minyardjostenday - Tumblr blog

minyardjostenday · 6 years

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and yes we can keep living like this

“hey,” he says softly, moving to cup a cheek in calloused fingers, runs one over her pouted lips, “you know I want to. you know I always fucking want to, right? All the time,”

she smiles, presses up to her toes so she can try kiss him again but he tilts back a little further, so her lips catch his stubbly chin instead,

“but, like fuck am I ever gonna be one of those guys that takes advantage of a girl cause she’s drunk, and especially not when it’s you,”

“you’re sweet,” she whispers and he shrugs,

“i don’t think being a decent person means I’m sweet, but I’ll take it,” he smiles, letting go of her cheek to tuck an arm securely around her waist, “how bout I go make something full of carbs and a glass of water?”

she scrunches her nose up at the water, “water is so boring,”

he laughs as he leads her back to her kitchen, hip bumps the counter painfully as she stumbles and he hisses through the pain and finds the light switch,

“i love water,” he says, filling her a glass even if she doesn’t drink it,

“i love wine,” she replies, grinning and following him around the kitchen as he grabs things for some pasta, “remember that time you got wine drunk? with me? a few months ago?”

“yeah love, I remember. I remember the dodgy stomach i had the next day the most though,”

“I love it when you’re happy and all giggly,” she hums and he feels a wave of affection, hit him quick and sudden and he turns around to face her, dislodging her from where she’s leaning forward between his shoulder blades,

“i love it when you’re happy too,” he says, the most serious he’s been all night and it both seems to sober her up and make her feel tipsier than she has all night. he breaks her gaze, “go sit down,” he orders and she follows immediately, “and take the water with you!” and she huffs, but swipes it up as she passes.

her head lolls on her neck, suddenly desperately tired now she’s sat down and her eyes suddenly heavy but she doesn’t want to stop watching him, not even for a second, as he moves around her kitchen. she hates that he knows where everything is, and she hates that she doesn’t know if he’ll be here when she wakes up. she hates that he has to leave her all the time, hates that she hates that he’s living his dream and she can’t be apart of it. mostly, she hates that she likes him as much as she doesn’t want to admit. she hates that she doesn’t know if he’ll ever feel the same.

“you alright, love? you’ve gone from talking a mile a minute to just watching me like i’m ‘bout to disappear,”

“are you?” she hums,

“am i what?” he asks absentmindedly, checking to see if the pasta is soft enough yet. it isn’t.

“about to disappear?”

he frowns a little and she pouts, never wants to make this boy frown, as he walks over to her,

“what’re you talking about? i’m right here, aren’t I?

she shakes her head and makes herself smile, which is fairly easy when she looks up at him,

“you are. right here,” she smiles properly this time, “is my pasta ready yet? I’ve been waiting so long i might die,”

he rolls his eyes, fond as anything, “you’re so impatient when you decide you want something, y’know that?” he says as he walks back over to the hob, stirs and stabs the pasta,

“you have no idea,” she replies, too soft for him to hear as he drains the water and mixes the sauce. he plates it up in two bowls and hands one over to her, and her mouth starts to water a little because damn, she is hungry.

“so did you have a good night tonight?” he asks, mouth full as he chews. it’s kinda gross but it’s okay. she likes that they’re at that kind of level now,

“yeah, it’s always fun going out with you and the boys. did you? you barely drank, and that’s just not the calum I’m used to,”

“honestly, I’m still kinda hanging from last night, think if I drank much today my liver would’ve flopped,”

“we can’t have that,” she says, “everyone would cry,”

he grins and pokes her leg with his socked foot, “you’d cry too, right?”

“are you kidding?” she smirks, “i’d be leading the celebrations,”

he clutches his chest in mock offence, eyes playfully wide and he makes her want to smile so hard, “you’re a goddamn liar,” he accuses. she’s halfway through a mouthful, so she shrugs, eyes bright as his. she is a liar, she thinks. she lies when she tells him that being his friend is all she wants. all she needs. she lies about that.

he nudges her glass of water towards her, and she sips it. she feels more sober now, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever feel completely sober when she’s around calum and she’s more than okay with that. he takes her finished bowl, after he’d finished his because he eats so much and so quick, and damn if it doesn’t annoy her that he still has such a lovely body. he takes her bowl but he doesn’t clean them up, but it’s okay. he already does so much for her.

“right, you wanna head up to bed?”

“with you?” she asks, eyes widening in a false sense of innocence and he loves it,

“you still tryna get in my pants, huh?” he teases and she’s completely serious when she replies with a sure,

“always,’

not because she wants him just for sex, the opposite really, but sex means closeness and intimacy and an unraveled calum which is a sight burned forever behind her eyelids when she’s without him for days. when she’s without him for weeks. months.

“tease,” he murmurs, eyes a little darker and lips parted just that little bit, “what d’you wanna do then?” he checks his watch, “s’not that late, we could watch an episode or two of brooklyn nine nine?”

it’s their show.

