here again. Suddenly Luke’s eyes are on his, worried and earnest and a little watery, and fuck why is the music so loud. 

“I thought it was what I wanted, but it only made things worse,” Luke says, finally letting his hand drop from Calum’s shoulder. His body stays hunched, shoulders pulled in on themselves like he’s bracing for impact. He smiles sadly.

Calum just looks at him. Hopes that his eyes tell Luke what his brain can’t find the words for. Hopes that Luke knows he can say anything to Calum, or nothing, and Calum will love him just the same either way.

Luke’s eyes dart around the kitchen, scanning the crowd of bodies around them while his teeth work against his bottom lip. He looks back to Calum and forces a bigger smile — it’s almost scary how genuine he can make it look when Calum knows full well he’s faking it. 

“It’s whatever. Hook-ups were easy. I was using them to fill a void but—” he pauses and picks up his glass of tequila off the counter, polishing it off with one large swallow. “Surprisingly, that shit doesn’t work.” He sounds looser now, like just saying the words is unwinding something pulled tight inside him and allowing him to breathe more easily. 

“The sex part was great, most of the time, but the people were meaningless to me and I was meaningless to them. An orgasm does not equal finding someone to love you and want you for who you are as a human.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Took me way too long to figure that one out.”

Calum keeps his voice as neutral as possible, staring at that tiny little scar under Luke’s lip instead of looking him in the eye. “Sure, but isn’t it nice to have the option? Until you find someone?” He registers the sound of a shriek from somewhere in the direction of the living room, followed by a loud giggle, but neither he nor Luke turn to look.

With a self-deprecating eye roll, Luke says, “It doesn’t make me feel any better about myself, if that’s what you mean. You see how easy it is to get someone to go home with you for the wrong reasons.” Luke nods toward Blondie, who’s finally given up waiting on Calum and has latched on to a guy in a gaudy neon shirt.

It’s a fair point. But one pretty blonde at one party is nothing, really, compared to what Luke probably experiences. “I guess,” Calum says unconvincingly. It doesn’t really matter. It’s not about whether Calum has people throwing himself at him or not; it’s about the fact that Luke almost definitely does, and it makes Calum feel like he can’t breathe every time he thinks about it.

He’s annoying himself with how fixated he is on this. Why can’t he just accept that Luke can probably go anywhere and immediately have his pick of anyone he wants? It’s not jealousy, exactly. It’s the way he feels like this is the one thing keeping him from truly understanding Luke as a complete person, because he can’t relate at all. What must it be like for Luke to know he has this kind of power, to have anyone? What does that do to a person like Luke, who seems to think he’s never enough?

Calum is about to ask if Luke wants to find someone who loves him. Surely if he did want to, he could. It’s probably not the right time or the right place, but he’s not going to get another opportunity like this. But before he can seize it, whatever moment of calm and clarity Luke is having seems to dissolve in an instant, and suddenly Luke is giggling and launching himself into Calum’s arms. 

“We’re having fun, Cal!” He yells into Calum’s ear as he pulls him in for a tight hug, wrapping his hand around the back of Calum’s head and squeezing gently at his neck. There’s so much Calum should be paying attention to, but all he can seem to register is how fucking warm Luke feels against him. “None of this emo bullshit,” Luke says, pulling away as abruptly he came. Calum can feels his body physically clenching at the sudden loss of contact. Luke picks up his empty glass and points it at Calum. “You need another drink.”

Calum starts to protest — he really does not want to get drunk tonight, because he can just tell it wouldn’t end well if he did. He’ll end up crying alone in his room, or saying something he’ll regret in the morning, or even both, if he’s really lucky. But then Luke says, swiping a bottle of tequila off the counter, “Let’s go upstairs. It’s quieter.”

Calum follows him.

***

It still feels a little wrong being in Luke’s room, and when Luke shuts the door behind them, Calum’s chest bubbles anxiously. The sounds of the party still drone in the background, the heavy thud of bass echoing through the walls.

Luke sets the bottle of tequila on his nightstand and kicks off his boots, giggling when he stumbles over them and falls back onto the bed. He stays there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and laughing, and Calum watches the charm on his silver necklace bounce on his chest in the gap left by his mostly-unbuttoned shirt.

This was a very bad idea. 

“C’mere, Cal.” Luke sits up and beckons for Calum to join him. He picks up the tequila, taking a sip and holding the bottle out to Calum. “Sit down, have a drink, make yourself at home.” He laughs again, clasping his hand over his mouth. “Fuck, you’re already at home, then, aren’t you?”

“Sure,” Calum replies with a shrug, “But this is your room. I’m still a visitor.”

“The guest of honor,” Luke announces, grinning and pulling on Calum’s wrist until he sits down. He holds out the bottle of tequila again, and this time Calum accepts it, taking a long drink. It’s mostly so he can stop looking at Luke’s face, pink-cheeked and shiny-eyed, and his exposed chest, and his rumpled curls. He can feel Luke’s eyes on him as he drinks, and he flushes, afraid that maybe somehow Luke can actually hear his thoughts.

As soon as Calum sets the bottle down, Luke curls into him, hugging him tightly around his waist and dropping his head against Calum’s shoulder. Calum stops breathing. “I’m glad you came to LA, Cal,” he says, voice muffled by Calum’s shirt. He can feel Luke’s hot breath on his shoulder and he fights the urge to shudder.

Tentatively, Calum places his own hand on Luke’s waist, letting it rest there so lightly he’s not convinced Luke can even feel it. “I’m glad I came, too, even if it was incredibly stupid. It’s worked out pretty well for me.” He smiles at that, because it really is true. LA certainly has its downfalls, but he likes the city, he likes his job, and he likes the people he spends his time with. He’s happy here, mostly. As happy as he could be anywhere.

Pulling away to get another drink, Luke asks, “What was Illinois Calum like?”

“You wanna hear about Illinois Calum, do you?” Snatching the bottle of tequila from Luke, Calum crawls to the head of the bed, falling against the mountain of pillows next to the headboard. He takes another long drink, because drunk Luke is all hands and giggles, and if Calum is drunk too, he can have an excuse to be all hands and giggles as well. 

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Luke says. “But get your nasty-ass shoes off my bed first.”

“Whatever you want, Rock Star,” Calum teases, handing Luke the bottle so he can reach down and tug off his boots. He tosses them to the floor and they land with an angry thud, which for some reason sends him and Luke both into a fit of laughter.

“Thank you. World’s best roommate award goes to you.” Luke nestles himself against Calum’s side and Calum’s stomach drops, a horrible clenching sensation that feels like guilt and anticipation and lust and back to guilt again. 

“Illinois Calum, then,” Luke prompts, fingers toying with the pendant on Calum’s necklace. He’s looking up at Calum with a sweet smile and anticipation in his hooded eyes, and Calum could kiss him. Wants to kiss him. Would kiss him, if the circumstances were any different.

