#prince!ashton irwin

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Sweet Dreams--Part 17

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted. 

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert. Tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible!

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It happens every year. Calum knows this. But he’s still shocked when his phone shakes and the details stare back at him, New Year’s Eve. Eclipse. Doors are opening at 9PM. Your plus one is already accounted for, still in? Calum checks who the text is from again--though it’s always from Keegan, who always organized the New Year’s parties even in college. When Calum sees it is Keegan’s number, he is shocked that he somehow forgot he’s coming. But it’s less about the fact that the party slipped his awareness and more about what it means, more about who will be there. Keegan ensures to invite everyone from their college group, year after year. 

The last time he really spoke with Nora was at this year’s Summit in early May. A gathering that happens in spring as various national leaders and royalty meet to rub elbows but also to make work on foreign policies and deals. More deals and exchanges are made at the Summit than on policy floors. His interaction with Nora then had been pretty minimal. She was a panelist for one of the talks that focused on reproductive health policy and Calum, who’d been working with his mother on potential reform, went to that talk so that his mother could handle something else. Calum really shouldn’t even say that he talked to Nora then. He’d really only thanked her for her contributions and asked if she was doing okay. She was cordial, thanked Calum, and wished him well too. 

The interaction was all of five minutes if he had to time it. But prior to that, his contact with Nora is non-existent on the personal front. He hadn’t even gone to the new year’s party last December either. Calum opted, instead, to go with his parents to a party they’d been invited to--and though it wasn’t the rager he’d been accustomed to thanks to his years in college, it was still a nice time. But just like clock work, like every day has a noon, Keegan’s text reminds Calum yet again of the New Year’s Eve party, of the reality he’d been a part of for years. 

The shower stops and Calum looks up from his phone when the door opens. A small tuft of steam follows behind you as you step out of the threshold. Your hair holds a little bit of moisture, the weight heavy to your scalp from the water. You’ve acquired his Conway Studio’s t-shirt as yours. He’s not really sure when he lost custody of it, but every so often it pops back up in his laundry and he knows. You want him to wear it so it smells like him again so he does, he’ll throw it on after a shower when he’s changing into lounge wear and will keep the shirt for a couple weeks at least until he hands it back over to you for a pajama shirt. It’s a silent exchange now. 

The thoughts of Nora are fleeting, nearly as if the text message never came through as you move closer now to the bed. All Calum cares about is you. All he cares about is if your back still hurts like you mentioned earlier, or if you actually ate enough today on your breaks. He cares about how you cart around the relationship coupon book. He cares about so much more than his own measly anxiety. 

“Is there something on my face?” you ask in a tease. 

The smile in your voice breaks the internal trance and Calum takes in your smile. “A beautiful smile,” he quips. 

“Thanks, love. But seriously--is everything all good? Looks like you were thinking there for a second.”

“I got a text,” Calum answers. The anxiety is not nearly as fleeting as he’d hoped by your pressure. It’s a lame way to start the conversation, but it’s the truth. “A college friend of mine is throwing a New Year’s Eve party. It’s at Eclipse.”

“What time does it start?” 

“9. And I get it if you're working and you’re not interested because of that. We can skip.” The mattress gives as you settle onto the edge of it. 

“I didn’t say anything about that now, did I?”

“No, but I just want to be mindful.” He doesn’t want to overstep and knows how taxing the holiday season is, especially for those in retail and food service. 

“How long does this go for?”

“Usually ‘til about 2AM. That’s the hard cut off if I remember correctly. I don’t really ever stay that long, pretty much bail after the ball drops.” Calum usually leaves around 12:30. Not the first to leave but he’s absolutely not waiting until the last possible moment to leave out. 

“Are you okay with driving? Or are you looking to party pretty hard? I’m working that same day and probably can get back here around 10 or so.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind driving.” It might serve Calum better to stay sober than anything else. It does mean any embarrassment will be remembered but it could be his saving grace from making a fool of himself in the first place. 

“Thanks. I should be quick with a shower and then we can aim to be ready to go at 10:30?”

“Whenever you get ready, it's fine with me.” You don’t really take long to get ready as it is. He’s the one that hems and haws over the choices, but even that’s pretty minimal. “I’ll make sure I’m not the one holding us up,” Calum laughs. 

Your returned laughter is short before you speak again. “So, who’s all there? Like all your friends from college?”

There’s an emphasis to the question plus the distinct mark of you picking at the non existent fuzzies on his comforter that tips Calum off. Maybe he wasn’t the only one a bit more nervous about what such an event would mean. But there’s no reason for you to worry. “It’s…the whole group, yeah. But Luke, Michael, and Ash will be there too.” He hopes it softens the blow. Part of Calum wonders if he’s softening the blow for himself more than he trying to soften the blow for you. 

You nod and bring your gaze up. “I guess I’m worried more about you. How do you feel about that? Do you know if Nora’s going to be there?”

Her name doesn’t sting like Calum was expecting it might when you say it outloud. But it does settle on his chest heavier than he anticipated--much too preoccupied waiting for the sting, he’d forgotten about the crushing weight. The reality he’d been absorbed into at one point, to the point of marriage, with her. It’s not the kind of ache that feels raw, not the kind of ache that consumed Calum when the breakup first happened. It’s the kind of ache that comes with old and long sustained injuries. The kind of ache that only really returns when the weather changes, but for the most part with meticulous care stays hidden away. 

“I don’t know for certain. But she goes every year, so I know she’s most likely been invited.”

“And-and how does that make you feel? That’s my main question.” It’s a clarification. Not dismissive or angry, but very direct. He’s not to avoid the inquiry this time. 

Calum takes a moment to drop his gaze to his own comforter. “There’s a reason why I was dodging it, you know,” he starts. The laugh is devoid of any true humor even to his own ears. The mattress dips again and you settle onto your knees off to his side. The flat of your palm is soft and warm against his cheek, a gentle urge to bring his gaze back to yours. An instruction Calum does follow. Your gaze is warm, full of understanding too. 

“I know there is. But part of this relationship is that I ask those hard questions. And I’m going to be there too, no matter how hard it gets.”

Your gaze is steady to match the steady brush of your thumb over his cheek. It’s grounding--Calum knows just how long your thumb will rest at his jaw before it slides back up towards the apple of his cheek. It’s predictable. And that’s the thing about this party. He can’t predict how it’ll go. He can’t say for certain if it’ll go well or if it’ll go up in flames. “I feel like I should be over it. And in ways, I am. But I don’t know.” 

All the words are failing him. He’s in love with you. He wants to spend his life with you. But something as simple as a party has upended him. He’d never really talked with anyone about it. Occasionally, he asked his mother for advice and for her listening ear, but a lot of it was just time. He’d had so much time. But maybe it’s less of an open wound and more like a scar that acts up in the cold weather.

“Yeah? But it’s like you’re not sure about those other ways?” It’s poised to prompt for more. He can hear it in your voice what you’re asking him: what are the ways that he still aches? 

Calum hates these moments, when he knows what he’s feeling but can’t seem to get the words out of his mouth to match it. His inhale is slow with a matching paced exhale. “I banged up my knee pretty bad during a football game once. Didn’t tear anything but I was taped up for a while and sometimes I think about physical therapy for it. It aches like that knee sometimes, you know? I don’t think about Nora and don’t worry about that most of the time. I am over it. But it’s like, grief? Something about how the relationship ended that just feels better than a normal breakup.”

“Grief never fully shrinks,” you start. “The injury gets better because other ligaments and muscles get stronger around it. You get stronger around the grief. But it never really goes away.”

What Calum had so desperately to be a straight line was turning out to be more like a circle. A wind and bend, but never a snap--always curving around, coming back, a way through that was a loop. He’d never really worried about the knee until he started increasing his weights. He never really worried about Nora until it’s clear he’s got to be around her. And though he understands what you mean, Calum still wishes this grief would shrink. 

“Maybe you’re right,” he concedes. But maybe he wishes you weren’t. 

“Do you want to go to this party?” you ask. 

It’s the question Calum hoped you wouldn’t ask. Because he doesn’t think he wants to, but he doesn’t want to miss out. The silence settles. He can feel it heavy in his lap but you watch him watching you. A steady gaze as you hold his eyes. Your thumb a steady stroke over his cheek, etched into the ridges of your thumbprint Calum feels what is you want to say but have not uttered yet, you don’t have to go if you don’t want. 

But it feels foolish. It feels weak not to go. 

“I want to try,” Calum settles for. Because it’s still a weak answer. He can back out at any time. He can be a coward. But he’ll always be able to say he tried. 

“Why do you say it like you’re not certain, love?”

Because I’m not. “I think it’s all I have for right now.”

Your nod is measured, two bops before you press a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll take any and all attempts,” you whisper into his skin. 

Calum doesn’t want to be a coward. It would ultimately be a matter of time. He’d have to learn to deal--find a way to not let the grief and fear choke him. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he prayed that such a time actually came. A selfish notion he knows, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting it. It could all be a matter of perspective. If he looked at it less like the thing that could break him, it might feel different. But the thoughts are a weight on his chest that not even your presence fully chases away. They settle, under the sheets, with the two of you and burrow in the gaps. In the spaces that you aren’t pressed up against him, Calum feels the heavy dread settling in. 

And the dread doesn’t go away. Even though Calum tells himself, he won’t chicken out. Even when he promises to himself that the worst of it can’t all be that bad, dread is a passenger in the remaining days until the party. When Calum goes for a drive, dread is there. When Calum fixes himself a snack, dread is hissing in the cold air of the fridge. When Calum washes his hair, dread is in the plops of the water into the basin. Dread is the unwanted guest that Calum can’t get rid of. And maybe it won’t ever go away. 

He feels the dread hovering over his shoulder as he zips up the black dress pants--they’re a straighter cut with more space in the ankle and shin, not as narrow as his usual attire making them easy to pair with his Docs for the evening. Dread breaths down his back and not even the spritz of his cologne deters it. You’re quick in the shower, as promised, and just as swift with getting dressed too. The red shirt is daring, especially considering you don’t button it up all the way. Nothing too revealing as only the two three buttons remain open and the winter is harsh, but it’s a nice pair for you to be in red in contrast to Calum’s all black attire. The party isn’t a funeral, even if it feels like one to Calum. 

“Hey, Calum,” you start softly. It’s a small shock for you to use his name so sternly, even if it is gentle. He blinks for a second, then two, and you are slow as you pull his hands down from smoothing out the t-shirt. “I’ve noticed you’ve been quiet lately. And not that this isn’t your usual demeanor but something does feel off to me.”

It’s the stench of dread. The heft of terror. It would make anyone quieter. “I want to go,” he states in return. You haven’t really asked the question. Yet, he knows what’s underneath your words. Because he does want to and still, that doesn’t mean he’s not scared of the outcome. 

“I understand that. You--” there’s a pause. Your hand squeezes around his and your exhale is soft. “If you ever get into a bad position and I’m not there beside you, find me, okay? Squeeze my elbow if I am there. Just let me know when it’s too much, yeah?”

It’s clear you want to say more, that more is probably loaded behind those words. But you don’t utter them. He’d bet his last dollar it’s along the lines of trying to encourage him that he doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to. But you don’t say it. All you do is ask two simple things. He can find you if you’re not there. He can squeeze your elbow if you are. So he nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, smoothing his shirt down over his chest. Your fingers find his wrist and trace the bracelet you gifted him still there against his skin. It’s grounding, even if only briefly for Calum. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Because ready’s not the word. It’s not the phrase Calum would use, but he’s not backing down. 

“Still okay to drive?”

“Yeah, I need the excuse not to drink if I’m honest.” If he’s going to embarrass himself, he’d rather remember it. Rather not have anything to haze his judgment outside of fear. 

The drive is mostly silent. Though Calum does still keep a hand on your knee as he drives and though you absentmindedly trace shapes on his forearm, and though there is the radio on, there’s a distinct silence between the two of you. Dread’s moved to the backseat, but still it hovers and Calum prays to a god that he’s not the same believer he once was in that he makes it through the night. You don’t make any moves to break the silence. And Calum can’t think of anything he can say to break it either. 