“that’s our show,” she says and he nods, already heading through the open plan to the living room. she doesn’t want to move, and holds her hands out to him when he looks over, and he rolls his eyes before stretching out to take hers. she likes how their hands look, twisted and twined together, likes how their skin looks together, likes how their eyes are both brown; though every part of calum outshines her features easily, without a doubt. he’s so pretty, and she sighs as he tugs her to the sofa,

“what?” he asks, distracted with setting up netflix. it’s on his account (she doesn’t have her own), and he smiles as he clicks her profile, the nickname he chose still there proudly.

“you’re so pretty, y’know?” she tells him, tongue still loose from the wine and she thinks someone needs to tell him this everyday, “it’s very important to me that you know how tragically pretty you are,”

he snorts, flopping down on the sofa and she falls with him, hands still laced, so close next to him she could climb into his lap.

“tragically pretty?” he laughs, but she can see there’s a flush to his cheeks and it warms her chest red to, “me? you sure you’re talking to the right guy?”

she pokes his chest and squeezes his hand, “stop that,” she demands, and then more softly as he chooses the episode they’re due to start, “d’you not know that?”

his free hand rubs his neck and he shrugs his left shoulder a little,

“i guess. plenty of people tell me, but i just - i just don’t think I’ll ever be able to believe them, y’know? i feel like they’re seeing someone different,”

she gazes at him until he shifts uncomfortably and then whines that they missed this cold opening and fumbles for the remote to rewind it. she taps his cheek, and he looks, and she plants a warm, sweet kiss to his unexpecting mouth. he makes a noise in the back of his throat before he relaxes, let’s her kiss him, but he’ll stop her before they get carried away. he loves kissing her, and she thinks it’s on par with some kind of religious experience and she’s a hardcore atheist. she lets him go after a while, leans against his forehead and watches his tongue swipe out across his lower lip. she squeezes her thighs together a little,

“they’re not seeing someone else. they’re seeing you. just like i see you. and i’d never lie to you, huh?”

he thinks his hearts beating faster than strictly healthy, and swallows loudly,

“thanks, love,” he murmurs and she leans back, smiling, satisfied and then cuddles a little into his chest before he says, “you are, too,”

she wiggles her eyebrows and says, “i know,” in the cockiest way she can muster. she feels her head vibrate as he laughs.

they watch three episodes, but she falls asleep halfway through the last one. his hand is in her hair, absentmindedly massaging her scalp and her head thick and drowsy from booze. he tries his hardest not to wake her up, as he wiggles and manoeuvres her into his arms properly so he can ascend the stairs. she stirs and wraps herself around him like a koala and he rubs her back soothingly, prays he doesn’t miss-step and send them stumbling to their deaths. he undresses her from her going out top, but she’s a dead weight and decides she can sleep in denim shorts for a night. he places her unfinished water at her bedside and kisses her forehead, her cheek,

“night, love,”

before he whips out his phone and calls luke to see if they’re still out. they are, so he heads to join them. not to drink, but he’s spent too much time with her recently, which is his favourite way to unwind when he’s home, but it also makes him feel incredibly lonely when she’s not there - regardless of whether it’s because she’s just sleeping or because he’s touring, and he hates that feeling. he can bury it in his best friend’s, if only for a while. he’ll see her tomorrow.

she shoots him a text when she wakes up, shifts unhappily in her shorts and wiggles to take them off.

caluuuuum 10:03

what’re we doin today

she looks over at the empty side of her bed and her heart tightens a little at the thought that it might always be empty. she wishes he’d take it, make it his side, make it smell like him, make it his own in a bed that could be theirs.

caluuuuum 10:06

hikin, get ur trainers n ass huggin leggings on love

she snorts, but rolls out of bed to obey. she likes hiking, it’s something they do together which might be the reason why she likes it but that’s okay. she showers quick and cold, the air is so humid today and she wonders if his hair will be curly from it. she hopes so.

caluuuuum 10:24

ill be at yours in 15 minutes

caluuuuum 10:25

bring me an iced coffee and ill consider letting you in

it’s too hot for regular coffee she decides, but caffeine is a must to fight her weak headache. she gets dressed, trainers tied in poor knots that’ll probably come undone halfway through their hike and waits on her sofa. the intercom buzzers at the exact time he said he’ll be there and she jumps up so quickly to answer it. jumps up to see him.

“morning love,” he hums quietly, ducking down to receive the peck she throws at his lips, tastes his own coffee on his mouth. he hands her an iced latte but doesn’t come in when she widens the door, “I parked on a double yellow,” he explains. she snatches up her keys and phone and follows him out her door, down her stairs and to his car. he opens the drivers side, and gestures for her to get in. she looks at him, mouth parted,

“are you serious?” she asks, voice echoing her excitement and he grins,

“yeah yeah, get in before i change my mind,”

she bounces on her toes and kisses his cheek quickly before clambering in the drivers side. she loves to drive his car, it’s so sleek and smooth and the exact opposite of hers. his seat is pushed back miles too far for her to reach the pedals, with his long fucking legs, and she readjusts as he shuts the passenger door.