“Illinois Calum was a pretty great guy,” Calum says, watching Luke’s thumb trace the edges of his necklace, how Luke’s fingers rise and fall with Calum’s chest as he breathes. It’s crazy, how something Calum is doing is physically impacting Luke in this small way. “Good at soccer, good at school, never caused any trouble.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, lightly pinching the apple of Calum’s cheek. “I bet you were the fucking prom king or something.”

“Homecoming,” Calum corrects with a grin. Luke laughs, shaking his head, and Calum wishes everything could just stop. He wants to stay here, in Luke’s bed, with Luke pressed against him, laughing and smiling. It’s not complicated here, with just the two of them.

“Of course you were. Wish I could have seen that. I bet you were cute with your crown.” Luke looks up at him, eyes wide and adoring, and Calum can almost trick himself into thinking it’s not just the effects of the alcohol. 

“The cutest.” Calum says sweetly. “I wish you could have seen it too. You would’ve been a way better date than Alexis O’Hare.”

Luke gasps. “Oh shit, was Alexis a bitch?” He stops playing with Calum’s necklace and flattens his hand over Calum’s chest. Maybe the tequila is starting to hit him, because Calum puts his own hand over Luke’s, and brings his other to Luke’s hair. It’s just right there. Begging to be played with. Who is Calum to deny such lovely hair the opportunity for some affection? 

He just touches it lightly at first, fingers skimming over the ends of the curls delicately. It’s just as soft as he remembers.

“The bitchiest. I only went with her because her best friend was dating my best friend and it was convenient. She didn’t even want to dance. Straight up refused. Why the fuck do you go to a dance if you’re not going to dance?”

“Was she popular?” Luke asks, destroying all of Calum’s willpower by leaning his head into Calum’s touch. Now what choice has he, but to bury his fingers fully in Luke’s hair and card them through it gently? 

“She was,” Calum confirms, watching in amazed confusion as Luke’s hand slides out from under his, only to thread their fingers together. His fingernails are a glittery silver, freshly painted just a few hours before the party. Calum runs his thumb over Luke’s thumbnail, mesmerized by the gritty texture of the polish.

“See, you never would have gone to Homecoming with me,” Luke says, watching Calum’s hand closely. “I wouldn’t have been cool enough to snag the fucking Homecoming King.”

“While I was at Homecoming, you were literally traveling the world as the lead singer of a rock band,” Calum says incredulously. “You were definitely cool enough to snag me.”

“You think?” Luke asks, pleased. 

Calum drops his hand from Luke’s hair to wrap his arm around Luke’s waist, hauling him in closer. The tequila has definitely hit, because he knows he probably shouldn’t be doing this; knows that he’s pushing his luck, but he can’t be bothered to care. And the fucked up thing about it is the way Luke responds, rolling onto his side and throwing a leg over Calum’s so he can tuck himself in closer.

“Definitely,” Calum says again with a laugh, experimentally running his hand over the side of Luke’s thigh, the one hitched over his own. He’s wearing these ridiculous purple pants, some sort of velvety material that Calum has been itching to touch all night. It just looks like it feels nice.

It does.

“I wouldn’t have known what to do with you, though,” he adds quietly. 

“You would’ve been the perfect gentleman, I bet,” Luke teases. “I hope you would have at least kissed me goodnight.” This is fine. Definitely the conversation they should be having right now, while they’re both drunk and tangled in each other, and Luke is still Luke and Calum is still just Calum.

“I didn’t kiss Alexis goodnight,” Calum boasts. He could tell she wanted it, but he wasn’t about to reward her for leaving him alone on the dance floor all night. “I’d kiss you goodnight, though,” he tells Luke. And more. More, more, more. But Calum can’t let himself think about it now, with Luke basically laying on top of him. He can feel that sex dream threatening to spill out of the dark closet inside his mind that he’d locked it into, and now is really not the fucking time.

Luke laughs, moving his hand high on Calum’s chest, rings cold against Calum’s bare collarbone. It feels so good, though. Cool and refreshing. The perfect complement to Luke’s warmth all over him. “I’m honored.” He hooks his chin on Calum’s shoulder, and Calum can almost feel Luke’s lips moving against his cheek when he asks, “Would you have taken me out on a second date?”

Surprised laughter bubbles out of Calum, and Luke laughs along with him, even though it’s entirely possible there’s nothing funny about this situation at all. “Of course I would have.” He pats Luke’s hand reassuringly. “As long as you were a decent kisser,” he amends, winding Luke up just for the fun of seeing his nose wrinkle and his eyes squint into a frown. 

“I’m a fucking amazing kisser, Calum,” Luke says haughtily, lifting himself up off Calum’s chest so he can stare him down. It’s meant to be teasing, but there’s something in Luke’s eyes that makes Calum shiver. 

“I’m sure you are, Rock Star.” He gathers Luke in his arms and pulls him back down, and Luke lands heavily, knocking a gasp out of both of them. There’s a charged beat of silence, and then they’re both laughing wildly.

“I’d prove it,” Luke says through wheezing laughter, “but I don’t want our first kiss to be when we’re drunk.”

Calum’s laughing and his head is spinning and he finds himself asking, “Why the fuck not?”

“Bad idea,” Luke says, eyes skimming lazily over Calum’s face unselfconsciously. “I’m not sure why right now. Because I’m drunk. But I’m pretty sure it’s a bad idea. I think.” And now he’s looking at Calum’s lips with fire in his eyes and all Calum can do is laugh, because what the fuck.

“Another time, then,” he says gleefully, and he’s not above asking Luke for a specific time and date so he can log it on his calendar and hold him to it like it’s Official Business.

“Or now.” Luke’s voice is low as he dips his head close to Calum’s, and either they sit like that forever, looking at each other, or time is crawling and every second feels like an hour. 

After approximately six years, Luke’s lips turn up into a smile, and he leans closer, and Calum thinks it’s happening, licks his lips on reflex. But then Luke presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek and pulls away, giggling, before settling back against Calum’s chest. “To tide us over,” he says, giddy and pleased with himself for some fucking reason that Calum can’t wrap his tequila-drenched brain around.

They fall asleep like that. Calum doesn’t remember it happening, but when he wakes up in the morning, his mouth is dry and fuzzy and Luke is still wrapped around him. 

He carefully pulls his phone out of his pocket and discovers several strongly-worded texts from Ashton in the group chat, indicating that he had picked up the slack and locked up the house after all the partygoers went home, despite the fact that he doesn’t live there. Yeah, whatever. Calum doesn’t care. He’s got more pressing concerns.

One - Luke. Just in general.

Two - Luke’s head on his chest.

Three - The fact that he is in Luke’s bed.

Four - The fact that Luke is going to wake up at some point, and they will need to have a conversation.

Five - The fact that Calum has no idea what that conversation should be or how it should go.

