#anyway someone write a fic about calum listening to bleed american please

[calumcest]

Sit 3, sentence 37 for malum?? hope ur having a good day :-D

i have had a good day thank u anon!! it is actually over now rip tuesday but i hope u are having a good day too xo

3 - The aftermath of a bad fight / 37 - “You’re stuck with me, like it or not.” 

Sometimes, Calum wishes technology didn’t exist. 

Sometimes it’s because he wants to be able to disconnect, hates the anxiety that builds up at the fact that he knows people think he’s always reachable, that he can’t ever truly detach himself from the world. Sometimes, it’s because he thinks it’s bad for him, bad for his mental health, seeing all the comments and feeling the pressure to keep up interacting with people and posting on a regular basis.

Mostly, though, it’s because Michael’s eyes have been glued to a screen since 2005. 

“Mike,” he says, for about the twentieth time. “Are you nearly done?” 

“Yeah,” Michael says, in that absent-minded tone that means he didn’t listen to what Calum said at all. 

“How long are you going to be?” 

“Like, five minutes, Cal, chill,” Michael says, staring intently at the screen. 

“You said that fifteen minutes ago,” Calum says pointedly. 

“Well, I mean it this time,” Michael says. Calum feels a flare of annoyance rise in his chest at the fucking nonchalance with which Michael’s treating this situation. 

“Michael, I-” he starts, but Michael cuts him off. 

“Jesus Christ, Cal, I said I’d be five minutes,” he says irritably, and the flare of annoyance turns into embarrassment and anger. 

“What the fuck?” Calum demands. “Michael, it’s our date night, in case you’ve fucking forgotten. We have a reservation at a restaurant in twenty minutes.” 

“It takes ten to drive there,” Michael says, sounding irked, like he’d rather be sat at home playing fucking Valorant than going out with Calum. Knowing Michael, Calum thinks acidly, he probably would. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Calum says angrily. “Mike, I got all dressed up to go out, and I’ve just been sat here watching you play Valorant for half an hour.” 

“Well, go sit in the fucking bedroom, then you won’t have to watch me,” Michael snipes. 

“I’m being fucking serious, Michael,” Calum snaps. “Is our relationship just a massive fucking joke to you?” 

“What, because I want to play the last five minutes of my game I suddenly don’t love you?” Michael asks, finally spinning around in his chair to face Calum. “Is that what this is? Your fucking ego needs a stroke?” Calum stands up so fast his vision swims. 

“Fuck you,” he says, calm and cool, grabs his coat, and walks out of the room. 

Fuck Michael, he thinks darkly, as he grabs his car keys off the table. He fires off a quick text to Ashton that just says the address of the restaurant and to get there now, and Ashton responds within seconds with a thumbs up emoji. 

Yeah. Fuck Michael. 

-

Calum spends most of the dinner with Ashton seething silently, but Ashton lets him, and he loves him for it. He only makes one comment, when Ashton gives him a look as his phone lights up and both of them see Michael’s name flashing on the screen, and Calum turns it off. 

“What?” he says defensively, seeing the look on Ashton’s face. 

“Nothing,” Ashton says, but The Look doesn’t go away. 

“It’s date night,” Calum says, “and he’s playing Valorant.” The Look turns into one of sympathy, and Ashton nods, but he doesn’t say anything, because he knows Calum will share more if he wants to. He doesn’t, so Ashton moves the conversation along, telling him how he broke his snare the other day and what a fucking pain it is trying to get another one, and Calum sends him a small smile, hoping he knows what it means. 

Calum feels a lot calmer by the time he actually gets home at around ten, after a few hours with Ashton. He’s still pissed off, but more tiredly so, and he just wants to ignore Michael for the rest of the evening and go to bed. He’s not up for having a massive fight about it all over again. 

The house is dark when he pushes the door open, and he thinks bitterly for a moment that Michael’s probably still in the office playing fucking Valorant. Then, however, he notices flickering on the walls of the kitchen, and immediately panics, thinking Michael’s tried to cook himself dinner and set the fucking house on fire. He kicks the door shut behind him and rushes through to the kitchen, ready to - actually, he doesn’t really know what he’s ready to do, spit on the fucking fire? - and skids to a halt as soon as he makes it into the room. 