“why you not driving?” she asks and he shrugs, follows the lead of the aux cord so he can plug it into his phone. she looks as he unlocks it, and smiles at the picture of the two of them as his home screen (though noticeably not his lock screen. there’s a difference) and the crack in the bottom corner,

“i can if you want,” he says, skipping a dozen songs before settling,

“no I love driving your car,” she replies quickly and he laughs a little, “seriously, you don’t know how lucky you are to drive this bad boy. i mean, heated seats?”

he laughs again, “i live a life of luxury, what can i say,”

“and you deserve to,” she says, as she turns on the engine. it’s turns on so quickly and quietly and she groans in satisfaction, “however I deserve to drive a car that takes three turns for the engine to come on,”

“join a world known band babe, and this could be you,” he teases and she rolls her eyes,

“which hike we doin’ today? ash not joining?”

“well, when I left luke’s this morning, he was still flat out on luke’s bed, so,”

“you went back out?” she asks, as she drives along the busy streets and plays with the aircon. she can’t imagine having working fucking aircon in her car,

“yeah but only for a bit. you were knock out when I left anyway, I made sure. take this left,”

she follows his instructions, and she thinks she’d follow him everywhere.

it’s a quiet trail that he’s found, and the sky is grey with light clouds,

“is it forecast to rain today?” she asks and he shakes his head,

“nah, just cloudy and humid,”

“the worst,” she sighs and he agrees, before shifting anxiously as she starts to attempt parking beside two other cars, “jeez, let up scratching my leather seats,” she grins, nodding at his fingers curled around his chair.

“your leather seats,” he repeats, “you’re such a shit parker, if you scratch her then your driving privileges are revoked,”

“okay, that’s not fair. just because I hit one car a tiny bit once,”

she takes a few tries, and calum sits anxiously and tall as he peers out of his tinted windows and over the windscreen to make sure she’s not getting too close, before she turns of the engine and he relaxes,

“not bad,” he compliments and she gasps in offence,

“that may be the best park job I’ve ever done,” she tells him as she grabs her drink from the holder and her phone and steps out the car to admire her work. it’s sad to admit she’s parked a little diagonal. he sniggers as he notices, sliding on some sunglasses that make him look irritatingly attractive, in his tank top and state champs shorts.

“you look nice,” she pipes up, smoothes her sweaty hand on her leggings a little self consciously even though she knows her bum looks good in these. he slides his sunnies down his nose to wink sleazily at her and she rolls her eyes, “I take that back. you’re a creep and I don’t like your face,”

he takes a swig from his water bottle and leads them to the start of the hike,

“liar. you love my face, you think it’s pretty,”

she drops her head in shame, “damn, I did say that,”

he drops an arm around her shoulders. it’s already too sticky to be touching but she leans into it anyway.

the hike is nice. it’s burns her thighs and shes sweating at her hairline, and her iced latte doesn’t quench her thirst much but cal sings as they walk, and she makes him pose stupidly for her snapchat story and he offers her his water bottle and she loves him a little.

they reach the peak about an hour and a half in, and she all but collapses at the rocks they find there,

“christ, I need to exercise more, damn,”

he laughs where he’s fucking stretching and his thighs are so nice she thinks,

“sex is a form of exercise you know,” she tells him, very matter of fact, and he laughs again, his cheeks a little rosy that he blames on the hike,

“it is. you’d have to be on top or something for it to really count though,”

and she gapes at him, and he’s laughing still, a musical goddamn sound that echoes around the deserted hill, “i’m on top more than you are, the fuck!”

“I dunno,” he hums, still grinning, still laughing, still making her fall disgustingly in love with him, “not sure I can remember the last time you weren’t underneath me,”

he walks over to her, drops down and leans back on his hands, head leaning on his shoulder to smirk at her, eyes dancing,

“then our sex life must be real boring,” she sighs sadly but her lips are smiling just as big as his are, “we’ll have to do something about that, huh?”

“it’s the only way,” he says, pouting like it’s a hardship. she giggles and knocks his shoulder before leaning on it. they look out at the view they have. it’s serene and lovely, even though all the grass is a tired, burnt brown rather than her favourite colour.

“we have rehearsal tonight,” he tells her, “wanna come by and watch?”

“I don’t like your band,” she replies,

“my band is the best band,” he argues, kisses her head,

“i’ll be there, what time?”

“not sure yet, they’ll let me know when they find out,”

she hums, and he’s soft next to her, loose and relaxed. he wishes he was always this relaxed, wishes he could always be this carefree. but he isn’t and he can’t be because his job doesn’t let that happen, not in this way, this way that he is with her. it’s a constant battle he has, it confuses him that he loves both. he thinks he should only love one. his band his band his band. he’s trying to accept that he can love both, that he can be both. that he can be more. michael and luke can be both, why can’t he? it’s easier said than done and he doesn’t know why. he shifts her head so it’s off his shoulder and tucks a ringed finger under her chin so he can reach her lips. can encase them. her lips are thinner than his.

kissing is easy, she thinks. kissing calum is like breathing, she thinks. kissing calum on top of a big ass hill, outside the city, with all the time in the world is all she ever wants, she thinks. calum is all she wants. she knows.

he goes to push her down gently, but she stops him and he pulls back quickly and goes to say sorry but she’s willing her tired legs to move up and swing around to sit on his and she raises an eyebrow at him cheekily. his stomach turns and twists, and she meets him in another heated kiss.

they wouldn’t stop, if it wasn’t for the buzz of his phone in his shorts.