He just really, really doesn’t want this to be awkward.

“Ignore Ashton.” Luke’s words are barely intelligible, muffled by the way he’s nuzzling his head into Calum’s chest. Calum doesn’t know what he expected this moment to be like, but this certainly isn’t it. 

“You’re up?” he asks dumbly.

“Mmm.” Luke’s arm, draped loosely across Calum’s waist, grips him tighter, hugging him close. No. This is not what Calum expected at all.

“Ashton’s pissed, but he’s always pissed.” Luke finally lifts his head, propping his chin on Calum’s chest and looking at him with big, bleary eyes, and fuck if Calum doesn’t want to just grab him by the face and kiss him right now. The only reason he doesn’t is because he can literally feel how bad his breath smells. Luke smiles at him drowsily. His eyes have that same glazed adoration in them that they take on when he’s drunk. Calum needs to brush his teeth, like, immediately. 

He starts to roll out from under Luke. He’s a man with a plan: first, he’ll go brush his teeth, watching Luke the entire time to make sure he doesn’t move, then he will return to Luke’s bed, where he will proceed to initiate an intense makeout session. He will not pause at any point to consider whether or not this plan is a good one. 

“We should go rollerblading today,” Luke says, grabbing at Calum as he tries to roll away, keeping him pinned in place.

Really? He’s thinking about rollerblading right now? 

“Um. Okay, if that’s what you want?”

“We can make a day of it. Go to the beach, rollerblade, sit in the sun. Don’t you think that sounds fun?” Luke’s talking, but Calum’s barely listening, because Luke’s hand is causing some trouble, tracing  up and down Calum’s torso – across his chest, down around his belly button, back up again – torturously slow, and Luke doesn’t even seem to realize that he’s doing it.

Calum blames his honesty on the fact that Luke is draining the self-control out of him one drop at a time with every movement of his fingers. “I can think of a lot that sounds fun right now, but rollerblading isn’t at the top of the list.” Luke’s hand stills immediately.

“Oh, so you do know what you’re doing,” Calum accuses.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Luke replies defiantly, propping his chin on Calum’s chest and looking up at him coyly and fuck. Rollerblading? Really? Now?

“The shit-eating grin on your face says otherwise.”

“Can we please just rollerblade?” Luke asks. “I know there’s...stuff. We can deal with it later. I promise.”

It’s so incredibly vague that Calum kind of wants to shake Luke until he says words that mean something. But he also gets it. It’s dangerous territory, labeling something. He doesn’t know why rollerblading is so important to Luke right now. Obviously it’s not about the rollerblading, specifically. It could be anything that gets them out of this bed, probably.

Calum would think it’s a diversionary tactic to avoid addressing whatever the hell is happening between them, except Luke literally just acknowledged that there’s stuff, and he’s asking to spend the day with Calum rather than trying to escape. Maybe he just needs some time. Whatever it is, Calum’s going to give it to him, no questions asked.

“Sure, Luke. We can rollerblade.” Luke’s smile is all the reassurance Calum needs. Patting Luke’s hand excitedly, he adds, “I’ll even show you how to do the slidey thing!”

***

It’s not exactly early when they get to the beach, but it’s still early enough that it’s not very crowded, with just a few clusters of people spread around the sand, and an occasional exerciser jogging or rolling down the beachside trail. 

They’re back at Venice Beach, but now instead of the early dawn sky, it’s a perfect bright blue to match Luke’s eyes, without a single cloud. They’re seated at a sand-covered picnic table, securing their rollerblades and working up the courage to actually stand up. Calum’s fairly sure his muscle memory will allow him to stay upright. It’s been nearly a decade since he’s done this, but it’s probably like riding a bike, right? He’s tentative, but he puts on a show of being confident about it for Luke’s sake, standing and rolling a few inches away from the table. At least one of them needs to be confident they’re probably not going to die.

Luke, on the other hand, has never worn a pair of rollerblades in his life, and the second he tries to stand up, his knees turn inward and he stumbles like a baby giraffe, giggling with alarm and grabbing at Calum’s shoulders frantically. Calum slams forward into the side of the picnic table with a dramatic oof, and Luke’s chest crushes against his back with more force than should be possible for someone with zero velocity.

“I thought you didn’t want to do this today,” Calum jokes weakly, giving Luke an intentionally dark look over his shoulder.

“I didn’t say that,” Luke replies easily, gently pushing himself off Calum so there’s space between them, keeping himself steady and upright with hands on Calum’s shoulders. Calum slowly turns around, and is met with Luke’s wide smile. “Ready for the trail?” he asks, sliding his hands all the way down Calum’s arms until he can twine their fingers together.

“You’re a fucking tease,” Calum says, pulling his hands free so he can pass Luke his helmet. 

“You’re one to talk,” Luke pouts, tugging the helmet on over his hair and securing it under his chin, arranging the escaping curls carefully to keep them out of his eyes. 

He stumbles again, toppling to the side until Calum catches his elbow in his hand and steadies him. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re the one initiating the body slams.”

Luke glares at Calum accusingly. “Where to begin,” Luke says with an overly-casual tone, pulling Calum’s helmet off the table and shoving it into his chest. “Lounging provocatively in the pool. Making a show of stretching in front of me all the time. The fucking performance you put on at the gym.”

“Me ?” Calum exclaims defensively, voice high and shrill. It’s not that he’s not pleased with this development, because he really fucking is, but it’s only fair for Luke to understand how much he has been suffering too. “I was just jogging. You were the one acting out the kama sutra.” He wrestles his helmet on, struggling to situate it properly. 

Luke’s hands reach out and grab the sides of the helmet, straightening it on Calum’s head until it sits correctly. “That wasn’t my fault! Blame my trainer.” He smiles, buckling the helmet strap under Calum’s chin. “You even look hot in this stupid helmet.”

“You look cute in your helmet, too,” Calum says, basking in the secondhand joy that comes from giving Luke a compliment and seeing his eyes light up and a shy smile spread across his face. “I think I’ll actually send your trainer a fruit basket,” he adds, shielding his eyes from the brightness of the sun (or maybe it’s just Luke) with his hand.

Of course, the fruit basket is going to depend on whether Calum’s right about what he thinks is happening here. About whether or not he’s going to get to touch Luke in all the ways he’s wanted to for months, in addition to going out for coffee together in the morning and spending evenings cuddled on the sofa together. 

It’s scary, how fine the line between friends and more than friends can be. Calum probably could have been mostly happy just living with Luke, existing exactly the same way they have for the past few months. But it would have gotten hard eventually, when Luke started bringing people home, or when Calum realized he’d never find anyone he wanted in quite the same way as he wanted Luke. But they could have sustained it for a while, with Calum getting just enough from Luke to keep him going.

Now, though, he’s gotten a glimpse of what it would be like to have more, and he wants it so badly, but he’s scared to think too hard about it; scared to admit it could be real, in case he’s wrong and it all comes crashing down.