Eclipse is bright--even though the night is thick and dark--there’s the loud hum of music from the doors as you and Calum approach. The strobing lights pour out into the street as people enter the club--a beacon in the middle of the night it feels. A buzz that echoes the thumping of Calum’s own heart rate in his ears. God, he should turn back around. He should tell you that he’s a fucking liar and he’s selfish and he doesn’t want to do this. No one would really blame him, but Calum thinks he’d blame himself. He’d torture himself over the failing. Even as much as he wishes it never came up, even as much as he wishes he’d lied about that text and this party, Calum knows the suffering would probably be much worse if he avoided it. 

He feels insane--torn between such a desire to avoid this reality and an overwhelming stubbornness that he wouldn’t back down now that he’d all but committed to it. For every exit you attempted to create, Calum ignored them. Perhaps, it’s self-flaggation. Maybe in all his years on earth Calum had yet to discover his own masochism until now. It’s pathetic, and stupid, and reckless, but Calum doesn’t stop himself. He doesn’t take the exit.

The bass rattles his teeth. Calum’s sure the speakers will lift off their risers at any given second with the way the music seems to only get louder the deeper and deeper he goes. Your hand is warm--your fingers thread through his. It’s not massively crowded in the club, thankfully. But Calum’s pretty sure that given another half an hour more people will be pouring in. While Calum’s group of friends from college wasn’t massive, Keegan has connections to several clubs--rugby, rowing, several student political organizations, clubs that Calum’s sure don’t even exist on the campus anymore. What might seem like a normal house party should anyone else take over easily turns into a 200 person ordeal with Keegan. 

At the bar, Calum keeps you close. “You want anything?” he asks, lips pressing almost right up against your ear. 

“Just a Sprite for right now,” you call out. 

“You know you can drink. I’ll be okay.”

“Maybe in a bit,” you shrug and Calum lets it go. You hadn’t proven yourself as a heavy drinker anyway and with the noncommittal answer, Calum takes it that you’re still toying with the options. When the bartender goes to him, he orders two Sprites. 

“Opening or closing?”

“Uh, opening. They’re with me so whatever they get just keep it on my tab,” Calum returns, pointing over to you. 

The bartender nods, eyes locking on you only for a couple beats after they return the card. “Sounds good. The two of you on the same tab, got it. So just Sprites for now?”

“Yeah,” Calum nods. 

“Got it.” The bartender turns for the glasses. 

“You made it!”

Calum turns to the sound of Michael’s voice, leaning in across the wooden bar. “Are you saying you worried about me?” Calum teases. He laughs with more humor than he actually feels but is swift to give Michael a hug in greeting. 

“Ah, glad to see you again,” Michael addresses you. The hug is quick. “I’m still fucking drooling over those cupcakes every time I think about them.”

“Hi, Michael. It’s a pretty easy recipe,” you offer at the start.

“Oh, I’m a shit baker. But I’d certainly help,” he laughs. “The rest of us are on the second level. The couches that overlook the dance floor if you want to join. Everyone’s up there.”

The three of you pause and Calum feels the heated stares directed at him from you and Michael. “Well, not everyone,” Michael corrects. “But our group is.”

Maybe Nora won’t show. Maybe in the club of this size they won’t cross paths. But the dread is still like lead in his gut at the prospect. It could all still happen. “Thanks. We’ll be up in a second. Have you seen Keegan?”

“Uh, it was maybe half an hour ago. On the dance floor. God only knows where he is now,” Michael answers. 

There’s a slight drift, where Michael’s gaze falls to the floor and then back to Calum and Calum wonders if that means. If it’s a warning of something more, Calum doesn’t really get the chance to ask it before a glass is handed over to him. The clear liquid fizzes and he knows it’s the soda. 

“Keegan’s floating right now. We’ll make sure we find him,” Michael adds on in the mindset of the distraction. “Let me get my drink and we’ll head up to the couches together.”

Calum agrees, but he can still feel it in his toes that he’s desperate to find somewhere safe. Surveying the dance floor is a little useless. It’s dark. A lot of people are paired up, swaying to the bass that rattles through the building. It feels nearly impossible to piece together who’s who until they’re mere inches from him. Safety may be a nearly impossible desire to achieve. 

The passing seconds are filled with the bile of anxiety and introductions. Even in the few minutes it takes for Michael to get his drink, multiple old football teammates approach him with slaps on the shoulder. They smile over at you as Calum introduces you. He’s sure you’re just barely keeping up with all the names. But they come and go--also looking for something to drink as well. But there’s still a little bit of panic as each one approaches that he’s going to come face to face with her. 

Maybe getting it over with early will save him. Maybe it’ll just sour the whole night. But neither possibility comes to fruition just yet. Michael turns back around, two drinks in hand and leads the way through the crowd up towards the stairs and then to the corner the boys have commandeered. You stay close, which is a saving grace, fingers threaded through Calum’s. But once the couches fill out and Ashton, Luke, and a couple others fill out your vision, you ease away just a hair. Your warmth still seeps into his arm, and side, but the press of your palm into his is gone. 

“Thought you might’ve been avoiding us,” Ashton teases as you and him embrace.

“Who says I wasn’t,” you laugh. It’s a sound Calum could place anywhere, even in the temple splitting thump of the club. Ashton’s laughter is sharp too in response. 

“You okay?” Luke asks in his greeting with Calum. The two are inches away, glasses in hand but neither one of them looks really sipped at all. 

“Sometimes I think I’m crazy,” Calum returns, part of it is humorous. But the other part is true. 

“We’re here for you. Just…just stick with us,” Luke suggests. And it’s viable. But Calum’s not sure if you’re going to want to dance at some point. Then there’s the countdown. But maybe Calum’s too caught up on what could happen that it’s taking away from what is happening right now. 

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. How was your Christmas?” It’s best to change the subject. Better to distract, since Calum’s already here and Ashton’s got you sucked into a conversation. 

“Pretty good, I went home and spent time with my family, which is always nice. We started looking at wedding venues, finally.”

Calum whistles. The proposal went smoothly, but not much progress had been made since the early spring about it. Not that Calum thought there needed to be any rush. The group was just coming off the tails of Michael’s wedding in January and Luke’s proposal in April. Maybe after the buzz of the holidays there was more space to consider the details now. 

“Still thinking about a wedding planner?” Calum asks. 

“We have a meeting with one in..two weeks? I’m not sold on it. She is though, so we’ll see how it goes.”

“Buddy, I love you, but you can barely plan a dinner party.” Luke asked for a more intimate setting to gather but scrambled to get a date and time until four days prior and still asked if people were okay with bringing a dish--a bit potluck style. It wasn’t a huge bother for Calum, but still rather a tight deadline in the grand scheme of things. It was made doubly sour because Luke had nearly a month to get it together. 

“It was one attempt. I need redemption, you know this!” Luke laughs. 

“Your proposal I think might be redemption enough. Get the wedding planner,” Calum states. 

Luke’s shrug is noncommittal as he goes for a sip of his drink. “My knee still hurts from time to time after that.”

“You’re the one that wanted to propose on the cliffside.”

“Because it would be romantic. And it was!” Luke defends. 

“The videos do it justice.” While Calum hadn’t been there for the actual event itself, he’d help get Luke’s partner around the city in the meantime to get her nails done and to grab lunch. Ashton and Michael helped ensure the house was set up and Luke was working with other friends to get the final touches on the cliff situation. The entire thing went smoothly from what Calum had been told. 

“You finally going to give yourself some new year's resolutions?” 

It’s not that Calum doesn't believe in resolutions. He doesn’t believe in the timing of them. Changes can be made any day, any time, any month of the year. The pressure to start new on exactly January first feels too trivial. It’s not realistic. “You already know the answer to that,” he laughs, watching the way Luke smiles well before he finishes the question. 

“Ah, c’mon I had to try and see if you’ve changed your mind at all about them. Looks like it’s still the same.”

“Yeah, it’s still the same,” Calum agrees. “What are yours? And I swear if you say gym again for the fifth year in a row I might have to disown you as a friend.”

Laughter shakes Luke’s shoulders. “Guess you gotta disown me then.”

“C’mon, man. You say that shit every year and in three months you give up.” It’s not that Luke doesn’t work out. He is good at getting four days in at the gym. But Luke’s always said he wanted to bulk up a little and every year he stays about the same. “Besides, I don’t think you need to bulk up at all. You look good.”

“Oi, easy for you to say. But I don’t know. Maybe I should just say I’m going to stay consistent. It’s helping the ol’ knees stay in good shape so it’s better than nothing.”

“You cannot talk about knees,” Calum laughs, halfway to taking a sip before he pauses. “Don’t do that to me.”

The conversation carries Calum away from the dread, away from the anxiety. He settles in with Luke, Michael, and Ashton, with you only a few steps away talking to Michael’s wife and Luke’s fiancée. It’s easy here. So fucking easy and he almost chastizes himself for being so worried. He’d worried about all that and it’s building to be for nothing. It’s just a party. One singular night in the grand scheme of the cosmos--hardly a drop in the bucket. He’d forget all the exact details of the party in a few months. This night wouldn’t matter in a few months, if he’s honest. He’d twisted himself sideways only for him and his boys to spend most of the night laughing into their glasses. 

Calum feels the press of you into his back, one of your hands curling around his elbow. Or at least, he assumes it’s you as he can’t quite see, but when your voice floats up through the music, he relaxes a bit more. “Want another soda?” you ask. 

“Uh, no. Do you want something though? I’ll go with you,” he offers. “Or go get it. Either way.”

“No, no, stay here. I don’t mind. You sure you don’t want anything? Water, maybe?”

Water does sound nice. It’s growing warm in the club. Though the area they’ve settled into isn’t packed like the dancefloor, the sheer amount of people in here is radiating heat upwards. “Water, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. I’ll get it for you, love.”

Calum nods, watching you carry down the steps. He watches until the red of your shirt is totally absorbed--sucked in by the red of the lights and the sheer distance of your body moving further and further from him. When he can’t see you anymore, Calum turns back to the group. It’s easy to forget as some old football teammates meander their way over and start regaling the tight games, the well fought victories. Calum’s sucked back into a time he remembers so fondly, that he’s not really paying attention to Michael, who seems to have a bit of a wide eyed stare. 

What is he on about? Calum thinks to himself and just as he goes to settle his full attention to Michael; he hears her. Her voice loud as it has to be to be caught over the music and just from his left, behind Joshua, Nora appears. Right behind her, Calum recognizes Sean--the son to a business mogul, known for advancements in pharmaceuticals. Sean’s father is the grandson to an old and well respected politician, a path Sean’s father didn’t take, but Sean definitely has as a lobbyist. 

“Got space for us to squeeze in?” 

The circle shuffles to accommodate them. Calum moves too, a couple steps back and one step closer to Ashton, but he watches the way Nora slips in and Sean steps in to her right. They look cozy. Calum shouldn’t assume and he shouldn’t be worried, but something in his gut lurches. Are they dating? Just as the question surfaces for him, it’s answered when Sean slips his arm over her shoulder. Nora reaches up and the stone dazzles in the light. It’s not the same cut Calum was looking at--a pear cut gem to the marquise that he’d been on the verge of purchasing. 

“Oh, that’s quite the ring,” Joshua quips. “Congratulations appear to be in order, yeah?”

Nora nods. “Yeah, he proposed on Christmas Eve. So if this is on the news circuit tomorrow, I’ll know who to start with,” she laughs. 

It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt. It stings--sharp, but fleeting. Granted it had been two years  and growing at this point. There was plenty of time. They had plenty of time to heal and move on. And he’s happy she has moved on. He’s glad neither one of them is stuck wallowing or bitter. But still, something about it still feels like a shock. 

“Congrats,” Calum returns. He wishes he hadn’t finished his drink so fast. He wishes he’d gone with you to get another. What should he do with his hands? He could still leave, dismiss himself with his empty cup, and find you. But is it really that bad? It’s just…a ring. Nora had every right to move on. He had. It’s just a ring, but it’s also so much more. His brain can’t quite place it in this moment, but he knows it is more than just a ring. Calum knows he should stop staring at the ring. It takes another minute to peel his gaze away, only for it to land on Nora’s face. Her hair is shorter--much shorter than she used to wear it. He doesn’t think it was this short at the Summit either. The black strands just brush the top of her shoulders, right near the base of her neck.