“ignore it,” he tells her so she does. it rings again though and he huffs and she catches it in her mouth before she leans away and plays with the hair, matted and sweaty on the nape of his neck and he tugs his phone out, “it’s mike,” he explains and accepts the third call. she can hear michaels voice,

“hey man, rehearsal starts at four today,”

“you couldn’t text that, huh?” calum says but it’s light,

“I did! it’s in the group chat but you haven’t read any of ‘em,”

“my bad, sorry, we’ve been hiking,”

“gross. see you guys later,” and he hangs up. he doesn’t know why he likes it so much that he assumed she’d be coming with him. makes him wonder if they’d react that way if she came on tour with them. he chases that thought away as quickly as it comes.

“we should probably start heading back, I need to eat,” he says, offering a hand and pulls her up so easy,

“eat me,” she quips and he chokes on the water in his mouth and she grins, watches him wipe his mouth and lets her steal his bottle, takes big sips too.

“what’s gotten into you recently, huh?” he asks, amused and she sighs,

“not you,”

he laughs loudly and kisses her as he does. she swallows his laugh and wraps her arms tight around his neck and mumbles, “god, I love making you laugh,”

his stomach twists and turns again. he wonders what he’s gotten himself into.

“c’mon,” he says, tugs her back to the track, “if we walk quick we might have some time spare,”

she likes the sound of that.

“what food you in the mood for?” she asks as they reach his car, they’d walked down quicker than they’d climbed, as she wipes the sweat from her forehead, watches as he does the same with the hem of his top, and reveals the soft brown of his tummy.

“avocado and eggs on toast,” he says and she scrunches up her nose,

“you and those god damn avocados,”

“they’re a super food!” he defends before moving to get into the car and she pouts,

“don’t I get to drive back?”

“you always get lost driving to mine,” he points out, sliding in, “jesus, how small are you? my knees are hitting my fucking chin,”

she gets in, and can’t help but laugh at how hunched up he is before he pushes the seat back again,

“why’re we going yours? I hate your place,”

“what the fucks wrong with my apartment?” he demands, offended as the aircon blasts through and brings the best kind of cool onto her skin,

“it smells of boys and weed,” she says and he raises an eyebrow at her, before reversing the car, “yeah I know,” she sighs, “I love that smell, fuck,”

“so what is it?” he presses and she debates telling him, but she does because she’ll tell him whatever he wanted to know.

“I just freak out, y’know? I know people know where you live and what if they take pictures of me? and then I’m suddenly a headline on a trashy internet page,” she admits. he pauses,

“I get that. I really fucking do, but even if they did, it doesn’t matter, yeah? none of what the headlines say matter cause they’re never true. unless it’s about our third album being our third number one,” he jokes, and she smiles but,

“but I don’t need people sending me hate messages or blowing up my twitter. I like having no mentions and no followers, thank you very much,”

“the worst headlines could say is that you’re my new fling or my girlfriend,” he tries to reason.

“would me being your girlfriend really be the worst thing?” she mumbles,

“what?”

“i said,” she starts and wishes she didn’t, “i said is them calling me your girlfriend really the worst thing they could say?”

“I dont-” he starts, confused and he checks his mirrors, chews his lip a little, “is this about the headlines or is this about us?” he can’t believe he dared himself to say that. she can’t either. they don’t talk about it.

“no, I uh - i mean, i’m not your girlfriend so,”

“right,” he agrees faintly, “then there’s no drama, huh? I’ll let you put my hoodie over your face if you really want but there’s never usually people outside,”

“fine,” she mutters and it’s weird because it’s gone kind of silent, but they don’t have silences and they certainly don’t have awkward ones. she clears her throat and he readjusts his mirror a little and it’s still silent, “y’know,” she starts and she smiles, “in my car, the engine is loud enough that there wouldn’t be a chance for an awkward silence,”

he laughs then, and everything’s back in sync again. they avoid talking about labels and them in particular for a reason. calum lives right in the city, and she does pull his hoodie over her head, hood up and engulfing despite how hot it is. but calum was right, again, as they go into his building and no one follows.

“are you sure you’re famous?” she asks as they use the elevator to his floor and he nudges her,

“oh baby,” he sighs, and damn does she love it when he calls her that, “i’m so famous people would pay to be you right now,”

she laughs and he grins, lets them into his place, which god, probably costs more than she’s spent on rent her entire life in one month. it does smell like boys and weed, and his aftershave and she breathes it in deep. he takes off his sunglasses, drops them and his keys on his sleek kitchen side and then grabs what he wants from the fridge, “you’re wanting some too, yeah?”

“please,” she smiles and he nods. he checks his phone first, though, checks the time and it’s just past two. they have two hours before he has to be at rehearsal. the bands group chat, and several others he’s in has left him with over 300 notifications and he can’t be bothered to read them right now. not when she’s spinning on his bar stool with her hair longer than it has been since he first met her, and not when she meets his eyes and smiles, soft and lovely.

he needs her more than she needs him, he thinks. maybe. he grabs an avocado and chops it in half,

“did you know cutting avocados is sending more millennials into hospital than ever?” she says, and he just sort of looks at her,

“that’s so sad, alexa play tubthumping,” he says, completely straight faced. and oh god, she fucking loses it. she can’t stop the laughter bubble up her throat and vibrate through her chest and then when she hears the distinct ‘playing tubthumping by chumbawamba’ she starts crying. he does too, he can’t not when she’s laughing like that, and he hasn’t laughed this much in a real fucking long time. she wipes her eyes, her mouth still parted in a laugh that’s turned silent.