He carefully pushes off the picnic table and rolls himself toward the trail. “You ready for this?” He holds a hand out to Luke, and Luke clumsily skates over to him, rollerblades clomping hard against the ground as he tries to figure out how to generate momentum.

Laughing, Calum grabs his hand tightly and places a steadying arm across Luke’s back. “Glide, don’t march, Rock Star,” he chides.

“You’re such a condescending asshole,” Luke says, without any force behind it. “We can’t all be as extreme as middle school Calum.” But he adjusts his stride, mirroring the way Calum moves his feet, and pretty soon they’re moving at a decent clip, and eventually Luke is comfortable enough to release Calum’s hand, still sticking close to him in case he loses his balance and needs a shoulder to lean on.

It’s too loud to talk much, but Luke laughs to himself as they skate, gleeful when the wind hits their backs, slightly panicked when they go down a sloped section of the trail and pick up speed, but always with an undercurrent of joy. It’s overwhelming Calum’s senses, whipping past the boardwalk with the sun on his face and the salt on his skin and Luke by his side. He figures even if he’s completely wrong about this, even if Luke doesn’t want him the way Calum wants Luke, even if everything falls apart somehow, at least he got this moment.

***

After they’ve skated all the way to the Santa Monica Pier and back (with Luke whining about how he wished they could have ridden the Ferris Wheel), they’re both a little sweaty and a little breathless. They dump their skates in Luke’s car and buy ice cream cones from a quirky little shop in a hidden away alley. 

“I’m sorry they didn’t have any root vegetable flavors,” Luke cracks, licking from his cookies & cream cone as he leads them back down toward the sandy picnic table they’d started at in the morning. “Are you going to be okay with your mint chocolate chip?”

“I’ll need to be heavily consoled,” Calum says tragically, “But I think I will manage to survive.”

“I can console you,” Luke promises. “After I finish my ice cream, though.” He sits at the picnic table with his back to the table, facing the beach, and looks at Calum, a silent invitation.

“You were right,” Calum says, sitting down next to Luke and stretching his legs out in front of him, toes just barely touching the sand at the edge of the concrete slab under the table. “This was a good idea.”

“You had fun?” Luke asks, tilting his head to look carefully at Calum, eyes squinting into the sun. 

“I always have fun with you.” Calum catches a few stray drips of melting ice cream from the edge of his cone with his tongue. “It’s starting to feel like home.”

“LA is?”

“Sure,” Calum says with a shrug. “And you – your house,” he adds with a stammer. He probably should just tell Luke that he feels like home, get it out in the open, have the conversation. But he wants to honor Luke’s request to deal with it later; doesn’t want to ruin anything about this perfect day. 

“Yeah,” Luke says, nodding thoughtfully. “You might have to stay a while.” He smiles slyly at Calum and before Calum realizes what’s happening, Luke’s stealing a massive bite of ice cream off the top of his cone, grinning as he chews through the chocolate chunks.

“Motherfucker!” Calum yells, leaning across Luke to try to snag a bite of his cone in retaliation, but Luke’s insanely long arm is holding it out too far away for Calum to reach, and he ends up stretched hopelessly across Luke’s lap, so close to his face he can smell the mint and chocolate on his breath as Luke laughs at Calum’s failure.

He could turn his face and kiss him. Luke hasn’t moved; isn’t pushing him away. Maybe he wants Calum to kiss him. Maybe they need to talk first. A kiss could really fuck things up if Calum is misreading things. But last night, Luke said he didn’t want their first kiss to be while they were drunk. Calum said another time, and Luke hadn’t argued. Another time, like maybe now. Maybe Calum’s head is going to explode trying to make sense of this. 

He groans in frustration, and Luke interprets it to be ice cream related. Putting his cone in front of Calum’s face, Luke murmurs, “Here. Just don’t eat the part with the giant Oreo piece.”

It’s probably for the best. Calum takes a bite, leaving the Oreo for Luke, and settles back against the picnic table, letting the sun and the sound of the waves soothe his thoughts into nothingness while they sit silently and finish their ice cream.

***

As it turns out, iced coffee and ice cream isn’t enough to fuel a day of rollerblading and lounging on the beach in the hot sun. They’re starving when they get back to Luke’s, so focused on getting the sand washed off their skin that they didn’t even stop to think about dinner on the way home. After they rinse off, Calum offers to pick up tacos while Luke walks Petunia. 

Maybe this is it. They’ve done the rollerblading and the beach and the sitting in the sun. Maybe now it’s finally later, finally time to deal with it.  Calum’s nervous about it, but it’s a nice nervous. The same kind of nervous he felt when he flew to LA, like he was at the beginning of a new book by one of his favorite authors, and even though he wasn’t sure quite how it would go or how it would end, he was going to enjoy the story.

When he comes home with the tacos and sees Luke sobbing on the sofa, everything goes fuzzy in Calum’s brain, and his skin feels itchy and wrong, suddenly stretched incorrectly over his bones. His first instinct is to start sobbing himself. He doesn’t know why; nothing is wrong – aside from everything – but nothing is wrong with him, specifically. Five seconds ago he was smiling, excited to come home and spend the evening chatting shit with luke on the deck while they ate dinner and watched the sun go down, aggressively ignoring all the questions about what is happening between them in favor of just enjoying the moment and dealing with the consequences later.

Now, he’s shuddering in the entryway, shaking like a leaf while he stares at Luke, who is so consumed with pain or grief or whatever the fuck is happening that he hasn’t even noticed Calum yet.

He’s curled in a ball, like he always is when he’s at his best or his worst. Usually it’s a good thing; laughter or love. Sometimes it’s hiding, and Calum doesn’t like that, but it’s at least a problem he can attempt to help Luke solve. It’s not whatever this ugly thing is. 

Luke’s laid across the back of the sofa, facing the cushions so Calum can’t see his face. His shoulders are shaking and his breathing is ragged and uneven, an occasional gasp or audible shudder escaping from his throat. Calum doesn’t understand how such a terrible, painful sound can come from someone who usually sounds so beautiful. He doesn’t like it.

He’s feeling nauseous as he walks across the living room, unsure if and how he should intervene, but knowing that he can’t leave Luke like this. He’d tear himself into pieces worrying. Petunia is laying on the floor next to the sofa, looking up at Luke with concern in her eyes. Calum might die.

Instead, he drops the bag of takeout on the coffee table and sits down on the sofa near Luke’s feet. Luke doesn’t acknowledge him, just flings his arm over his face protectively. It’s not fast enough, though. Calum sees him, just for a second, with his cheeks red and blotchy, nose running, eyes swollen and bloodshot, but bluer than ever. Bluer than Calum can stand. The tracks of his tears are visible, and he’s a beautiful, broken thing that Calum wants to remember forever and erase from his brain completely. He doesn’t want to remember Luke ever feeling this way, but he doesn’t want to forget that he’s capable of it.