“Thanks.” Nora’s smile is tight and a little awkward. “Looks like things are good for you too, Calum?”

It sounds like it’s too much of a question. Like Nora’s somehow unsure or worried about Calum’s response. “They are,” he answers with a nod. Because it is the truth. Things are going well—with you, at his job.  Calum doesn’t miss Nora. Doesn’t want what they had back. It’s just the grief in all of its big and obnoxious ways. Calum is just staring his own grief in the face. He’s sure Nora’s doing the same. Like one might do after losing a parent and looking back at the old photographs. There’s the idea of what once was. 

“Good,” Nora smiles. This one feels a bit more lived in, relaxed in the way that only comes with relief. 

The seconds tick by are thick and slow. Calum can feel the eyes on him, how Luke, Michael and Ashton are locked into his every move. Calum wonders if this is how animals feel at the zoo with their handlers, watched in a way that reminds the animal that it is dangerous and wild, unpredictable. But Calum’s not a wild animal. He’s not going to spook. He can handle this. Even if it’s hard and awkward. It won’t kill him--not literally at least. “So, I guess we really shouldn’t make a competition of who got what for Christmas,” Calum starts. “Don’t know if any of us can top an engagement.”

It cuts the tension nicely. The group laughs and it’s a nice segway for Joshua to give the news of his own engagement--the day after Christmas--had been accepted too. The group gives another round of cheers and congratulations to the news.  “And here I am. Solo island,” Ashton laughs. 

“My wife keeps saying she knows someone,” Michael offers with a laugh. 

“No, I love your wife. She’s amazing. But I did go on a date with that girl she’s talking about and it went so poorly,” Ashton says. His laughter dissolves into the retelling of the disastrous date--spilling pasta sauce all over himself, getting the girl’s cut caught in the car door. They’re all minor snafu’s but it all accumulates to a degree that a second date was pretty unsalvageable. It earns the group’s sympathy.

Calum slips his arm over Ashton’s shoulder in comfort. Even though Calum never laments his own friends' hardships, he is glad to have the focus shifted from him. “You cannot be that harsh on yourself, Ash,” Calum reprimands. “It probably wasn’t all that bad.”

“Mate, utter dog shit, I’m telling you,” Ashton confirms with a grin. “But there’s a pretty cute librarian I’m having a hard time asking out. I took some of my younger cousins for the day and we made a stop at the library, to help give my aunt a day of sanity, you know. And this librarian, she’s really cute, but I feel like I’m cursed after that disastrous date.”

“One bad date is not the end all be all,” Calum encourages. 

“Yeah, you could always go back and ask for a library card or something. Ask for a book recommendation,” Nora suggests. 

“It’s not a bad idea,” Calum agrees. “If you think she’s cute, then it’s worth a shot. At least one.”

Ashton shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink. “I don’t know. Maybe. I think I gotta shake the bad juju off.”

“No better shake than getting back onto the wheel,” Luke chimes in. 

“Shit!” 

“I’m so sorry!”

Calum looks over his shoulder and notices you shaking your hands, like one might do in attempts to get something off them. You’re only a couple steps away from the group, in what looks like attempts to get back with the drinks but getting either bumped or walked into causing those plans to be thwarted. Calum pats Ashton’s chest. “I’ll be right back,” he calls out before walking closer to you. 

There’s more apologies but you spend more time trying to console her than you do worry about the fizzing beer in your hand--and all over them too. “You okay?” Calum asks, slipping a hand along your lower back. 

You nod. “Yeah, yeah, just an accident. I’ll need to get you another water once I get cleaned up.”

The other girl’s so focused and too buzzed as she takes the couple napkins she got with her drinks to dab at the front of your shirt to think fully about what she’s doing. “God, I’m so sorry I ruined your shirt too. I should’ve been more mindful about where I was stepping.”

“Hey, no, it’s fine. Just a shirt,” you offer. “Don’t sweat it. And you don’t have eyes in the back of your head.” 

“Was it the water or beer on your shirt?” Calum asks. Your shrug is enough of an answer before he starts thinking about if he has any spare clothes in his truck. He thinks he’s got a bag of old clothes he’d been meaning to donate that might have something. But he’s not sure. 

It takes a couple more tries to console the girl who stepped into you and reunite her with the people she’d come with before Calum leads you back down the stairs and towards the front door. The stamps on your hands do allow for re-entry so there’s not much worry on that front as you return the now half empty bottle and glass to the bar. 

“We can check my truck. I might have a spare shirt,” Calum comments. 

“I need to wash my hands first. That beer’s going to get sticky if I don’t.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. I’ll head to my truck and you take care of that. I’ll meet you at the bathrooms.”

“Thanks, love. I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he returns, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. The night is cold as he sips out the front doors. The bouncers don’t give him any issues as he goes. He hopes that bag is actually in the back of his truck. He’d been working on gathering the clothes for the last couple of weeks, and can’t remember right now if it was in the trunk or not.

But the headlights blink as Calum unlocks the doors and eases the tailgate up. There, like a beacon, is the white plastic bag of clothes. “Thank fuck,” he whispers to himself and unties the knot. The clothing items are cold, thanks to the days and nights it’s spent in the truck, but they’re clean and not covered in beer. They’ll have to do for the rest of the night. Calum spots another red top--it’s a button down with a vertical white pin striping design over the entire shirt. He hadn’t worn it in ages and was pretty sure it wasn’t a fit issue, just too many other things he wore more consistently to feel the need to hold onto the item. 

Calum is a little glad for the warmth of the party. It cuts through the chill of sobriety and the winter night. It’s fairly easy to wind through the folks at the border between bar and dancefloor until he reaches the bathrooms. You stand at the start of the hallway that leads to them, your own red button up still clinging to your stomach. 

“I tried to match the theme,” Calum laughs, holding out the new unsoiled item. 

“A real knight in shining armor moment, I appreciate it,” you return, a smile grin decorating your face. “I think it’s mostly water that got on me though. Nothing smells bad yet.”

“Trying to save it?”

“Maybe?” You answer unsure and Calum spots the indecision in your face. 

“There’s some back patios if you want to freeze for a tiny bit to dry it out before we bag it up. I’ve got spare plastic bags on hand.” That Calum knows he has as he keeps them in a reusable bag that sits on his back seat. He’d tell people it’s for emergencies, but there’s very few emergencies that need plastic bags. 

“It is fucking cold out,” you agree. 

“Just change first. Then we’ll worry about the rest second.”

It’s a semi confident nod you give before turning on your heel and heading back towards the bathroom. It’s only a couple minute wait before you resurface and Calum leads you back towards the front rather than towards the back. If you want to save the shirt, he’s not going to risk yours or his health at the same time. 

There’s very little wind, which is a good thing as the two of you breach the front doors and back outside. The rattling music echoes quieter now behind you. Calum’s keys click gently with each step. “I see Nora found you,” you comment, hand squeezing his. 

“I doubt she was looking for me, but yeah.”

“Did it go okay? Sorry I wasn’t there.”

The headlights blink again--bright before cutting out nearly immediately which lets both of you know the vehicle is unlocked. Calum’s shaking his head, paused at the passenger door. “You don’t have to apologize. You went to get us drinks. There’s no way you would’ve known she was headed our way unless you want to admit now you have some sort of supernatural ability.”

Your laughter is short and mostly through your nose. “No, not psychic in the slightest.”

“I didn’t think so. Hop in, we’ll use the vents and the heat to see if we can salvage ourselves and your shirt.”

Calum makes sure that you’re fully situated into the seat before shutting the door and jogs around the front to get the driver side. The blast of chilly air from the car vents is cut rather quickly by the heat. You hold a section of the shirt up directly to the vent to dry it out. The radio reads 11:38 in the glow it casts through the front of the truck. 

“You’re not dead, so I take it the interaction didn’t kill you,” you tease. 

It stung. It definitely stung and maybe it’s not even Nora really. Just the fucking grief. “No, it didn’t. It was…a little awkward but survivable.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“She’s engaged.” It falls softly and Calum can taste his own disbelief still. His head falls back into the cushion of the rest and he can only really stare up at the roof, where the mirror waits to be pulled down for the imagined sun that’s covered now by the thick light of the moon. 

“I’ll propose right now. I don’t have a ring but I mean what’s a better way to get a one up than a New Year's proposal?”

Calum knows he shouldn’t, but he laughs. It’s not that he wouldn’t say yes. It’s not that he doesn’t believe you. He does. He knows he’d accept too. Shit, he’d accept. It’s not a conclusion that he’d really settled into. It’d only been a few months and though he’d fallen hard for you, he’d always imagined being more cautious about the long term commitments. Having you by his side makes daily life better--not necessarily easier, but bearable. You help him get through the sludge of laundry and you listen to the boring stuff. You make him laugh when he needs it most. You ask the hard questions. And it’s you that you Calum wants to do the hard work with. 

The sound of your laughter overtakes his as Calm feels the stunned silence of realization dawn over. He drops his head to look at you. You’re still pushed to the edge of the passenger seat, still holding your wet shirt to the vent. It’s you. He knew that--subconsciously. It just hadn’t broken the surface. But he exhales as you turn your attention back to the vent, moving a new section of the shirt to the vent. 

He’d accept your proposal and maybe eventually you might even accept his. “This isn’t about one upping anyone. But I do appreciate the offer.”

“Just needed to hear you laugh.”

But Calum doesn’t think it’s just a joke. It couldn’t only be a moment of levity meant to cut through the otherwise heavy tension that had fallen upon them. He thinks you might mean it. He knows he will eventually. The radio displays in the blue hue the time: 11:45. The minutes are falling away from him faster than Calum thought they would. His chest doesn’t feel as heavy, not after laughing, but mixed in with grief is a tiny bit of hope. A precarious spot to have such a small seedling but Calum cherishes it. He hopes it can suffocate out the dread. 

“How’s the shirt coming along?” he asks. 

“I think it’s the best I’m going to get for the time being. I do want to be there for the count down, if you’re still game to go back inside.” You bring it to your nose and scrunch your face at the smell. 

“I’m tough,” Calum returns, not really flexing all that hard but it makes you snort as you toss the shirt into the back seat. 

“Real tough,” you nod, leaning across the console. 

The digits blink and the minute rolls over to 11:51. “Beer got on it, huh?”

“A little I think. I’m sure it’s on my pants too. But those are dark enough that it doesn’t matter.”

“We can start the new year with a pile of laundry in the morning. My treat.”

You snort. “I’d appreciate that.”

Calum cuts the heat off first, catching 11:53 on the display before cutting the engine off next. It’s a light jog you two undertake to cross the parking lot and get back into the club. The heat of the bodies crowding the dancefloor is thick. Calum tightens his hold around your hand and tugs you in a little closer. 

“We’re only a few minutes away from the new year y’all! The five minutes will go quickly, so I hope you got your New Year’s kiss at the ready,” the DJ calls out over the sound system. 

The quick speech only spurs more and more people to flood the floor. The couches that you and Calum were perched early now seem nearly impossible to reach again. So he slides you in front of him, his lips are pressed up against your ear. “Have you ever had a New Year’s kiss?” he asks. 

You shake your head no in response, turning to face him now. There’s bodies on either side of you, people pressed into Calum’s back and into yours too. But when you gaze at him it doesn’t matter. “Care to be the first?” you ask.

“We’re ringing in the new year in two minutes!” the DJ announces between the cross fades between songs. 

“And your last while we’re at it,” Calum returns. 

“Ah, I didn’t think we were proposing today.”

“We’re not. Not yet anyway.”

Your brow arches. “Not yet.” It sounds like an agreement, like you too might know that it’s a future goal but not one to be breached just yet. 