“oh my fucking god, that might just be the funniest thing you’ve ever fucking said,” she tells him, gasping. it wasn’t even that funny.

“I dunno, have you not seen our cocktail chats videos? solid drunken humour from me in those,” he says,

“I watched those so much when you weren’t here,” she admits and then bites her lips because his head whips back up from accessing how to get out the stone from his avocado,

“you did? really?”

“yeah duh,” she shrugs, “but i will not let myself fall into the ‘calum hood funny moments’ side of youtube though,”

and he’s laughing again. jesus fucking christ. she’s a goner.

he settles into the hum of cooking, he loves cooking, doesn’t get much time to do it. she helps to the extent of pouring them both some juice, turning on his fan, and being distracting. she plays on her phone as he cooks the eggs and checks instagram,

“I wanna go to new zealand,” she whines as she sees another post from there, “will you take me?”

“sure love,” he answers distractedly, “can you grab some knives and forks?”

“did you just agree to agree or did you mean it?” she asks, grabbing two sets of each.

“both?”

she sighs and he feels guilty. he would take her, he would, but he can’t and she knows that. she’s selfish to ask and he’s selfish to lie and say yes. they eat, and he eats quicker than she does again, and he finally responds to the texts on his phone, chuckles at some and shows her them. she likes his band a lot, they’re fun and not so big headed just yet. he stretches,

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he informs her, and leaves the room walking backwards, tugs off his top and leaves it on his floor. his eyes have a playful glint in them and she finishes the last of her eggs as quickly as she can manage so she can follow. she spots some gum on a table and she chews one quickly. he crowds her against the bathroom door as soon as she’s there, closes it and leans her against it, crowds in her space. she always wants him to be her space. he leans down to kiss her, one hand on the door above her head and the other curled tight and possessive around her left hip. her hands come to rest on his bare chest, rest on his pecs, rest behind his neck to keep him close,

“when did you get gum?” he asks, nudging away from her mouth and down her jaw. she tilts her head to give him more room to work with, her knees suddenly weak when he sucks on the spot he knows she loves.

“y’want it?” she asks, and he works his way back to her lips, lets her push her gum onto his tongue, let the mint explode there. she hasn’t chewed away all the taste yet. he wonders why he doesn’t find it gross. he chews it for a moment or two, so she works on pushing him back so she can take off her top too. the showers already on, and he has such a nice shower, a proper, waterfall pressure shower, “i’m only here for your shower you know,” she says and his lips quirk.

“can’t believe you’re just using me for my things,” he pouts, moves to spit the gum into the bin by the sink and tugs out of his shorts. she watches with a parted mouth and he smiles smugly, “my things and my body,”

“i’d never use you,” she mumbles, coming closer, kissing him hot, tongue sliding against his, bare chests pushing into one another.

“I know,” he murmurs, and unclasps her bra, tugs the straps down her arms until it falls to the floor. she walks them backwards until his knees are against the cool of the tub, and her fingers play with the waistband of his boxers. he lets them fall down, kicks them off his ankles and works on her leggings. she’s glad she remembered to shave recently, she doesn’t bother so much when he’s not here. she doesn’t sleep with anyone else. she’s too scared to ask if he does. he steps into the bath, turns towards the shower, face up and lets the cool water beat down on him for a moment. she watches him, fascinated and infatuated before stumbling to join him. her hairs going to get wet and she goes to put it up and out of the way so it doesn’t, but he’s on her again, he’s kissing her again and his large, lovely, tattooed hands are searching up and down her body, wrapping his arms around her, encasing her and she forgets. she forgets everything that’s not him. forgets everything that’s not calum calum calum. she mumbles his name and he kisses it from her tongue.

he thought this was going to be rushed. it should be rushed, they haven’t really got that much time before he needs to see his boys, but it feels like they have all fucking day. he always wants to have all day with her. he doesn’t want to think that soon, he won’t be able to. tour is soon, so soon. he presses every inch of himself against her to forget, and she shivers, reaches down to wrap a hand around him. he’s hard against her stomach, hard against her fingers as she runs one up the vein, runs one around the tip, gathers him just before the water washes it away.

“fuck,” he mumbles, hands running over hard nipples, the piercings there, her stomach and her piercing there too, “fuck,”

she loves it when he swears, but she loves whatever comes out of his mouth.

his fingers keep tracking down, track her curves, follow until they reach her and she jumps slightly and he smiles, “what’s up, love?”