Reaching out to gently place his hand on Luke’s wrist, Calum whispers, “Luke?”

Luke shakes with a violent sob, then he grunts an indistinct acknowledgement, not an actual word, but a vague attempt at yeah, I’m alive.

Taking it as encouragement, Calum asks, “Can I give you a hug?” He doesn’t know why this is what he decided to say, of all things. All he can think is that Luke likes hugs; finds reassurance in touch, and Calum certainly doesn’t know what to say to fix whatever this is, but he does know how to hug.

Luke nods, still hiding his face in his elbow, and Calum tries his best to gather Luke in his arms. It’s awkward, and he ends up leaning over Luke and covering Luke’s body with his own chest, shielding him from everything outside of their bubble on the sofa. He tucks his head over Luke’s shoulder and they stay like that for a minute or two while Luke’s sobs die down. Calum can feel them vibrating through his body, and he realizes his own eyes are wet. What a fucking disaster of a friend he is. Or more-than-friend. He doesn’t know what they are, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, it’s not his biggest concern.

Luke sniffles, wiping at his eyes with his forearm, and Calum shifts to give him room to move around, bracing himself over Luke with one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on the cushion next to Luke’s shoulder. There’s a noise that sounds suspiciously similar to Luke’s laugh, and then Luke’s thumb is swiping under Calum’s eyes; right, then left, wiping away the tears.

When he’s done, Calum finally gets a good look at him, and he is smiling. It’s watery and sad, and his face is still a mess, but he’s fucking smiling. He sits up, pushing Calum up with him, and wraps his arms tightly around Calum’s waist, burying his head in Calum’s hair and hugging him properly. He doesn’t pull back, and he doesn’t say anything. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Calum asks, running his fingers through Luke’s tangled curls. He doesn’t know what he wants the answer to be. He knows nothing he says could possibly help, but he needs to know something isn’t horribly, irreparably broken. That whatever this is, it’s temporary, and Luke will be Luke again in the morning, grinning with his tongue between his teeth while he watches Calum try to convince Petunia to eat her joint health supplement.

“I really don’t,” Luke says, voice rough and cracking, “but I will.”

“You don’t have to, Rock Star.” Calum lets his fingers massage Luke’s scalp, down the back of his head, around the top of his neck. He can feel the muscles relaxing under his touch. “Why don’t you want to?”

“I’m scared.” His voice is so small. That won’t do. Calum shakes his head, and he feels Luke’s still-wet cheeks against his forehead. 

“Why are you scared?” He’s surprised how small his own voice sounds.

“I’m afraid it will change how you see me.”

“Is this the fucking I’m not a good person bullshit again?” Calum doesn’t mean to sound angry, but he hates that it keeps coming back to this; that Luke doesn’t understand. “I already know you think you’re fucked up, Luke, and no matter how many times you try to convince me you’re a terrible person, I have yet to see any evidence to support that. I doubt anything you say now will change my mind, and I’m kind of mad at you for thinking it would.” He squeezes Luke tightly, too tightly, and Luke stifles a laugh through a surprised oof.

He sighs deeply, burrowing into Calum’s arms and laying his head on his chest, hair dipping over his forehead so Calum can barely see his face; just the outline of Luke’s nose and lips in profile, pale and pink against Calum’s black T-shirt. “I, um, don’t have a great track record with relationships.” 

“Most single people don’t,” Calum says, desperate to pull the curls back from Luke’s face but understanding that Luke doesn’t want to be seen. He lets him keep hiding. Luke spends so much time under a microscope, he deserves to be able to hide every now and then.

“No, but I’m...I fuck it up. Like, I’m not just saying my relationships haven’t worked out. They crash and burn, and it’s awful, and everyone is hurt, and I’m pretty sure it’s always my fault.” A tear drips onto Calum’s shirt, staining the spot a slightly darker shade of black, and isn’t that an oxymoron? How can black be any darker? But somehow Luke’s sadness has found a way to do it.

Calum’s not quite clear on how they ended up here; how Luke is agonizing over his past relationships after they spent the day rollerblading in the sun. 

No, that’s not quite true. He does know how they ended up here, but he’s afraid of the why and the what happens next, so he’s choosing to ignore it.

He’d love to argue, to tell Luke of course it’s not always your fault, but he knows that’s a futile approach when Luke’s in one of these moods, so instead he asks, “What makes you think it’s always your fault?”

“When shit starts getting bad, I always make it worse.” He sniffles and pulls his legs up on the sofa, tucking his toes under Calum’s thigh. “I try so hard to do the right thing. But eventually it all gets to be too much and I give up and do something stupid.”

It’s vague, and Calum doesn’t want to push too hard. He chooses his words carefully. “What makes shit start getting bad?”

“I don’t know.” He tugs at his hair in frustration, and Calum resists the urge to pull his hands away. “Like, I’m not around enough because I’m busy with work stuff, and I’m too needy when I am around, and instead of trying to fix it, I just get angry and frustrated and push the other person away.”

“How many times has this actually happened?” Luke keeps saying always, but Calum has a nasty feeling in his gut that there’s something else going on here that Luke isn’t saying, or maybe doesn’t even realize.

“Twice. People I was with for a long time, and I thought I could be with forever, and I fucked it up both times.” He reaches for Calum’s necklace (again, like last night... last night, what was that?), and Calum notices the tear-stained spot on his shirt has dried already.

He doesn’t know how to go about this. He could easily offend Luke, or he could be way off the mark, but he just has this feeling. “Did they both – did they both say those things? That you weren’t around enough, and that you were too needy?”

Luke huffs, a choked laugh that’s as reassuring as it is ominous. “More or less. One of them would wait for me to come home from the studio, and it’d be so late, because you lose track of time when you’re working on an album, you know? And she’d be so disappointed, saying she missed me all day and I should have called and texted or tried to come home sooner because now she’s too tired and–” 

He pauses to take a breath; the words are bubbling out of him one-after-the-other, so fast and blurred together that Calum cocks his head to make sure he’s catching every word. “–then she’d leave, shut herself in the guest room, and it happened night after night while we were working on the album. And at first I’d go after her, but she’d just tell me to leave her alone; she needed to sleep; and I should have kept trying. But instead I gave up, and I just started staying out later on purpose, because I wanted to push her buttons. I wanted to give her a reason to be mad at me, and all I did was -”

“Wait,” Calum interrupts, squeezing Luke’s arm. “I’m sorry, but do you hear what you just said?”

“What?” Luke looks up at Calum with confused, watery eyes. 

“You said you wanted to give her a reason to be mad at you.”

“Yeah?” He’s still not getting it; how is he not getting it?

“Because she didn’t have one, Luke, not really.” He wants to grab Luke by the shoulders and shake him; make him see what Calum sees. “Nothing that you said you were doing was wrong. Inconvenient, maybe, less than ideal, but it wasn’t your fault.” 