Calum’s still got a way to go--see if he can get even stronger around the grief. He still doesn’t know what his future looks like in terms of when he’ll be taking over the throne. It might be best to only take one thing at a time but just because it’s not right now doesn't mean it’s not ever. With so many things happening, so many changes, he savors the idea that he can take his time with this, build more and more of a strong foundation with you. 

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” The chant starts with the DJ and soon the crowd joins in. 

“Five! Four!”

The inches are gone by the time the count down finishes. Though the crowd’s cheering about the new year, Calum’s only focused on you--the soft press of your lips, the warmth of you seeping into his skin through the layers of clothing, the buzz that lights up under his skin. His hands hover for a moment, as they move from your chin to tilt your head down to your hips. Calum wouldn’t normally care this much. But you two are in public. So he wants to be mindful, wants to make sure he’s not taking more than you’re willing to give. It’s not that for a lack of extreme self control, not that it doesn’t knock against his ribs to pull you flush against him.  But he doesn’t have to do any of that. 

You step in, fingers slipping into the loops of his pants and tugging Calum in a tad bit closer. He follows the instruction, with minimal breaks to the kiss, to press his hands now into your lower back, easing and fingertips aching to cup your ass. This he does resist, but part of him thinks you wouldn’t mind it at all. Your fingers trail up his back, pressing at his shoulders until your fingers wind up in his hair. His lips pepper kisses along your jaw. He starts to melt into the scratch of your nails at his scalp. 

“Happy New Year, love,” you breathe into his ear. 

And Calum has to laugh--because he’s not thinking about the new year, or the party, or Nora, or the mess on your pants, on how sticky the floor to this club is underneath his shoes from all the other drinks that were spilled here. The caress of your lips and hands over his body is enough to make all those worries disappear. 

“Happy New Year, baby,” he finally giggles out. 

The rattle of the bass pulsates again, shaking the floor beneath his feet. A chaste kiss is pressed to his cheek before you peel your upper body away from him just a little. Not enough to break the embrace, but enough that there’s a bit of cold air that rushes in and as it slips across Calum’s face, he realizes just how hot his face got, how lost he’d been. 

“Should I attempt the second round of drinks again or no?” you ask. 

“We can go together this time,” Calum offers. “And I’ll make sure if a drink must be spilled it’s on me this time.”

“I think we all much prefer no more spilled drinks. One is already too much of a party faux pas. But lead the way.”

“One more kiss?”

You roll your eyes, head falling back just a little with what Calum barely catches as your laughter. The skin of your neck dazzles in the passing blue and red strobe lights. He almost wants to sink his teeth into it, but again, reframes even in a place like this. When you bring your head back up, you nod. The gap’s shorter this time, you break the centimeters down in one final swoop as you press up and capture Calum’s lips again. 

He hums at the feeling--the every so slight hint of the Sprite from hours ago, the fading taste of your minty toothpaste from earlier. It reminds him he’s not dead. When you latch onto his waist at the bar, both of you leaning in close to be heard by the bartender, Calum’s reminded that even if he wanted the night to prove him right, to prove him as weak, he’d been stronger than anticipated. It didn’t matter if he wobbled at it either; even if he’d sworn up and down the dread and the unknown and the grief would kill him, it hadn’t. 

They most likely never would.

____________________________________

Charlie squeezes at your hand the closer you all get. His steps are bounces next to you. The eagerness radiates off him and you wish it were contiguous. At least then, it’d mask the waves in your ocean as something thinking. Because as it currently stands, you think you’re going to puke, and not because the walls are so white and bright. Not because you can still smell the chemicals from the cleaners they use. Not because people are staring at you. You think you might puke because you’re in front. Melvin and Teagan are behind you and you and Charlie follow behind the attendant--a young woman probably a couple years younger than you if you had to hazard a guess. You don’t remember her name--it started with an H and you think it was Harmony, maybe it was Heather. She greeted you with a big smile and welcomed the four of you inside with a large wave after you’d checked in and slapped the neon green visitor stickers to your chests. 

But none of that matters anymore. You’d have to apologize for ruining such pristine floors. Because as much as you think you’re going to puke, it starts to feel like a reality once you spot Diana. You see her before she can see you, as she swipes at something on the table that you can’t see. It might be crumbs; it could be nothing and just a nervous fidget-one last nervous tic- before she turns to you all. 

The white cardigan swallows Diana’s body, long and big. Yet, somehow her face looks fuller than it has since the last time you saw her. It’s probably the alcohol, though she’d undoubtedly drank herself into the depths, she was probably also not eating as she should. You take in this visage of her; she looks like you imagine a person should look like--no saggy bags and dark circles, no sunken in cheeks. She looks well and her grin is bright as she runs up to the group. Her arms are opened wide. Charlie pulls from your hold just a little, a laugh falling from his lips too. “Mom,” he calls out, closing the distance of a few ten feet or so.

Charlie wears the Birthday Boy pin you’d jokingly gotten for him. It’s pinned into his shirt, right across from the visitor sticker. You worry as he collides into Diana the pin will jut out and poke him, or her. But their embrace is tight and long. Perhaps, the construction of the flimsy thing is studier than it appears. Teagan whizzes past you too towards Diana. 

Diana takes her in with open arms too. “Oh, my babies!” she laughs, but you catch how wet the sound is. Behind the exclamation is the relief. Three months without much contact outside of the phone calls appears to have caught up to her, to them too. 

Melvin hazards just a couple more steps past you and that’s the only thing that makes you realize you’ve paused. He turns back and extends out his hand-a lifeline, the buoy you hadn’t realized you’d been looking for. You ease up a step. Then another. You don’t take Melvin’s hand, but your arm brushes against the tips of his fingers. He seems to understand as he gives a gentle squeeze on your bicep rather than the first offer hand. 

It’s supposed to be a joyous occasion. It’s supposed to be filled with hugs. But by God, you still have failed to conceptualize where you fit. All the talk you’d given to Calum about grief and being stronger than it, but you’d been failing that test too to stand up the battering grief gave. Melvin stays with you until the two of you are only a couple feet apart from Diana. Then he goes in for a hug and a kiss. Intimate, but chaste all the same. They look lost--but not the wandering kind of uncertainty. You get the feeling from Melvin and Diana that you think you have with Calum. They are only lost in each other, only slotting back the pieces that’d been missing. 

Melvin’s not a big guy--about 6’2--and Diana’s not too far behind him at 5’9. But she folds into his chest and you ponder if you should look away. Not that the sight makes you sick, not that you think you can’t witness it as an adult yourself. But you feel the need to steady yourself, check to make sure ribs haven’t actually caved in and haven’t actually punctured a lung. Everything you could’ve wanted for your younger self in front of you and you’re not sure if you can withstand the crushing wave. The tiles on the floor are still spotless here too.

“I’m glad you came,” Diana says. 

You look up at the sound of her voice and she’s a step in front of Melvin, Charlie and Teagan nestled on either side of her. It’s a family that is complete. It’s the family the way it should have always been. Your mouth gapes and you can feel the words burning the tip of your tongue--a dismissal, a joke about how you wouldn’t miss Charlie’s birthday for anything. You can’t say of course you’d come to visit. You shouldn’t give Diana a platitude covered lie. So you just nod.  

“So what’s there to do in this place?” Teagan asks. Her curious mind, undoubtedly, scanning the area surrounding them. 

“Oh, well, I sleep and eat,” Diana laughs. “But for such a special occasion, I got some special dibs on a few card games and a couple board games.”

“And we did bring some treats. But we were told we couldn’t bring them inside,” Charlie relays, having been disappointed about the no outside food in the lobby rule. But you offered, in condolences, that you could maybe sit outside with a few of the snacks. The nurse agreed it would be permissible but that you’d have to use the side garden with supervision. 

“Oh, I’m excited for that,” Diana returns. “But have you all been good? How’s school?”

Charlie and Teagan recount their days in the past week at school--quizzes to take, new things they’ve learned. It all feels so mundane, or that it should be. And to them it probably is as they settle at the large round table. This is normal to them but you feel like you can’t press on, like you can pass through the invisible wall lest you break something or ruin the moment. Melvin stays with you though--in between you and them--that buoy again, a bridge. 

“I know you’re used to standing at your job, but you can sit here, if you’d like,” he offers. 

You take a step. The ground doesn’t shake. Maybe things won’t fall apart. You take another and Melvin walks at your pace until you both reach the table. You don’t want to ruin this. You don’t want to ruin Charlie’s birthday. You don’t want to ruin the first face to face interaction Diana’s had with them in months. But you cannot shake the feeling of fear. You do not for the life of you want to fucking ruin this and you hope Diana doesn’t want to either. You hope it can stay on Charlie and Teagan. It’s so much easier that way. Yet, Diana asked for you to come, so you think perhaps, there will always be something under the surface-- like a cryptid that’s always talked about, rumored about, but never seen. 

“What are taxes?” Teagan asks as her piece lands on the space. She looks over her career card.

“It’s money you pay, in real life, to the government. It helps pay for things like education and healthcare,” Melvin explains. 

“Then why is it in this game? This isn’t real life,” Teagan retorts. 

“Well, it’s the Game called Life, so it’s meant to mirror things in the real world,” Diana tacks on. 

“Charlie, we are not ever playing this game again,” Teagan huffs as she slides the bills over to the bank pile. He’d picked the game to play. 

“Hit Happy Old Age and then we never will,” he laughs in return, picking up the die for his roll. 

“If this is supposed to be real life, we should have pets.” It feels so matter of factly from Teagan. You figure in a place like this the funding’s not always going towards the latest and greatest in boardgame technology. But she’s not one to argue with. 

“I still miss Hungry, Hungry, Hippos,” you muse, taking in account your position on the board. You think maybe you should swap careers, but know that you’re pushing your luck with what’s already been traded in. 

“What’s that?” Charlie asks. 

“Just a game where you slap the crap out of a lever and try to collect as many balls into your hippos mouth/side. Largest amount wins,” you explain. 

“Do they have that Mom?” Teagan questions. 

Diana shakes her head. “No, but it is a pretty fun game. Maybe when I’m back home we can get it and play.”

“Hmm, okay, sounds good,” Charlie returns but then huffs when he lands on a bad space. “C’mon! I’m so close. I don’t want any taxes,” he huffs, pulling his card from the pile. You only laugh, watching the intensity on his face as he reads over what he’s supposed to do next. 

As the hours pass and the games of Clue and Life and the rounds of Uno wind down to the close, when all the laughter is falling down around you, you left feeling Diana’s gaze. You feel it like the needle of a tattoo gun piercing skin--constantly and with a prick each time. You’d noticed it earlier, in the last round of Uno, when you were itching to slap your +2 down but ate the two cards you were forced to take, since Teagan had been particularly prickly about adhering to the “real rules” for one round. The house rules-while enjoyable-weren’t always easy to be on the receiving end of. Thus, leaving you to play more cautiously since Charlie and Teagan were on either side of you and they’d be enduring all of the suffering had you not gone as easy as you had. And all the while, as you picked up cards, and put them back down, you contended with Diana’s pointed stare--if you’d actually meet her gaze or focus on your cards in your hand. 

But all things come to an end and when Charlie asks if you all can go to the side garden to enjoy the snacks while there’s still plenty of light from the afternoon sun, Diana asks for you to stay back from Melvin, Teagan, and Charlie’s walk to the front and out to the car for the cooler and grocery bags. The wave of bile crashes against your throat, though it never crosses your lips as you help her reassemble the games and place them back onto the communal shelf. The rattle of the game pieces cuts through the soft sound of the TV as a ding sounds from the episode of Family Feud. 

“I owe you an apology,” Diana starts. “For the way I acted at the restaurant; I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to ambush you like that. You’ve been very clear in your boundaries with me and I crossed them. I’m sorry, too, for the drinking now and before. It was my duty, and still is my duty to be your mother, I feel. I failed that by being worried about everything else but you.”

There’s no warning, no wind up to this spiel that Diana’s launching into. You can still feel the dust of the shelves on your fingertips as you’ve yet to bring your hands back to your sides. You hate how much this apology too reminds you of an ambush, of Diana forcing onto you something you’re not ready for. But you’ve all but begged for an apology. You fantasized about how it might sound to hear Diana admit her wrongdoing. You wondered if she’d look you in the eyes. You wondered if she’d hold your hands. You wondered if you’d cry. All you feel is the instinctual part of your brain telling you to stay still and the danger will pass. 