“just-,” she sighs, but he knows. she presses kisses to his neck, starts to suck until he gently guides her away and down. she’s not supposed to leave marks on his neck. it only makes her want to do it more, “please,” she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. she’s asking for everything. he can’t give her everything.

but he can give her this.

his fingers find where she’s most sensitive, and they stay there, rub there until she squirms and he smiles against her lips. he lets them slip in, one, two, three slowly and the hand that was on him slows and eventually stops as she shudders and whines against his shoulder, teeth find it, bite it and he groans into her hair, kisses her head, works his fingers until she pushes him away and looks at him with purposeful eyes,

“c’mon,” she says, breathless and he grins,

“c’mon what?” he taunts,

“want you,” she pleads, tightens her grip that’d gone loose around him and he tilts his head back, “please, i-”

“yeah,” he breathes, pulling away from her altogether so he can press her against the slick wall of his bathroom, tiles wet from the shower that rains down more than it has done outside in a long time. she doesn’t think it’s rained since he’s been home. she wonders if that’s a coincidence.

her leg wraps around his waist, and his forehead comes to rest against hers as teases her, rubs himself against her, pushes in for a second and stops, pulls out to do the same again. she huffs, and narrows her eyes, shifts to try get him closer and slips on the wall. he catches her, like he always does, and laughs a little until she giggles too. he pushes in then, and his breath catches this time and his eyes squeeze closed and his hand that’s slapped against the tiles for balance tries to curl around nothing. he curls his other tightly at her hip instead, and she hopes for bruises.

“i’m kinda scared we’re gonna fall,” he whispers, opening his eyes and grinning, and her eyes dance as she looks back,

“best make it worth it then,” she hums and he takes it as a permission and a challenge. his hips pull back, and drive in again, set up a pace that has her hitching up the wall with every turn, has her hands scrabbling at his back, at his shoulders, at the wall to keep steady, “jesus cal,” she whines. people say his name everyday, and he doesn’t care for it. it’s just his name. but it’s more than just his name when she says it. he wonders what that means. he kisses her mouth, kisses her nose, presses against her forehead and looks down. he sees her leg, wrapped tight around his waist, sees the tattoo on it, warm against her skin, sees him as he moves in her, with her. he groans and moves his hips deeper and she yanks his hair, bares her throat and he latches to it.

“m’gonna,” she pants, “m’gonna finish soon,”

“yeah? gonna come just from me? just for me?” he mumbles, and she nods and lets out quiet,

“please, please, please,”

his hand moves from clutching her waist, moves to her, and she tightens hot and heavenly around him and he moans low in his throat. they knock foreheads and they breath quick for a few moments, until her leg falls from where it rests, and she grumbles,

“fucking pins and needles,”

he sniggers and pulls out, gentle and she winces and he kisses her, “okay, we really gotta get clean and ready before we’re late. we’d never hear the end of it,” he promises, and he washes his hair quick with a round of shampoo and conditioner, rinses his body before switching places with her so she’s under the main waterfall. she goes to take the flannel, but he takes his time to wash between her legs, before he gives it to her. she kisses him.

by the time they’re out, dry, dressed and both of their hair still wet, his curling and hers frizzing, they have ten minutes to get from his apartment to the place he’s rehearsing that,

“ah shit, it’s like twenty minutes away,” he realises, tosses her his phone as they clamber in the car, “can you text ash that we’re gonna be a few minutes late?”

she unlocks his phone, knows his password easily, and scrolls through his endless stream of messages until she sees ashton’s name.

ash home mob 15:49

we’re going to be late!! really sorry, cal’s got his foot down

she sends it and then, with a curiosity that she thought was harmless, scrolls up through their texts. they’re stupid, and uneventful until -

ash home mob 01:53

i’ve just left her place and im coming over. dude i think i regret it

ash home mob 01:55

regret what??? doors open btw

ash home mob 01:56

i dont know. all of it? sleeping with her in the first place? sleeping with her still? idk

she doesn’t see what else is said because she scrolls away, scrolls back to the text she sent which ashton left on read and her heart feels like it’s in her throat. what the fuck. she doesn’t know when it was sent either, didn’t look at the dates, didn’t know how far she’d scrolled up. but does it matter? he regrets it. he fucking regrets it. she locks his phone and puts it in the cupholder.

“did he reply?” calum asks, indicator ticking and she swallows,

“nope. left you on read,”

“dick,” he replies fondly.

her thoughts are running wild, overlapping each other and so fucking loud. maybe it was a while ago? maybe he normally messages ashton through the bands group chat? but what if it was recent, what if it was only a couple of weeks ago, when they first got back? or the other day? does he still mean it, if he’s just fucked her? and like that?

“hey, you’re shaking, you okay? is the aircon on too high?” he asks, and she looks down and sees her hands are shaking against her thighs. she nods, an excuse already given to her,

“yeah, turn it down a bit?”

“‘course,” he smiles, and fiddles with it. the cool air slows down a little. she does not feel better.

they turn up, only eight minutes late he tells her, rushing them out of the car and into the building, following the sound of tuning guitars and warm up drum beats. the boys holler as calum opens the door, lets her in first and she hates the feeling those tiny gestures give her.

“you made it!” luke says, grinning, giving calum a hug, slapping his back and then kissing her cheek, “what made you guys late? no, wait, don’t tell me, were you -” he teases, eyebrows wiggling playfully and she blushes and calum laughs.