There are, like, seventy fucking candles arranged in a slightly wonky heart on the table, which is what’s causing the flickering light on the walls, and there’s a plate in the middle with what looks like the world’s biggest chocolate brownie on it. 

“What the-” Calum starts, staring at the sight in front of him, and then cuts himself off as he hears a shuffling to his right. 

“Hi,” Michael says, sounding nervous, and looking like he might cry. 

“What is this?” Calum says, halfway between confused and tired. Michael is not really the person he wants to see right now. 

“Uh,” Michael says, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m. I’m really sorry. About earlier, I mean.” Calum closes his eyes and sighs deeply. 

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it tonight,” he says, because frankly, he’s still kind of hurt and upset and he’s not sure he can make it through that whole conversation without yelling or crying. 

“I know,” Michael says. “I just.” He shrugs, and pulls the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“And that’s what this is?” Calum says, eyeing the table warily. “Setting fire to the fucking house and buying me a brownie?” 

“No, I-” Michael looks embarrassed, and Calum kind of feels bad. That was uncalled for. “I baked it.” 

And, okay, what?

“You what?” Calum says, not entirely sure he heard that right. Maybe he said he faked it, like, bought it from a shop and took it out of the packet to pretend he made it himself. 

“I baked it,” Michael repeats. “I figured you’d gone out to eat anyway and I know you never order dessert in restaurants because they’re never chocolatey enough for you.” 

Calum tries not to let his heart thaw a little at that, but honestly, it’s difficult. Michael standing there, looking nervous but earnest, having baked Calum a fucking brownie because he knows exactly how Calum likes them and also that Calum never eats dessert in restaurants for that specific reason, hits Calum like a fucking metric ton of bricks. 

“Christ, Mikey,” he says, and it comes out softer than he’d intended. “You didn’t have to do all this.” 

“I did,” Michael says, “because I was a dick. Worse than a dick. I got caught up in my game, and I was being selfish. I didn’t think about what picking Valorant over date night might mean to you.” Calum can’t help but huff out a laugh at that, a little melancholy, a little amused. 

“You’re a dick,” he agrees sadly. 

“I know,” Michael mumbles. “It’s not because I don’t love you. I love you more than I could ever fucking tell you. If you want me to stop playing, I’ll stop playing.” 

“No, you won’t,” Calum says wearily. 

“I will,” Michael says earnestly. “It’s just a game, Cal. It’s just a bit of fun. You’re everything else.” Calum’s lips quirk up in a small smile, despite himself. 

“I don’t want you to give up things you enjoy,” he says. “I just don’t want you to choose them over me on date night.” 

“I know,” Michael says, and he sounds guilty. “I- fuck. I really am sorry. I know I fucked up. You’re more important to me than anything, and I never want you to feel like you’re second place to anything again.” Calum’s smiling properly now, heart almost fully softened. 

“So you baked me a brownie?” he says. Michael nods. 

“It took me three tries,” he says. “I had to make sure it was just right.” 

That’s it. Calum’s heart is officially back in Michael’s hands. 

“C’mere,” Calum says, and it’s what Michael’s been waiting for, almost breaking into a jog in his haste to cross the room and fling himself at Calum. Calum stumbles backwards a little before steadying himself, burying his face in Michael’s shoulder and breathing him in. 

“‘M sorry,” Michael says, muffled by Calum’s shoulder. 

“Good,” Calum says. “I can’t believe you baked me a fucking brownie, Jesus Christ.” 

“Three,” Michael reminds him. “But the other two weren’t perfect.” Calum pulls Michael closer, as close as he can get without, like, melding into Calum. 

“You’re a fucking romantic when you want to be,” he murmurs. “I’m lucky to have you.” 

“Good,” Michael says, and he sounds a little wobbly, “because you’re stuck with me, like it or not.” Calum smiles, and presses a kiss to Michael’s shoulder. 

They stand like that for a moment, holding each other tight and both trying not to cry, until Calum remembers something.

“Where’d you get all the fucking candles?” he asks, and Michael laughs, but it comes out as a sob. 

“I’d do fucking anything for you, Cal,” Michael says, sincere and a little choked. He pauses for a moment, then adds, “Including but not limited to blackmailing our neighbours for all of their candles.” 

Calum laughs too, and pretends the dampness on Michael’s shoulder was there all along.