“And I think I’m messing up again,” she laughs when you don’t speak. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

What do you say to that? Do you tell her it’s okay even if it’s not? Do you give her a platitude knowing it’s a fucking lie anyway? “We’re rusty,” you return and straighten up to face her. “Very rusty.”

Diana nods, gaze falling to the floor. “I just--would it help to give you context? Why I did what I did?”

“I hope we’re not talking about the drinking.” You feel like a parent now with how much she refuses to meet your gaze. It’s not that Diana was in trouble, per se. She’d already been in trouble. But she looks like she’s been caught, hands wringing around themselves. She’d not get deeper in trouble with you or anyone else. But you admit that you were the nail in the coffin for her. You’d been the final blow and you can’t fault the apprehension. 

“Well,” she starts and then stops. 

It’d be so easy to say Diana’s just doing this for herself. It’d be easy to theorize that she’s got some sort of homework that she needs to check off, so she can take it back to the doctors here and prove to them that she’s really improving. But you know you shouldn’t. You know that you need to give her some amount of hope. Change in people is real and Diana’s among them that deserve a shot at it. 

“Yes, and no. But I mostly want to explain everything and my actions,” Diana answers, finally looking back up to you. 

“You’re sure about doing it here? Now?” But the question should be are you sure you’re ready to hear such context here and now. The question should be: will anything that Diana says change how you feel? Would it truly ever make a difference? 

Diana nods. “I am.”

I’m not. You inhale for three seconds, then exhale for five. It doesn’t stop the thump of your heart against your ribs, but you nod too. “Then I’m all ears.” You can feel the heat on your skin, the prickle of sweat on your pits and palms. You’re all nerves too, exposed like cut wires. 

Diana nods. But there’s a few second gap before she speaks again. You don’t know if there’s enough time to laugh or to cry. Diana starts before you can make up your mind, “I can only recall in pieces what I said to you that night. I just know I wanted you home and that I admitted that drinking was sometimes easier to do than face the reality. But it’s not your fault. Melvin and I made choices and we have to live with the outcome. I felt unprepared to be a parent, but it’d been something I always wanted, you know? I wanted the house, the white picket fence, the three kids, the dog, maybe even the cat. I wanted that but when I got pregnant with you, I was not ready to be a mother. There were plenty of other options for me to choose from. I am not faulting you. I made those choices and I should’ve asked for help. Melvin and I both should’ve. But I was the oldest of the girls and I was supposed to have it together. I realize now that’s an expectation I have to unburden myself of. I just wanted to do it right and do it myself. But it was not without cost. 

“I’m really, so sorry. I failed you. You needed a mother, not a drunk. And maybe you still want a mother too, in me. I don’t know,” she sighs. She blinks rapidly, swallows hard by the bob of her throat. You mimic the action, eyes blinking back hot tears. When they started to fall you don’t know. But they’re here now. They fall down your cheeks and you don’t even think to wipe them away. Being human is the most universal condition--a fallible being who’s bound to make mistakes, and bound to want to fix them too. 

Diana continues on. “That night outside your job, I wanted to ask you to come to the house, to spend time with me and your dad and try and repair our relationship. I didn’t ask it right. I can understand your anger and your frustrations with me. I made it about me and what I wanted, not about you. I’m sorry. Nothing feels right. Not with the way we stand. And I’d,” Diana pauses, her lower lip quivers. The emotions now breaking down the dam she’d been putting up before. “I’d like to repair it--our relationship, I mean. I’d really, really like my family unit complete with you there. I’d love to know what you do for fun or what your favorite color is, if it’s still green. I just, I think my heart will always ache for you and what could be.”

You don’t hate her. You don’t think the anger you felt was ever true hatred. It was frustration; it was fear. It was always the child in you begging to be listened to; the anger was always something else in disguise. You don’t hate Diana. You’re relieved to hear the admission. You’re relieved to be vindicated. But you don’t know if one apology fixes it all. You don’t know if the decades that haunted you can be put to rest in one speech. 

“I appreciate that,” you start. Diana swims in your vision before the blink clears away a few more tears. “Thank you for telling me. But I-I don’t know if I can answer all of that right now. I don’t know where we stand. I want you to be better for Charlie and Teagan. They need you right now more than I do.” 

It almost slips, the hotly pressed line of her lips tells you she’s still got a long way to go and so do you. Yet, Diana nods instead, the frustration slipping away just as quickly as it rose. “I’ll get it right eventually,” she returns, her words soft and choked. She wipes at her nose with the back of her hands. “Thanks for listening to me.”

A nurse comes by with a box of tissue and you both take a few to wipe your faces. You are here, in the rehab center, off to the side in the visitor center. You’re surrounded, others with their loved ones as well, the TV still playing just loud enough in the background. Somehow the interjection of the tissues brings you back down to earth. You should say something else. You know it, feel it in your bones that you should, but you don’t have the words on your tongue anymore. 

“We got the goods!” Teagan calls out. Her feet thud behind you but echo louder as she approaches. “I was told by the nurse I could collect you two!” she laughs but it cuts short just as she reaches you two. “Were there big feelings I missed?” Her voice falls into a whisper. 

“It’s all okay, sweetheart,” Diana answers. “Now what are these snacks, huh?”

Before Teagan gets more than two steps out towards the door to the side garden, she takes hold of your wrist. “No one gets left behind. Not with Oreos on the line.”

Tossing the used tissue into the trash, you slip your hand up into hers. “You’re right, kiddo. Thanks.” 

Later in the night, after collecting your car from the house and saying goodbye to Teagan and Charlie, and after you’ve slithered into bed, skin still warm from the shower, you think about what you could’ve said to Diana. You could’ve told her that part of you always wanted to fix it. You could’ve told her that you’re too scared to fail again. You could’ve told her about the gala and the painting that sold. You could’ve told her about the website that you’re about to start building; how it’s almost done. You could’ve told her that you’re working just for individuals first and then you’ll start taking on bigger projects for stores and companies. You could’ve told her how you’ve quite enjoyed your time working the bar. You could’ve told her that you didn’t want to work in the restaurant world forever. 

But you didn’t tell her anything. 

Calum turns, you can feel the bed shake and dip. His warmth pulls back just a little from your side. You know he’s asleep. His breathing is deep and even, the occasional snore slipping from his chest. You watch him sleep for the moment, a small sliver of moonlight slips in through the curtains and you can see the essence of him--just enough light to see his laughs, the full lips set underneath his strong nose. 

You feel like you’re hiding. You feel like you’ve always been hiding, especially when it comes to your parents. It was the easy option. It was the safe option to hide. You’re hiding now, in these sheets, away from the world that could so kindly embrace you. It could hurt. And it would--that part you were certain of. The world would always hurt you but you had to be bigger than that. You had to be more than the hurt the world dished out. You would be more than just the things that had hurt you. 

You ease out from the bed, careful as you crack open the bedroom door. Calum doesn’t stir, holds steady to his position and you slide out into the hallways. The light is jarring, forcing you to squint your eyes. But you know these hallways better now thanks to the months and take them down to the stairs. From the stairs, you head up one floor, to the library. The doors are still heavy and wooden but you’re prepared for the heave as you work the door open. The moonlight echoes over the floors from the large windows along the east walls. 

There’s enough light that you can make your way through the room towards the windows, which will lead you to the middle row of tables. You switch on the lamps at the desk and they give off just enough light that you can rummage a bit more safely. You find a legal pad left behind--you don’t know who it belongs to but you take it. Situated at the corner of the table is a holder with several pens inside. You pull one out--attempting to discern if it’s blue or black ink but in the dark, it matters not what color it is. As you settle into a chair, right under the soft yellow glow of the lamp, the words--all the things you could verbalize--feel a little bit easier to get out. 

Diana, 

I bartend at the moment. I do one night in the week in the kitchen, but most of my shifts are at the bar. It makes me an acting manager if no one else is there, but I don’t mind the added responsibility for now. 

I paint too. I auctioned a piece off for the Royal charity gala this year and it went for 135,000 dollars. The number still feels surreal to me. 

I’m building a website to take commission and paint more. 

I’m in love with a man, who happens to be the prince, but to me he’s still a man that prefers my cooking to his own and promises me he’ll learn. I think he says it so I don’t feel bad, but I’d never feel bad. Because it means a lot to me that he enjoys it. He’s cared for Teagan and Charlie in ways I have not had to ask him to care, simply because he sees how much I care about them. I’d like a quiet life with Calum, or as quiet of a life as we can get all things considered. 

I have friends--people who like me for all the dry humor and general stand-off behavior I exhibit. There are people who see my heart and want nothing else in return for it really. 

I have fears too. 

I’m afraid I’ll get hurt again by you, and by Melvin. You two will always be my parents. You two will always hold that space. But I am afraid. I’m afraid I’ll be the kid again begging you to pay attention and getting cast aside time and time again. I’m afraid that if I get too close it’ll ruin you and thus, ruin Charlie and Teagan too. I’m afraid I might have ruined you, and them too, but I know that I only made choices that I felt were right. 

I don’t want Charlie or Teagan to have to go through what I went through. I want them to remember their mom and dad as present figures, as parents that tucked them in at night, as parents there for the games, and the recitals, and the science fairs. I want them to have everything I didn’t. I want, for them, in ways I have never wanted even for myself. I want things for them that they cannot fathom, and sometimes neither can I. I do not know if this is the same love a parent has for a child, but it feels close. 

I know you want things for me. You want things for yourself. You want things to be different between us for yourself too. I understand. 

Yet, I have so, so, so much fear. I fear you’re trying to get better for all the wrong reasons. Not for me. Not for Melvin. I want you to get better for you. I want you to see how strong you can be. And maybe, maybe then things can change between us. Maybe they won’t ever change. 

I’m willing to see where time takes us, if you are. But I can’t make any promises. Are you okay without promises? Are you okay with time, however long it takes? 

The words stare back at you and you think you could say more, but what more could you ask of her or yourself? How much more until it became impossible?

“Where did you sneak off to last night?” Calum asks as you both sit at the long kitchen table over cups of coffee. His voice is thick still with sleep, but he watches you carefully. The  hot pan Valerie works over sizzles as she drops something--you think it might be shredded potatoes, as it’s become her own signature breakfast dish. You’d tried to take over when you two first entered the kitchen, but she swatted at your hands with the spatula. It was enough to make you heed the warning. 

“I thought I was quieter than that.”

“I woke up at one point to use the bathroom and you weren’t in bed. But your phone was still on the nightstand so I wasn’t sure if you went to get a snack. I might’ve fallen back to sleep faster than I anticipated,” he snorts. 

“I went to the library,” you answer honestly. 

“You couldn’t sleep, hmm?”

You shake your head and stare down into the mug. The coffee’s bitter--more so than usual. But you watched Calum pour the sugar into your mug. You watched him put in just a splash of milk like he always does. And maybe it’s not the coffee at all. From the pocket of your robe, you pull out the two sheets of paper you filled last night and slide it over to Calum. 

He takes them. “Look at me, please?” You exhale before bringing your head up. “Wake me next time, okay? When you can’t sleep.”

“What if it’s all the time?” you tease. “I’ve heard a man like you needs his beauty sleep.”

“Then I’ll be a man that just looks haggard. Wake me,” he commands again. You know he means it. The sincerity drips from his gaze and if you could watch the falling drops they’d land too in his own mug. You nod and take another sip of the coffee; it’s just enough for him to turn his attention back down to the paper--satisfied with your response. 

You watch him read over the lines, eyes darting left to right and then down another line. Left to right. Then down another line. He goes until he reaches the end. Calum flips the page over and sets it face down onto the table. You wonder if he does that with all documents too, as to not lose any pages or get them out of order. He finishes before you can truly come back to your senses and asks, “Are you going to send it? Or just needed to get it off your chest?”