“we went hiking this morning, and the trail was longer than i thought. please tell me my bass is here?” he asks, and luke points to where it sits. it looks out of place, until calum swings it around his neck, settles it in his two hands and they both look much more at home. she goes to sit further back against the wall, leans against it, and tucks her chin on her knee.

she likes soundchecks, likes that she gets to see them perfect their songs they’ve already perfected. she’s lucky and she knows it. she watches calum warm up, watches his fingers move so practiced and talented against the strings of his bass. his text to ashton flashes behind her lids every time she blinks. she keeps her eyes open until they sting. they start bickering lightly over the setlist and she can’t help but butt in because,

“why on earth are you still arguing over if monster among men is on there?” they look over at her, eyebrows quirked and she blushes, “i’m just sayin’, i’ll be personally offended if you don’t play it,”

michael chuckles because he agrees and she nods at him. they play it then, and she moves her head with it. she watches them all, but her eyes never stray far from calum. she understands why he can’t be hers. he’s his bands. she just wishes he could be both. they play through song after song, and she slips out when they take a break, as they sip from water bottles and debate musician things.

it’s still so goddamn humid outside, and she leans against the rails by the backdoor, prays for a breeze. she gets a light one, but it’s just calum coming to join her. when she looks up, he has a cigarette perched between his teeth, patting his jeans for a lighter. she pulls one out from her back pocket and he smiles at her, lights it and gives it back.

“you okay?”

“yeah,” she lies, “sorry about interrupting earlier,”

he chuckles, “it’s okay. always good to have fresh opinions,”

“my opinion doesn’t matter,” she mumbles and he frowns, puffs out smoke and offers it to her. she takes it, takes a drag,

“of course it does, love. everything about you matters,”

she doesn’t respond because she doesn’t know how. she sees i regret it painted on the wall opposite. she blinks and it’s gone.

“i might head home,” she tells him, has another drag before offering it back. their fingers brush and she hates that it feels like she’s just been hit by fucking lighting.

“why? you bored of us?”

“your band sucks,” she quips back and he makes a noise like he’s wounded and she smiles despite herself. she hears ashton call his name and he takes a last drag, before dropping it to the floor and stubbing it out with his boot.

“I gotta go back in. please stay?” he asks, eyes big and she is weak under them, “please? I’ll let you drive back home if you stay,” he grins and damn.

“fine. but only ‘cause i love your car,” she says, and he gives her a kiss. they don’t usually kiss in public, and she stiffens,

“there’s no one here,” he reminds her, and pecks her lips again before leading them back inside.

when they finish, an hour later, ashton asks if they want to go out, and calum looks at her. she doesn’t want to, but she nods anyway and they both smile at her,

“can i still drive?” she asks, and calum rolls his eyes but drops his keys into her hand, and they pile into his car, and she readjusts his seat again.

“how come i never get to drive your car?” ashton asks from the back,

“you can when you look like that,” calum replies, gesturing to her. it makes her ears feel hot, and her stomach tight,

the bar is already busy, it’s not late but it’s the city and bars are open all day for a reason. she orders a double vodka and lemonade, and she drinks it quickly. he looks at her oddly, as he sips at a much more reasonable pace from his cider. she orders another, and she’s on her third by the time they’ve just ordered a second, and he puts his arm around her waist,

“why’re you drinking so fast?” he whispers in her ear, and it trickles down her neck like ice.

“i’ve had a very long hard day,” she tells him seriously and he grins, kissing her cheek. she can’t fucking help but smile back.

she needs him more than he needs her, she thinks.

she wants to go home halfway through her fourth. calum is having a good time, laughing and joining in conversations that she doesn’t want to interrupt, so she slides out from the booth and pulls out her phone to call for an uber that she can’t really afford, and then turns to say goodbye. calum frowns and follows her outside, pulls out a smoke and offers her one too.

“how come you’re leaving?” he asks and she shrugs,

“m’tired, and a little tipsy,”

“i could drive you home, you didn’t need to call an uber, i’ve only had one,”

she shakes her head before he’s finished talking, “no, it’s okay, really. stay with your friends,”

“our friends,” he says quietly. she doesn’t think they’ll still be her friends when calum leaves her, “can you just -,” he pauses, drags his cigarette, “can you just tell me what’s going on? don’t say it’s nothing because i know you and -”

“d’you regret it?” she says, almost whispers, and sucks her smoke, blows it out and tries to blow away her words too.

“regret what?” he asks, confused,

“me. us! or us fucking, i don’t know which part it is you regret and i need you to tell me almost as much as i don’t want to know,”

he blinks at her, and she sighs in frustration,

“stop looking at me like that! you text ashton saying you regret sleeping with me. is it just sleeping with me? or is it-”

“you read my texts?” he says, eyebrows pushed together in irritation now. she wants to cower away from it.

“yeah? yes, i’m sorry, i know i shouldn’t have, and i didn’t mean anything by it! it was just ash, i was just scrolling and there was a text saying you regret -” she takes a breath, it hiccups a little and he keeps watching her with a hard stare and she hates it, “saying you regret all of it. what’s all of it, calum? what did you mean, do you still, i-”

she stops herself from rambling her insecurities, and watches as he continues to stare, watches as he brings the cigarette up to his mouth and she copies, just for something to occupy this horribly unwelcome silence.