Luke’s brow furrows as he takes in how worked up Calum is about this, fingers tapping Luke’s arm to emphasize every word as he continues his rant. “That’s just your life, and you shouldn’t have to apologize for it. It’s not your fault you’re busy. I don’t know the details, obviously, but it sounds like this person was guilt-tripping you and manipulating you for no fucking reason.”

“But I still–”

“Doesn’t matter. You were reacting to a toxic situation. One that you didn’t create on your own.” 

“You weren’t there,” Luke grumbles. And he’s right, Calum wasn’t there, and he doesn’t really have enough information to draw any conclusions. He doesn’t know why he’s so confident about this, but he is convinced this isn’t a Luke problem. At least not outside of the fact that Luke apparently doesn’t know how to recognize when he’s in a toxic relationship and get the fuck out.

“Was it the same thing, with the other person?” Calum presses, switching into evidence-gathering mode now that Luke seems less sad and upset and more just generally confused and disbelieving.

“Not exactly,” Luke says darkly. Calum has never heard him sound quite so bitter. “That was actually going really well for a long time. Or so I thought.” He drops his head again, watching as his finger traces over the tattoo peeking out from the neck of Calum’s shirt.

Suppressing a shiver, Calum sits quietly for a few seconds, waiting to see if Luke volunteers any additional information before he presses again. But instead of saying anything, Luke’s shoulders begin to tremor, and Calum sees the tears spilling onto his shirt. Fuck. Calum’s body is buzzing with anger, and there’s nowhere for it to go. He doesn’t know who he’s mad at or exactly what he’s mad at them for, just that Luke is hurting, and it’s not fair. He clenches his fist against Luke’s waist and waits.

When Luke finally speaks, his voice is surprisingly strong and controlled, almost like he’s reading from a script. “He cheated on me.”

“Oh.” That’s a level of absurdity Calum can’t even begin to imagine. How could a person manage to get someone like Luke, only to decide they could do better? That’s some entitled bullshit if Calum’s ever heard it. Not only that, but how could anyone do that to Luke? He’s so thoughtful and caring, always trying to be the best he can for himself and for others. How could someone know him, well enough to be in a relationship with him, and then hurt him this way?

It’s true that Calum is probably a bit biased, but he doesn’t see how this could possibly be Luke’s fault.

“I cheated on him too,” Luke says.

Oh.

Calum feels numb.

“After.” He tightens his hold on Calum, like he’s afraid Calum is going to escape. “After I found out he was cheating on me, I mean. I wanted to make him see what it felt like.”

Luke’s voice is so soft and breathy, Calum feels like his words might blow away if he doesn’t catch them just right as they come out of his mouth. 

“In a fucked up way, I thought it might make him realize how much he loved me. Like if he could feel the same pain I felt when I found out about him messing around, he’d realize you could only hurt that badly if you really loved someone. But it didn’t hurt him, because he didn’t love me, so all I ended up doing was disappointing myself on top of being heartbroken.”

Stomach churning uncomfortably, Calum tries to sort through his thoughts, but none of it is coherent, and none of it will change anything. He pulls Luke in tight against him and kisses the top of his head. Calum’s chest is heaving and he might be on the edge of an anxiety attack, but he cannot do that right now. Luke needs him. Distantly, he’s aware he doesn’t have any choice in the matter, but he does his best to stop it before it starts, counting his breaths and tapping his fingers against Luke’s wrist to ground himself in the touch. Breathe in, two, three, four –  

“I don’t want to fuck it up with you, too.” Luke’s voice interrupts Calum’s counting. 

“What – what do you mean?”

“I’m afraid I’ll fuck it up, and you’ll have to quit your job to get away from me, and then you’ll have to move back to Illinois and be fucking Homecoming King Calum, and you’ll be miserable, and I can’t do that to you.”

Calum’s not entirely sure he’s following. He doesn’t even want to let himself hope that Luke is suggesting there’s a universe where they would be together. Never mind the fact that Luke has already imagined them breaking up in this universe. The fact that he can imagine it at all is enough to bring a completely inappropriate smile to Calum’s lips.

He finally gives in to the temptation and pushes Luke’s hair out of his eyes. It doesn’t force Luke to look at him, but hopefully it lets him know that Calum, at least, isn’t hiding. “Then don’t.”

“Don’t.” Luke repeats the word blankly.

“Yeah,” Calum says, ruffling Luke’s hair. “Don’t fuck it up, and we’ll be fine.”

“Were you not listening? I don’t want to fuck it up, but I will, because that’s what I do.”

“Were you not listening? You haven’t fucked up anything someone else didn’t fuck up first.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Listen to me. I’m not saying you’ve never done something dumb, or that you won’t do a million more dumb things. I’m just saying that –” Calum interrupts himself mid-sentence, switching tactics because the abstract has never really worked for Luke, has it?

“Remember pool day? When you said you were fucked up?”

Luke nods, eyes flashing. “I remember pool day, all right.”

“You know what I was thinking?” A tiny shake of Luke’s head prompts him to continue. “I was thinking about how if you weren’t a little fucked up, you wouldn’t be the person you are, and how I wouldn’t want to change anything about you.”

“That doesn’t…” 

Luke trails off, but Calum doesn’t stop.

“And last night?” How was it just last night? “When you were telling me about your hook-ups? I was literally thinking to myself, Luke could say anything right now, and I will love him no matter what.”

“Do you really think that?” And for the first time, Luke doesn’t sound skeptical or disbelieving – he sounds hopeful. Maybe Calum has gotten through to him after all.

“You know I do.”

Luke lifts himself off of Calum’s chest, sitting back on the sofa cushion and leaving Calum feeling cold and afraid he’s said too much in his haste to comfort Luke. 

His face is still blotchy. His tears have dried, but his eyes are still extra-blue as he looks at Calum intensely. “Aren’t you afraid?” 

Fuck this guy for always saying the right thing. Maybe he has known what Calum is thinking this whole time after all. Fuck this guy for making Calum cry, again.

“Fucking terrified, Rock Star.” 

He takes a deep breath and watches as Luke bites his lip, nodding, but not offering any solutions. There aren’t any solutions. Loving someone is terrifying, period. Loving someone like Luke, though? Calum swallows thickly, pushing down all the doubt and fear. He knows what he wants; what he’s wanted from that night he sat with Luke under the dusky sky at In-N-Out, what he somehow finally knows in his heart Luke wants too.

“I don’t want our first kiss to be when we’re both crying,” he says, making Luke smile.

“Can I take you out for coffee tomorrow morning?” Luke asks. “Like a date?”

“Whoa, calm down, Rock Star!” Calum exclaims, startling Luke by pulling him into a fierce hug. “Going out for coffee? The thing we do almost every day? You don’t think that’s moving a little fast?”