You hear the sounds of the questions but it takes another few seconds for the words to unravel and make sense. “I’m going to send it off, yeah. She just…she unloaded a lot onto me and I didn’t know how to respond in the moment.”

“Until now,” Calum corrects. 

“Until now,” you agree.

“I’ve got stamps in my office if you need one.” His words are calm. But his eyes are wide. 

“Have I shocked you? Was it something I said?”

“Have you shocked yourself? Just a few months ago, I think you were more inclined to spit on her grave plot. Now you’re asking her to give you time to see what changes, if anything. I know what she’s done to you. I know that you don’t have to forgive her. I know all the things I said, and did, and even assumed that you’d want to fix this, that you’d want something more. And I think, with time, it’s less about what you wanted as much as I saw what time might do. But the question still stands: Do you want anything from her for yourself?”

That--that was the hard part. You wanted things, but they were always for others. You wanted Diana to get better. But that was for Charlie and Teagan. You wanted her to get better for herself too, so that she could prove to herself what she was made of. But you don’t know if you’ve got anything else left in you to want for yourself with Diana. 

“I just want peace,” you return. “But even I don’t know what that looks right now. So maybe I do want time to figure that part out too.”

“You can ask for that,” Calum encourages, sliding the pages back to your side of the table. “You can ask for a truce and you can want peace.”

“What if peace is always a chasm?” It worries you that Diana will never let you go. Not now, not when she’s so close. 

Calum takes your hands, fingers peeling yours ever so gently from the mug before slotting his palms around your single hand. He squeezes and you squeeze back. “That’s not your war to fight. If you want peace and you’re able to be respectful about it, then it’s Diana’s burden to bear to heal and live with that too. She doesn’t get to dictate the conditions of your life anymore.”

Part of you likes the idea of being closer to Melvin. While you didn’t think you’d ever be where Calum and his parents are, you like the idea of having Melvin have some level of access to you personally. He was genuinely sweet. He wanted to treat you like a person--not like a child anymore. But with Diana you wondered if she could turn it off, be not a mom for a little bit and just be a person with you. 

“What if it’s just her?” you ask in a whisper. “What if she’s the only one that can’t do it?”

“Not your fight,” Calum answers with a shrug. “You don’t have to carry her behaviors and consequences. You are not at fault for what she does. If you need it, take this as permission to stop fighting her battles. It’s time she handles her own mess.”

Had you been taking up Diana’s fight as your own? Or does Calum just mean that you no longer have to dance around her feelings? But no matter how it shakes, no matter what he means, something exhales. You feel it in your lungs at first and then your shoulders drop. He is right. Diana’s own actions would have their own consequences. She shouldn’t be shielded from them. 

“I’ll need that stamp, if it’s not too much of a bother,” you state, rolling your shoulders back just a hair. 

“Never a bother.”

[burrowsos]

picnic date with luke🧺🫧🌈

[gothluke]

he’s so 🤩

[wiiildflowerrr]

@Ashton5SOS: New profile pic? What do YOU think? #2009myspacevibes

25 June 2016

[nine-butterflies]

in the wake of losing english love affair to boston night 2, how have I never seen a first prince edit to that song

[whilstiveputdownthisfic]

from Ashton's IG stories

Sunday, February 4th, 2024; as of 2:57 pm est

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Omegaverse (2) Masterlist

part one

All Over Me (ao3) - pilotmikey Michael/Luke M,4k

Summary: luke goes into heat and michael shows up just in time.

Baby You Are Lucky Cause You Are Rocking With The Best (I'm Greedy) (ao3) - Migs Ashton/Michael E, 2k

Summary: "You know we can't baby. You are due for your shots soon." Ashton says as he carefully pushes three fingers inside now slick gushing omega.

"I don't care." Michael moans as he feels Ashton's fingers bottoming out inside him. "I just wanna feel you inside me. It's been so long." Michael pouts.

And Ashton knows this is a bad idea but he has always been a sucker for Michael's pout.

Bittersweet Relief (ao3) - koogolplex Luke/Ashton, Michael/Calum N/R, 6k

Summary: Looking back on the weeks events, Luke found himself feeling bittersweet. The bitter, he knew came from a life long let down, but the sweet was right up there with his life long lover.

Or, Luke and Ashton have heat sex; in which Luke goes into an unexpected heat, but Ashton fucks him right through it.

Calm Down, Cujo. (ao3) - orphan_account Michael/Luke, Calum/Ashton M, 9k

Summary: Luke was acting so weird. But God, did he smell good.

Heat (ao3) - FayeHunter Michael/Luke E, 1k

Summary: Luke goes into heat. Luckily he has his mate, Michael

How many omegas can you fit into 5 seconds? (ao3) - Little_Marquise Michael/Luke, Calum/Ashton, Luke/Calum M, 573k

Summary: Luke has, as the only beta in a band, always felt a bit left out. While Michael and Ashton are fighting over who will win Calums heart, Luke feels like a piece of him is missing. The delayed piece of him finally catches up with his hectic lifestyle, when he presents as an omega during their Youngblood tour and everything goes absolutely crazy. Muke and Cashton.

Le Chatelier's Principle (ao3) - LyricalPary Luke/Ashton, Michael/Calum E, 54k

Summary: Ever since being promoted to head waiter, Luke had had one problem that came in the form of a six foot, curly-headed, hazel eyed demon. And by demon, he meant his frustratingly stubborn, unfairly attractive co-worker, Ashton Irwin.

Lips Look Sweet Like Cotton Candy (ao3) - Migs Luke/Calum, Michael/Ashton E, 3k

Summary: Luke goes into his first heat and his bandmates are eager to help.

Mating Season (ao3) - orphan_account Luke/Ashton, Michael/Calum M, 3k

Summary: Two Alphas. Two Omegas. One house. When one Omega has his first heat, the household's whole world is turned upside down.

some princes don't become kings (ao3) - fxxdlover Luke/Ashton M, 1k

Summary: Seven years without seeing the daylight. When he was thirteen a rich family bought Luke and took him to a world where omegas were just simple pets to the alphas, the ones who lived at the top of the chain: the purebloods.

After his twentieth birthday he's given as a gift to another family. Scared and broken he ends up trapped in the cold eyes of a mysterious alpha who barely looks at him.

[starbabyg]

Who I write for;

Just to let anyone who wants to request any imagines and such, and for my masterlist here’s a list of who I write for. [You can always ask me to write for anyone who isn’t on this list, these are just my faves and people I really wanna write for].

Nhl Boys

Jack Hughes [New Jersey Devils]

Juraj Slafkovsky [Montreal Canadiens]

Mitch Marner [Toronto Maple Leafs]

Thomas Bordeleau [San Jose Sharks]

Quinn Hughes [Vancouver Canucks]

Luke’s Hughes [UMich]

Nico Hischier [New Jersey Devils]

Trevor Zegras [Anaheim Ducks]

Actors

Cody Fern

Timothee Chalamet

Evan Peters

Aaron Taylor Johnson

Finn Wolfhard

Jacob Elordi

Tom Holland

Musicians

Jesse Rutherford

Luke Hemmings

Calum Hood

Ashton Irwin

Michael Clifford

Rappers

Gucci Mane

A$ap Rocky

Young Slo Be

Yatta

EBK Bckdoe

Pimp Tobi

Tay K

NBA Youngboy

Travis Scott

Roddy Rich

G Herbo

Shootergang Jojo

LordeTheTopScore

A Boogie

Method Man

Ol Dirty Bastard

Television Characters

Carl Gallagher [Shameless]

Lip Gallagher [Shameless]

Gallavich [Shameless]

Ason Unique [Wutang Saga]

Bobby Diggs [Wutang Saga]

Shotgun/Method Man [Wutang Saga]

Dennis Cole/DLover [Wutang Saga]

Sha/Raekwon [Wutang Saga]

Divine Diggs [Wutang Saga]

Mike Wheeler [Stranger Things]

Michael Langdon [American Horror Story]

Xavier Plympton [American Horror Story]

Duncan Shepherd [House of Cards]

Movie Characters

Jim Mason [Tribes of Palos Verdes]

Tangerine [Bullet Train]

Dave Lizewski/Kick Ass [Kick Ass]

Nick Sheff [Beautiful Boy]

Kyle Scheible [Lady Bird]

Prince Hal [The King]

Peter Parker [Spiderman] (Both Tom and Andrew version)

Richie Tozier [IT]

Anime

Katsuki Bakugou [My Hero]

Shoto Todoroki [My Hero]

Izuku Midoriya [My Hero]

Eijiro Kirishima [My Hero]

Denki Kaminari [My Hero]

Hitoshi Shinso [My Hero]

Soma Yukihira [Food Wars]

Death The Kid [Soul Eater]

Soul Eater Evans [Soul Eater]

[velvxtmoss]

This just in: Prince Luke Hemmings a run away along with long time friend and bodyguard Ashton Irwin?!

Prince Luke Hemmings has been seen with friend and bodyguard Ashton Irwin in the outskirts of Australia. His mother urges him to come home to fulfill his promise to his country and get married to an unnamed Duchess.

Just last year a scandal was pushed from the press when blurry photos were released to the public of these men kissing at the yearly Winter Solstice ball. The queen responded with quote, “They are just boys. Curious and drunk. We all make mistakes.”

The prince had no response to the onslaught of hate and even more support from the LGBTQ+ community.

(More information below…)

[i got bored, @plushyluke inspired me and now I have this.]

[issie-https]

Hello

If you had to pick 12 photos for each zodiacs signs what would be ?

you can also pick izzy's songs or songs that you like or fit with zodiac, I just love everything related with izzy

Hiya! I’ve dug through the Internet, deep and wide to find some pictures and I finally found them. I also had to split it into 2 parts(sozzz)

Part 2

Aries

Dates: March 21 - April 19

Sign: ♈️

Musicians with the same zodiac: Lady Gaga, Elton John, Gerard Way, Damon Albarn, IZZY MF STRADLIN!!! and Angus Young(AC/DC)

What I think of you: Y’all are okay but my mum is an Aries and she’s a cunt so kinda hinders my views. Aside from that, youse are badass!!

Why I chose the picture: you make me think of arson❤️ jk, it’s badass and so are you!

Taurus

Dates: April 20 - May 20

Sign: ♉️

Musicians with the same zodiac: 🩷Melanie Martinez🩷, Stevie Wonder, Patrick Stump, Krist Novoselic, Cos Sylvan(Ghost bassist), Mick Mars Joey Jordison(rip ml❤️) and Eric Brittingham.

What I think of you: Cool people! I mean, just from the musician list alone, y’all are cool.

Why I chose the picture: you’re cool and wholesome and this pic makes me feel that way.

Gemini

Dates: May 21 - June 20

Sign: ♊️

Musicians with the same zodiac: Paul McCartney, Lionel Richie, Prince, STEVIE NICKS!!!!!, Tom Jones, Lenny Kravitz and Noel Gallagher.

What I think of you: 50/50. You’re either a sweetheart or a cunt🫶🏻

Why I chose the picture: Two faced biatches

Cancer

Dates: June 21 - July 22

Sign: ♋️

Musicians with the same zodiac: LANA DEL REY!!!, LUKE HEMMINGS!!!, Cyndi Lauper, ASHTON IRWIN!!!, RINGO STARR!!!, Eric Carr, Mick Fleetwood, Sandy West, Joey Kramer, BRIAN MAY!!! Honourable mention: Danny Ric(Formula One)

What I think of you: I fucking love youse! Look at the list of musicians and try and tell me they’re not iconic!

Why I chose the picture: it’s relaxing and youse are relaxing.

Leo

Dates: July 23 - August 22

Sign: ♌️

Musicians with the same zodiac: SLASH❤️❤️, Whitney Houston, Madonna, Mick Jagger, JAMES HETFIELD!!!, Ayesha Erotica, Pat Smear, Vinnie Vincent, ROGER TAYLOR!!! And JOHN DEACON!!!