“you shouldn’t have read my texts,” he says and she huffs because that’s it?

“why? what else would i have found?” she swallows, stubs out her smoke when she sees her uber pull up, “y’know, i really don’t want to know. i don’t. i’ll see you later, cal,”

he doesn’t say anything as he watches her walk passed him with dark eyes, and she feels a bit like crying. she’s fucked it. she slides into the car and tells her driver her address. she gazes out the window as the car starts to move, and then jumps half out of her goddamn skin when the door opens again and he falls down next to her.

“what?” she asks but he ignores her, stares pointedly at the driver who checks to make sure no one else is about to jump in his car, before pulling away. the entire drive is excruciating. he still doesn’t talk as they arrive, he just leans forward and pays the driver, ignores her attempts to protest and leaves the car. slams the door behind him. the driver looks at her in the mirror and she ducks from it, and follows calum to her flat.

he still isn’t talking. why isn’t he fucking talking? he paces her flat with a hand in his hair and she thinks she might suffocate from the silence.

“calum?” she asks weakly and he stops, turns to look at her, his hand still in his hair, “calum,” she says again, desperately.

“i sent that text the night we came back from europe,” he says, voice quiet. she waits for the rest without breathing, “when we got back and i came straight here and we got high and had sex,”

“i remember,” she tells him, “but why’d you regret it? did i do something?”

“no,” he says sharply and she bites her lip. he moves towards her until he’s close enough to take her lip from between her teeth. she lets it go uselessly. she doesn’t want to let him go.

“i don’t know how to explain it,” he says, irritated and tense and she hates this.

“I guess we know why we’ve never talked about it,” she says, tries to joke and he looks at her and nods once,

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he admits and she opens her mouth but he stops her by talking quicker than she can, “we should, though. I just don’t know how.”

“just tell me. you can tell me anything. everything. i thought you knew that,”

“I do!” he yells and she tenses her shoulders, “i do which is exactly why it’s so fucking hard! because everything with you, with us is easy! it’s easy and its good and it works so as soon as we talk about it, it’s going to become something that’s not easy,”

he flops down on her sofa and rubs a hand roughly over his face. she stays where she stands.

“we were friends. and then we became good friends. and then we fucked. and then we just - we kept being good friends and we kept fucking.”

she knows all of this, obviously, but she lets him talk it out. he needs it.

“and i’m always away, y’know? i’m never home, not enough and that’s okay, that’s great for me. i love being in a band, i love being in my band and i love playing shows and being with the boys everyday and being somewhere new everyday,” he’s ranting now, hand still over his face so he can’t see her and it’s easier this way, “and when i come home, i want to spend every fucking second with you. and we do, and you let me, you want me here just as much as i want to be here and i don’t know what it fucking means.”

“hey,” she whispers, and she tries to peel his hand away from his face. he’s reluctant, but he lets her, and she laces them together firmly. tightly. tries to show him that she doesn’t want to let go.

“and i regret it,” he whispers and it’s a fucking bombshell and she doesn’t have time to protect herself from the shardnel.

“oh,”

he looks at her. conflict is written all over his tragically pretty face.

“i can’t - i don’t know how to say it right. i regret it -”

“stop saying that,” she begs, “please just. just don’t say it again.” and she has tears in her eyes now. he hates himself for it.

“i don’t regret you.” he says firmly, “it’s not that i regret. it’s not. you’re -” he laughs a little, “fuck, you’re everything.”

“i don’t understand,” she admits thickly. he reaches a thumb out to swipe at a just falling tear.

“me either,” he mumbles and then, “i just don’t know how we’re supposed to do this. when i do what i do. and when people always find out everything about me. i hate it. i like having you as mine. but you’re not,”

“i am,” she says earnestly, “god, calum. i’m yours in every sense of the fucking word.”

“how can you be? when i’m never home. if you’re mine, how can we work when i’m never home to make this work with you?”

“you’re not never home.” she disagrees, “we’ve had the past year, cal. and europe was only a couple of months. this tour isn’t the longest you’ve ever done. we’ve been apart before, but you always come home and nothing is ever different. you come home and it’s like you never left,”

“yeah, but how can i ask you to wait for me?” he asks, and he sounds so dejected. she is so so in love with him.

“and yes we can keep living like this. as long as you’re here i will live like this,” she quotes quietly and he gazes at her like he won’t believe her. can’t and won’t are two very different things.

“you love that song,”

“and i love -” she stops herself. both of their eyes widen. she wants to say it. she can’t. she won’t. she doesn’t know which one it is.

“c’mere,” he mumbles, tugs her until she falls on his lap, she pushes herself up on his chest until she’s sat where she’s comfy, “d’you mean it?”

“yes.” she swears. and then, “d’you?”

“i’m scared that i’ll ruin this. scared i’ll ruin us,” scared i’ll ruin you.

“you won’t.” she tells him, “and y’know, if you do? i wouldn’t mind. you’re worth it, okay?”

he’s looking at her likes she’s everything.

“you’re everything,” he tells her. he’s never meant anything more. she kisses him. they’ll work out it, she swears it.

#fic #cal #5sos

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