“Fuck off,” Luke replies, pushing himself off Calum’s chest, but he’s laughing, head thrown back and eyes squinting; and it’s so fucking beautiful, Calum vows to himself to try to make Luke laugh like this at least once every day. “Guess I’ll get my vanilla iced coffee without you, then,” Luke adds, insolent.

“The fuck you will!” Calum probably sounds a little desperate, but he doesn’t care. “We’re going on the date, we’re getting vanilla iced coffee, and I’m going to fucking kiss you.”

“Oh.” Luke is caught off guard, but he seems delighted by the turn of events, finger grazing over Calum’s heart in haphazard strokes as he asks, “Do you promise?” He pouts his lips and widens his eyes, and it’s teasing but also tempting, so fucking tempting. The little shit knows what he’s doing. 

“Someone went from depressed mess to smoldering temptress pretty damn fast.”

Luke shrugs. “That’s just your power, Cal. Embrace it.” He reaches for the abandoned takeout bag on the coffee table and holds it out to Calum. “Taco?”

***

It’s just like any other morning, except Calum puts on jeans and the leather jacket Ashton bought for him before he goes downstairs, and when he gets there, Luke’s in the kitchen, in the gym shorts he wore to bed and nothing else, rubbing at his eyes with one hand while he fills Petunia’s water bowl with the other.

When he drops his hand and sees Calum coming towards him, he pauses, water overflowing from the bowl onto his hand. “Oh, shit. You look nice.” He pulls his hand out from under the faucet and leans down to set Petunia’s bowl on the ground next to her food, temporarily disappearing behind the kitchen island.

And fuck, has Luke somehow forgotten about their coffee date? Changed his mind? Was last night all a fever dream that never actually happened? That would explain a lot. 

“I thought I had a little more time to get ready,” Luke says, popping back up and running a hand through his messy hair. “You usually don’t come down until 7:30.”

Calum glances at the clock on the microwave. “It’s 7:20.” It’s still unclear to Calum if Luke means getting ready to go get coffee or getting ready to go get coffee. Calum’s skin prickles uncomfortably. He was so sure last night, but what if he was misunderstanding, what if –

“I can accomplish a lot in ten minutes,” Luke says, patting Calum on the shoulder as he passes him and heads upstairs. “You should wait in your room,” he calls back over his shoulder. “I’ll knock on your door like a proper gentleman.”

Motherfucker. Calum loves him so much.

Luke does knock on his door, and when Calum opens it he laughs, mostly in disbelief, because Luke is standing there in black jeans and a black blazer over a plain white shirt, shiny boots and his usual array of necklaces and rings, hair perfectly tousled. It’s definitely fancier than his usual coffee shop attire of gym shorts and a ripped T-shirt. He’s smiling, and to the average person it probably looks like a normal, excited smile, but Calum can see the nervousness underneath it, and it makes his heart flip in his chest. 

“You look nice,” Luke says, fingers fidgeting with his rings as his eyes travel everywhere on Calum’s body except his eyes.

“You already said that.” Calum’s words feel awkward and wrong inside his mouth.

“That was before the date had officially started. It doesn’t count.” He finally looks at Calum properly. He seems to be either offering reassurance or looking for some himself.

“Oh,” Calum replies. “I don’t know if I like this.” 

Luke’s face drops. Calum rushes to clarify. “No, I mean, it feels weird, being so formal?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, nodding apprehensively. “And?”

“Can’t it just...not be? We get coffee all the time. Why does it have to be different?”

“Because it’s a date. I want you to know my intentions.” Luke says this with an awkward little laugh that reminds Calum of the first time they met, when he realized Luke was faking his confidence. He’s hit with a wave of affection, and he doesn’t hide the fond smile that spills onto his face.

“Your intentions? Tell me more.”

“It’s too early to have that conversation, Calum,” Luke warns, and there’s an entendre in there somewhere, but Luke’s right, it’s too early.

He rolls his eyes and steps closer to Luke, not touching him, but close enough that it feels intentional. “It just feels strange. We live together, for fuck’s sake.”

Luke looks down at him with a gentle smile. “Then what do you suggest?”

It’s the faking it that gives Calum the courage of his own. Knowing that Luke is anxious and unsure in this moment is all the motivation he needs to get past his own insecurities. “How about I kiss you now, so we can get that over with, and then we’ll go get our coffee like always?” 

“You’re the one who said kissing after coffee,” Luke admonishes. “Last night. I remember it very clearly. Date, iced coffee, then kiss.”

Calum chuckles, relief washing over him as he steps even closer to Luke; and now they’re chest-to-chest, and Calum’s eye-level with Luke’s lips, which he stares at openly as he says, “Well, that was dumb. It’ll be so much better if we don’t have coffee breath.”

Laughing, Luke seems to consider Calum’s argument and find it sufficient. He places his hands firmly on Calum’s hips. “Okay. Kiss me then.”

Calum hesitates. Just for a moment. Because it doesn’t feel like he should be allowed to do this. After all this time, wanting it, trying not to think about wanting it, imagining it anyway...he’s been forcing himself not to do this for so long, his body doesn’t quite know how to react now that he has permission. But the way Luke is looking at him, eyes dark and full of anticipation, the smallest hint of a smile on his face, his dimple merely a little shadow on his cheek, threatening to appear, sets Calum’s blood on fire. 

His eyes catch on the scar under Luke’s lip. He reaches up and covers it with his finger. “Not who you are anymore.”

Confusion flashes in Luke’s eyes, but then it clears, replaced with something like wonder. He starts to smile wider, but Calum doesn’t give him the chance to unleash his full grin, closing the space between them and kissing Luke softly, gently, sliding his hand down to cover Luke’s heart. He can feel it beating hard under his palm, and Calum can’t get over how fucking cool it is, feeling Luke’s heartbeat pick up speed as their lips move together. 

Luke’s lips are soft but demanding, and his hands grab at Calum’s hips almost immediately. Calum could get lost in this so easily. Luke’s lips against his, warm and perfect. The light scratch of Luke’s stubble on Calum’s chin. The pressure of his fingers just above Calum’s hip bones. 

It would be so simple to give in to Luke, to let Luke slide his tongue into his mouth and move his hands greedily over Calum’s body. But Calum needs a minute. Or an hour, or a day, or maybe even a week. He pulls back before it becomes too much, before he’s past the point of being able to keep his wits about him. “Wait.”

“Hmm?” Luke mumbles, eyes closed and sounding a little dazed.

“I said kiss, not hardcore makeout.”

“Same thing,” Luke says, blinking slowly, tightening his grip on Calum’s hips. Like he doesn’t want to let go; like he wants to make sure Calum doesn’t drift away.

“It’s not,” Calum insists.

“Do you not want to make out with me?” Luke asks, an amused smile playing at his lips, shiny with spit and oh god what is Calum’s problem?