What I think of you: I hate you because of my brother. But Slash cancels it out so I fucking adore you💋💋💋

Why I chose the picture: Kings & Queens🫶🏻

Virgo

Dates: August 23 - September 22

Sign: ♍️

Musicians with the same zodiac: Michael Jackson(HeeHee), FREDDIE MF MERCURY❤️, Amy Winehouse, Bill & Tom Kaulitz, Liam Gallagher, Ricky Horror, Joe Perry, Lita Ford, Gustav Schafer, JESS MARGERA!!! And Mikey Way.

What I think of you: I haven’t met too many Virgos but the ones that I have met are badasses but in a respectful way. Like, you demand the attention of a room but if something isn’t about you, you make sure whoever it is about has that attention!

Why I chose the picture: Love it just like i love you❤️

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Sweet Dreams--Part 14

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted. 

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

“Her car is still here.”

You see white SUV too, as you’re parked on the street parallel to the house. Normally you pull into the driveway, but Diana’s truck and Melvin’s sedan are both out. It makes you wonder how much Diana did the driving with the kids. Or perhaps Melvin’s job has him commuting a further distance than you realized so he keeps the smaller vehicle to save on gas. There’s holes and parts of their lives that you have no way to grasp. But as you sit in the driver seat, the engine still knocking gently as it settles, you realize how much is unraveling even if you can’t see it. 

“I thought Dad said she was gone,” Teagan tacks onto Charlie’s observation. 

“She can’t take her car with her,” you answer. 

You’re not sure where Diana is. Melvin only told you that she’d finally relented to going into rehab--intensive and pretty secluded, according to him. The words private and expensive were interwoven through the conversation, but never spoken.  It makes you assume it’s a place further out. Perhaps, he too wanted more privacy about the situation given the headlines that were still rolling. Calum had only mentioned the particularly rough ones to you, in the hopes to prepare for whatever might happen as you settled back into your normal routine. Information you’d passed along to Melvin mostly in the form of a warning, asking that he try to refrain from watching the tabloids and the press too closely. 

“Oh. Why not?” Teagan asks. Her question breaks you from the trance you’ve funneled into you, watching the truck for any sign of Diana popping out of it. Though, you know that shouldn’t happen. 

“It’s-” the words are failing you. You can feel them die on your tongue as you look into your rearview mirror. Their eyes are hopeful but still confused. “It’s not like a regular doctor’s appointment that she gets to come and go from. She’ll be away for a bit.” You want to add ‘little’ into the mix of the sentence but know better than that. You don’t know how long she’ll be gone and if you try to quantify that length even more, it will raise questions and disappointment. 

Charlie drops his gaze back out the window. “I don’t like this. Having her car but not her.”

“New things take a while to adjust to,” you offer. Because this is new. For them, for you now too. What do you become in the midst of this? How much is too much even though you want to be there for them? What does this mean for you and Melvin as well? You want to be there but you don’t want to replace. That’s not your job as their sibling. 

“Calum said something like that too,” Charlie hums. It’s somewhere between disappointment and hopefulness. 

The unfortunate reality is that you and Calum have the years to see how right the sentiment is. But you watch Charlie gaze out of the window. You want the words to crawl up your throat. You want the right words to mold your tongue. But you’ve got nothing but cynicism wanting to come back up. He’s not old enough for that. Charlie and Teagan don't need that in this current situation.  So you swallow it back down. 

The front door creaks open after you’ve knocked. Charlie and Teagan stand in front of you, wrapped up in coats, they carry their school bags and you hold the bags with their freshly laundered clothes and toiletries. Melvin smiles down at them. “Hey, kiddos.” But something about the sentence comes out a little strained, buried in a cough and you can see the ring of red in his eyes. The tears he’s cried no doubt. 

You bring yourself back down to Charlie and Teagan’s level. “You two can call me. Anytime. Okay?”

“I’m calling right now,” Teagan teases as she buries herself into you. 

You kiss the top of her head. “Consider this me answering.” 

As you stand back up, preparing to hug Charlie, you see him square his shoulders. He’s just a kid. “Hey,” you state softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Let me and Melvin shoulder this one okay?”

“I can handle it.” His voice shakes, chin quivering. 

This--this is what you were afraid of. Charlie’s a great kid. He cares so much. You know he does. You know as much as he talks and trusts, he’s always going to be the kid who protect his sister.  This is not something he can protect anyone from. It’s not something you could’ve protected them forever against either. 

But Charlie’s going to want to. He’s going to feel like he has too. But you’ll at least offer a hand. “Well, don’t handle it alone, alright?”

He exhales, pushing into your chest and you let him in, winding your arms around his shoulders. He shakes into your body. He is just a kid. And it kills you every time you think about how young they are. The embrace lasts long enough for Melvin to usher you two inside. Teagan follows him upstairs to drop off her belongings into her room. And Charlie shakes and shakes in your arms. You settle onto the floor in front of the closed door and let him settle onto your lap. Your arms become a cradle and you hold Charlie as tight as you can. 

“Don’t make bad choices about us too, okay? Please don’t,” he sobs into your chest. 

There are promises you know you can’t keep. This might be one of them. “I promise I won’t,” you whisper. Damn if you can’t keep them. Damn if you don’t try either. 

“I can take him,” Melvin offers, descending the stairs. It feels like an out, like if you’ve got an excuse you can use it now. And you don’t. You purposefully switched shifts with someone so you’d have nothing in your way. So you shake your head and keep Charlie’s body cradled to your chest. The tears and shakes are gone, but Charlie’s yet to let go. So you don’t let go either. 

Melvin settles onto the steps instead, pulling the glasses from his face as he exhales. It feels like it echoes in the house, bouncing off the walls, into the dining room, around the kitchen, up the stairs, and out into the yard. “I made the mistake of going online even after you told me not to,” he confesses to the floor. But his gaze drags up to you, you see the harrowing exhaustion. “Should’ve listened.”

“Sometimes I’m not wrong,” you offer. It’s an awkward lob of a tease. You’re hoping he understands the jest that you’re trying to employ.  He smiles, exhaling a tuft of laughter as he does so. Your heart eases, the squeeze dissipating at the sound. 

“Yeah, sometimes,” he agrees. 

When Charlie goes lax, his hold around you slipping inch by inch, you know he’s emotionally exhausted himself into sleep. This is not the way you want to go. But you may not get another chance. And you may not last through another emotional burst. You’re careful as Melvin helps you up the stairs and as you tell the probable unconscious boy that you love him, that you’ll come by more often. You can only help that the words settle into his psyche, that he understands what you’re trying to say. 

Back down the stairs, you reach for the door, hand outstretched for the knob. Behind you is Melvin. Maybe a foot or two behind. Close enough that you know he’s there, but far enough that it still feels like there’s a gap. You want to go. Know you should go now that this part is over. But the hardest part for them is just beginning. It only gets harder and harder from here before it gets easier. 

“Is there anything I can do to make things a little easier? You’re going to be down a pair of hands for however long Diana’s in rehab,” you start and turn back to face him.

Melvin blinks, a bit of surprise still clear on his face. “I don’t want to ask too much of you.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m asking,” you return. “A weekly dinner, extra hands on the weekends. It’s okay if you need my help.”

You see it again, the hover of Melvin’s arms. The way he smiles, and inches closer but stops just as quickly as it starts. Is it a bit of pride too? But you don’t let yourself linger on the thought. You don’t want to get too involved too fast.  “I’ll let you know? Is that okay?”

You nod. “I’m just a call away.”  The door closes behind you and it’s soft. You catch the click of the lock being turned too. You can only hope that Melvin does actually take you up on that offer. That he actually gives you a call when he does need the extra help. 

_______________________________________

You tap the top of the cupcake. It’s cool to the touch and though you know it might help to put the batch into the fridge for a few minutes, you’re already cutting it close as is to get to work on time. You pipe the frosting onto the first one and give it a few seconds to see how much melting will occur if any. Thankfully, it seems to hold up. So you continue on with the rest of the batch. 

The stairs creak. The apartment is older, having been built in the 80’s. But you always know who’s coming and going by the noise the stairs give off. “Sorry for the mess,” you call out. You don’t even look up to see which of your roommates it is. You know the counters are still full, covered in bowls and whisks. You know it is, yet you can’t exactly stop right now to get to it. You’ll be sure it’s taken care of before you leave. 

“No, you’re good.” It’s Josie, you realize by how softly she returns. She shuffles to the fridge and it hisses just a little as it cracks open. “Who are you baking for? Seems like a big party.”

It’s only two dozen cupcakes, but it is still a steep undertaking for just one person in the small apartment kitchen. “Friend’s birthday,” you answer, looking up to your left. 

She smiles in return. “What kind? Buttercream frosting?”

“Carrot cake. And yes, birthday boy’s favorite so it sort of had to be done,” you return with an exhale of laughter. 

“Ah, would this be your boyfriend or?” she laughs with the question. 

“No, his friend’s birthday though.”

“How--how is that going? If I can ask. With the Prince?” She seems scared, as if the question itself will cause harm. But you know it’s a valid question to ask. You know it’s how roommates converse with each other. It's normal to talk about this stuff, but it’s sort of the most that you’ve really conversed with each other. You know it’s odd, but previously it’d been your job that prevented you from really being home enough to even talk to them, to even think of having such conversations. 

“It’s good.” And it is. It is good with Calum, though life has definitely handed you cards that make other aspects more challenging. That part of your life though, thankfully, was still smooth. “Am-Am I in your way?” you question. You’ve taken over the kitchen, but you do realize that it’s not solely yours. 

“No, no.” She holds up the bottle of water. “Came just for this. You’re okay.”

You nod, and return your focus back to the cupcakes. Only about a fourth are iced and you still need to clean. There’s no creak of the stairs, no ache in the wood that echoes to tell you that Josie’s left the kitchen. “How-how are things on your end?”

“Things are good. I got a promotion at work which is sort of taking longer to adjust than I anticipated.”

“Congrats on the promotion. Are you supervising?”

Josie hums before she responds. “Yeah, I’m a manager of a team now. It’s not the same people I was working with before. But they’re doing the same thing I was doing, so it’s easy in that regard. I know the mechanics of the job, which is nice. I just don’t know how to always talk to people. Like firmly I mean. It’s still awkward.”

It’s not shocking that Josie’s not someone that knows how to be firm with people. Not in the same way that maybe others can more easily others. She stumbled and fumbled when asking for help with the insects in the kitchen. “Did you want the promotion? Like to start supervising?” you ask. 

Josie snorts. “I wanted the pay raise. I’m not a fan of upper management and hoped that I could bring change if I took it. But it’s harder than I imagined. I don’t know though. Like maybe it just takes some time.”

“Supervising people is a challenge. But it doesn’t sound like you’re looking to give in just yet though.”

“Definitely not. I might talk to some other leaders and get time with them about what strategies they use and stuff.”

You look up from the last part of the batches. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

Josie’s smile is soft in return. “Do you need help with anything? If you need a hand with the dishes, I’ve got nothing else to do.”

Though it dances on your tongue why Josie would want to spend her day off, tackling a mess she didn’t create, you don’t actually ask it. It would be dismissive, rudely so. You look back at the bowls, as they wait with the remains of batter along their walls. “I really don’t want to get in your way,” you counter. It’s an out, something to let her out should she not actually want to help but only asked to be polite. 

Josie shakes her head, pulling the sleeves up from her wrist towards her elbows. “It’s not a problem.”

You want to protest, but the help would greatly unburden some of the time crunch you’re on. So you watch. She turns the knobs to let the water rush down into the basin. “Thank you,” you call out after the sink is full of soap and water. 

“Of course.”

It’s rather quiet. Even after you finish icing the cupcakes and get them boxed up, and even after you start drying the dishes that you dirtied and that Josie washed, the two of you fall into silence. It feels like you’ve somehow always done this with each other. Like somehow this is just a natural rhythm. 

The cabinets close. The water spirals down the drain. “Thanks again,” you offer to her softly. “I owe you one.”

“Oh, no problem.”

“Best of luck with that promotion,” you call up to her over the creak of the stairs. 