“Of course I fucking do,” Calum says, “And more.” (More, more, more.) “But I –” He hesitates, and it’s not even that he’s not sure how to say it; he’s just not sure what it is. Why he feels the need to hold back. 

“I want you to know that it’s not just about this.” He gestures between them, hoping it’s clear that he means the kissing, the touching, the more of it all. Placing his hands over Luke’s, he continues, slowly, carefully choosing each word, “I want – need – you to know that I’m...here for all of you, I guess. I don’t know how to say it without sounding cheesy.”

A light blush dusts across Luke’s cheeks, and he smiles, biting his lip shyly. Calum keeps talking, because at this point, why the fuck not? “I just think it might be nice to take it a little slow. So you can, you know. Get that through your head.”

Luke whines in faux-offense. “That was so sweet up until the end!”

“It’s not my fault you’re thick!” Calum protests. “You love everyone telling you how great you are, yet you refuse to acknowledge it yourself.”

Raising his eyebrows and purposely avoiding the commentary (because he knows Calum is right, damn it), Luke asks, “How slow are we talkin’?”

“Not that slow,” Calum replies, leaning in to place a kiss along Luke’s jaw, lingering just a second too long, drawing a noise from Luke that makes it almost impossible for Calum to pull back, but miraculously, somehow, he does it. “We can talk about it. As they say,” he teases, pausing for dramatic effect, and to enjoy the look of pure dismay on Luke’s face, “but first, coffee!”

***

They sit on the patio, surrounded by green plants crawling up the walls and spilling over the lighting fixtures. It’s warm and just a touch humid, and the air smells earthy, like dirt and coffee and wood. As Luke sips his vanilla iced coffee, he’s looking at Calum like he’s the answer to a question, and Calum feels the electricity that’s been flowing through him since the day he met Luke zap him pleasantly; a comfortable tingle in his toes, a familiar and reassuring buzz in his chest.

He just watches Luke for a minute, enjoying the way it makes Luke fidget and blush having Calum’s eyes on him unabashedly. “Shouldn’t you be used to having people look at you, Rock Star?” Calum asks, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on top of his hands.

“It’s different when it’s you,” Luke replies smoothly, grinning at Calum as he runs his finger over the tip of his straw; and it occurs to Calum that he’s no longer afraid of scaring Luke off by acknowledging that he’s famous. He’s not pretending Luke is just a Guy He Knows anymore, because Luke is just a Guy He Knows, who also happens to be a rock star. And Luke isn’t shying away when Calum uses the nickname, no longer worried about what Calum might think of him, because he knows what Calum thinks. Calum was right. He’s finally gotten through to Luke. 

The thought makes Calum break into a smile, and Luke looks at him curiously. “What?”

“Nothing,” Calum says, “Just wondering how betrayed the Malm is going to feel when I leave it for you.”

Luke laughs, and it’s a little too loud for the calm closeness of the plant-filled patio, big and bright and unselfconscious. He grabs at Calum, clutching his wrist and leaning forward with the force of his laughter, curls tickling Calum’s arm deliciously. He looks up, eyes filled with pure joy, and Calum thinks maybe sapphire is the right color for his eyes. No, that’s not quite right. One of these days he’ll figure it out.

Taking Calum’s hand between both of his, Luke says, “I can’t decide whether to be more offended that you’re implying you’re in a romantic relationship with an IKEA dresser –”

“An IKEA dresser you built, Luke,” Calum interrupts. “I had to take what I could get.”

“ - or that you’re planning on leaving behind the dresser that’s the foundation for our entire relationship.” Luke shakes his head in mock disappointment.

“You and that fucking Malm,” Calum grumbles, not entirely succeeding at concealing his smile.

“You know that song was about you.” Luke says it quietly, like he’s trying to sneak it by without anyone noticing. He releases Calum’s hand and takes a sip of his drink immediately afterwards so he doesn’t have to face the full brunt of Calum’s stunned reaction.

"What song?”

“The one we listened to in the car. I started writing it after Dresser & Dinner.” He says it to the tabletop, avoiding Calum’s eyes, but there’s a tiny, hopeful smile on his face.

There’s too much and not enough happening in Calum’s brain. Dresser & Dinner ? That was so long ago! Luke wrote a song about him? The fucking sad, sweet, sexy song about wanting someone you don’t have? The song that played in the background of one of the most peaceful, perfect moments of Calum’s life? And he started writing it...after he built Calum’s dresser months ago?

“Shit, no wonder you’re so obsessed with the Malm,” Calum blurts.

Luke snickers, surprised but not displeased by the response. “Now you finally get it.”

Calum’s not entirely sure he does get it, but if Luke started writing that song after Dresser & Dinner, that would mean –

“That’s when I realized you were going to be a problem for me,” Luke finishes Calum’s thought for him, matter-of-fact as he looks at Calum with his best troublemaking eyebrow raise.

Calum’s heart skips a beat, or maybe that’s the iced coffee, but he manages to flash a cocky grin at Luke and reply, “You love having me be your problem.” 

Behind that grin, he’s a mess of mushy feelings. He wants to grab Luke and hug him as hard as he can to show him exactly how full of feelings he is, but he’s afraid the force of it might make them both explode, so he stays where he is, crushing his knees against Luke’s under the table, hoping he absorbs some of the feelings through osmosis and that they warm his blood pleasantly, the same way they do for Calum.

Luke doesn’t argue. “I love it a lot more now that I’m your problem too.”

“You’ve been my problem since the day we met, with your voice and your eyes and your fucking awkward laugh and your dimple and the way you were genuinely thrilled to be on my running playlist.” 

Calum’s a little breathless. He hadn’t planned on admitting that all at once, while strangers are passing by on the sidewalk and a fly is buzzing around his head, but maybe one of the perks of being with Luke like this is that he doesn’t have to choose his moments. Now Calum can appreciate Luke how he wants, when he wants, and he doesn’t have to hold back. He shouldn’t hold back. Luke deserves to be told.

“After seeing you run, I’m even more thrilled about being on the running playlist.” Luke’s loosened up a bit now, eyeing Calum shamelessly while he sips from his straw like it’s his job to look hot drinking iced coffee. He doesn’t even realize it, is the thing. He’s just out there in the world, existing, with no real idea what it does to Calum to see him like this, a beam of sunlight across his face and a teasing glint in his eye; the wind shifting the curls around his forehead just so.

“Hey, Luke?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re pretty. In all the ways.”

Luke recoils slightly, but then his eyes go soft, almost unbearably soft, and then he smiles to match. “Thanks, Cal. You’re hot in all the ways.” He stands up with his empty cup in one hand, and holds the other out to Calum. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

As they drive home, the ocean is nowhere in sight, replaced by the familiar Hollywood Hills, but Luke plays their song, and he holds Calum’s hand between their seats, and Calum has another perfect moment to hang onto forever.