“Best of luck getting those cupcakes to the party safely.” Her smile is soft and Josie carries herself up the stairs gracefully. No unnecessary groans or creaks from the stairs. Though you don’t have the time to correct her about the fact that while it is a party, it’s one that you’ll be ultimately working, you like the idea that to the outside this just might be normal--that you’re baking cupcakes for a party that you’ll be enjoying--rather than the true testament of the matter: you’ll be working. 

The first half of your shift feels relatively normal. You take the time to help with the second wave of prep--the weekend typically comes a strong wind that takes with it all the morning prep only a few hours into the day. And once you’re in a good position with prep, you move on to helping with orders. It’s a steady stream, the white tickets never seeming to halt. Not that you expect them too. There’s something easy to madness, as you’ve grown more and more accustomed to the demands of the weekend. 

It’s almost normal enough to forget the cupcakes in the fridge. That is until your name is called out. You turn, feeling the heat of the grill now caressing your back rather than the front. Harley waves at you, egging you closer and closer to the windows that orders rest on. “What’s up?” you ask. 

“The Prince is asking that I ask you about some cupcakes?” Harley’s question lilts in a way that it’s clear she’s not sure what this could mean but is relaying the message nonetheless. It shocks you just a little to think that’s even close to six. But you know the timing in the kitchen is not the same time tracking that happens outside of it. You’re focused on chicken breast going in at the right time to make it out with the baked potatoes. The outside world slows while this internal clock keeps ticking ever faster as you time fish and steak. 

You nod at Harley’s question though, to let her know you’re still listening. “I’ve got ‘em. Are they in your section?”

She nods. “Tables 19 and 20, in that back corner.”

“Perfect. Uh, when it looks like they’re settled from the entrees just let me know and I’ll help you bring out the cupcakes. It’s for a birthday.”

“Oh, okay, cool. Thanks. Also, like, what’s it like?” There’s a pause to her question. The flick of her gaze around as if trying to make sure the coast is clear. 

“What’s what like?” you pose in return. You’ve counted down the seconds and you’ll need to flip that chicken breast soon so it won’t char. 

“You know. With the prince.” 

Harley’s young, in her junior year of college and picked up the server gig to help her pay for books and rent. A testament that seems to echo with several other servers in the restaurant too. So there’s a stark difference between the front and the back. The servers are not shy with their conversations about love lives. The back is older, a bit more worn with time and laughs as the younger coworkers talk. It’s not to say that there isn’t more than a fair share of stories about lovers, and one-night stands. But you don’t participate. It’s awkward. Everyone seems to know about your situation but no one pushes it. 

And you don’t plan on breaking that silence any time soon either. Though you do smile at the eagerness on her face, you turn back to the grill. You lift the breast up onto the spatula to turn it over. 

“Oh c’mon! Just a little detail. A tiny one,” she laughs. 

“Unless you’ve got an order you’re dropping off, then I think our conversation is done.”

She sighs--or at least you think, she does. It’s a bit hard to hear over the hiss of the grill and the calls from others at the grill for some assistance. You get the curiosity she has. You think it might plague you too if it were someone else in your shoes. But you know that even if Harley is harmless in her questioning, others won’t be. It’s a lid best to keep tightly tamped down on the jar. As long as the questioning remains harmless, you can live with it. You’re sure you would have to even if you were to change jobs or professions as long as you’re with him. 

More orders come through. Though the kitchen feels slightly more crowded than normal with your additional presence, you understand why Turner wanted the extra body around. While your focus is on the tables for Michael’s party now that they’ve arrived, you still managed to help prior with other orders and manage to keep the small parties from waiting too terribly long. You call out the last dish for table 20 and Harley’s already waiting for it. Her and Peter will be taking the food out. 

But she pauses. “Sure you don’t want to say hi to your boyfriend.” 

All you can do in return is laugh, before waving her along. She goes with Peter right behind her. Your focus turns back to the tickets still waiting in the line, still more chicken and shrimp to grill. When Harley returns later, about three dishes have left your station as it’s really your only true measurement of time, she lets you know that in another five minutes she thinks it’s a good time for the cupcakes. 

“Thanks,” you call out in return and snag your supervisor to let them know you’ll need to step away for about ten minutes. 

At the fridge you pull out the boxes of cupcakes and the candles you grabbed as well. In a busy kitchen, a moment of peace is rare, and silence is even rarer. But you manage to get the candles into a couple of the front cupcakes with ease and with only a few interruptions as people pass in and out of the fridge. The holler of your hand manages to cut through the noise and you know it’s Harley undoubtedly calling for you, so you hoist the boxes on top of each other and slip out. 

“Can you grab the lighter?” you ask, attempting to wiggle your fingers from beneath the stack. 

She nods. “I can take another box if need be.”

“I got it. Just lead the way.”

The noise is different as you break through the threshold that separates the kitchen from the dining area. The white noise of hissing blacktops is replaced by the married roar of chattering--the decibels and octaves of all the voices evening out into one tone against your ears. The dining area feels bigger than the kitchen, more spacious. But you weave around patrons, checking plates to see what seems to be popular and what seems to have not made the cut. It’s a bad habit, you know that, as a cook. It’s not your job to worry, but you are curious. You wonder what you might be able to bring back to the head chefs. But the curiosity is cut short as you spot the table that Calum and his friends are at. 

Michael’s back towards you, thankfully. But you notice when Luke spots you; his eyes dart almost immediately to Calum who’s sitting to his right. Calum’s gaze is much slower, lazy even as he drags it up over to you. You’re sure he’s trying to play it off, like he didn’t know this would happen to keep Michael in the dark for just a little bit longer. You slow your pace, sliding the boxes temporarily onto the empty table behind them to crack open the top to the box. Once that’s open you catch up to Harley. 

“I know you’re probably going to be pissed,” Calum starts, “but I had to do something.” 

Michael’s laughter echoes as he peaks up at you. “Oh there you are! Hi!”

“Hi, Michael. Happy Birthday,” you smile, slipping the boxes onto the table. “I heard from the grapevine you’re a fan of carrot cake.”

“Would that vine happen to be about 6 '2'’ and have brown eyes?” Michael teases, helping to get the top off the second box. 

“Maybe,” you laugh. “There’s no age or numbered candles as to spare your dignity.”

“Thanks for thinking about an old fart like me,” Michael snorts. 

Harley slips you the lighter when you reach for it and with just a couple flicks of the ignitor you get the wicks to catch. The entire two tables break out into Happy Birthday. You join in, only intending to stay for the song but Calum manages to get a solid enough hold around your knee before you can slip away. 

“Thanks again for baking these,” Calum smiles up at you. 

“Of course. I was happy too.” You know you wouldn’t allow yourself to show up empty handed especially after not being able to take the day off. 

“Compliments to the chef,” Luke calls out, a little muffled thanks to the mouthful of cupcake he’s got. 

“I’ll be sure to pass them along,” you laugh. “But thanks.”

“Will you be joining us for drinks later?” Ashton asks. He passes the box down to his left after securing his cupcake. “Feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“That’s the plan. But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that question means you like me or something.” It’s an easy quip, one you know will land well and it does. 

Ashton snorts, “Or something sounds about right.”

“Oh, don’t listen to him. We do like you,” Michael reassures. “Thanks again for the cupcakes.”

“You’re welcome, Michael.”  

“I think it’s Calum’s birthday next. So as a heads up, he’s a fan of chocolate,” Ashton teases.  “Then mine, then Luke’s.”

“Oh come off it. You eggs aren’t going to rope my partner into demands,” Calum interjects. “Fuck off. We can pay someone else for cupcakes.”

“But will they be as good as these? I don’t think so,” Luke laughs. 

You shrug. “I mean, I can be paid to make cupcakes. But it’s paying customers only from now on. Michael only got these free because I felt bad.”

“I thought we were friends,” Ashton gasps. The grin is bright across his face.

“Or something like that,” you retort. 

Ashton’s laughter howls, but the wag of his finger in your direction seals the deal. “Alright, you won this time.”

“Adding a tallyboard to my shopping cart now,” Luke teases, tapping at the screen of his phone. “Because we are going to need it now.”

You don’t know what you’ve started or if you should be scared, but there’s something in the laughter that the table shares that lets you know you’ve been taken in, folded into the ranks and dynamics of the group. 

“Please enjoy them all. I don’t want anything back,” you announce before your departure. Duty still calls and you know you’ve taken more time than you really intended from the kitchen. 

“Not even the box?” Michael laughs, holding out the empty box. 

“Especially not the box.”

Your exit this time is more successful, though you don’t escape without a quick squeeze to your knee from Calum. You feel the gaze though, undoubtedly Calum following you as you head back to the kitchen. When you round the corner to lead you back, you take the time to look over and true to your guess, Calum’s watching, a grin on his face. It shouldn’t make your stomach flutter. It shouldn’t make your cheeks hot. Yet it does because of how much warmth and solace you find in his presence.  

At close, when the grills are cleaned and utensils cleaned, and you’re headed out the front to get to your car, there’s a small moment where your heart races. The cold whips across your face and you look out the lot. You know you shouldn’t be looking for her. Diana’s long since gone to rehab, you know she’s gone. But yet, there’s still a piece of you that’s waiting, like somehow it was maybe all just a bad dream. Or worse yet, like you’ll be cursed to relive the day over and over and over again. 

But there’s only your coworkers, slipping into their cars. There’s only the wind and the chill. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Yet, there’s everything to worry about. Like you can’t help but carry the anxiety in the pocket of your pants. You check for the keys, and your wallet, and your phone, and the anxiety too. It’s there. It’s all there and as you dig out the keys, you hope you dig out the anxiety too and drop it like loose change for someone else to collect. 

You don’t have a lot of time but you’re thankful that you did change shirts in the bathroom at work before catching up with the group at the bar. The whole place is more packed than you anticipated, the mixture of sweat and alcohol hitting your senses the second you step inside. You spot Calum first at the bar. It’s not that there’s a pocket around him, not like he’s untouchable. But it’s clear that everyone’s giving him just an extra inch or so of space that they don’t reserve for others at the bar. 

You look around for a moment and manage to spot Luke next. He’s at a standing table over on the far wall. You assume that’s where the group is. But you make your way to Calum first and though you’re squeezing through and past people, you notice it too. The way that when people look at you, and finally recognition crosses through the haze of alcohol, they slip out of your way. You give each a passing thin lipped smile, still uttering excuse me and pardon me as you cross the room. 

“Opening or closing?” you’re asked when you finally settle at the bar. The bartender seemingly anticipating your approach. 

“I’m with him,” you answer and point over to Calum. 

That causes him to look over and smile. “Long time, no see,” he laughs. 

“I know the hours are decades.” It’s meant to be sarcasm. But Calum’s gaze softens a little and you know that part of him does mean it genuinely. So you slip a hand into his as you rest into the worn wood of the bar. From the corner of your eye, you spot a rather large order slipped in front of Calum. You’re not terribly late, only about half an hour or so behind the proposed schedule to account for clean up and the ten minutes you needed in your car to decompress. But you think it might be the first round of drinks for the night with how much is being placed in front of him. 

“Need a hand with that?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I think I’m too tired to mind,” you return, grabbing the bottles closest to you. Calum grabs the glasses and you follow him through the crowd. 

At the tables, you slip your arm full onto the top and rattle off the labels. One by one they’re each claimed though you do laugh when Luke and another guy--whom you haven’t gotten the name of-raise their hands for the same beer. You check the other bottles and see a second one. 

“Crisis averted,” you tease and slip them both their respective bottles. 

Calum’s slipping glasses to people and when his hands are free, one slips to your waist. “We can leave whenever you’re ready, okay. Just say the word.” 

“Sounds good.”

It shocks you, though it probably shouldn’t, that Michael’s a bit of a loud drunk. His shrills and shrieks get a little higher with each passing drink. But he’s bubbling, laughing and falling into the shoulders of those around him. None of them go particularly hard, perhaps a mixture of their own responsibilities that await them tomorrow or preference. But the night feels light. You only steal a few sips from Calum’s drink- scotch by the taste of it.

Calum laughs each time you take a sip, the small scrunch of your nose at the taste. “I can get you something else,” he repeats for the third time. 

“No, I’m okay,” you answer, squeezing the hand of his wrapped around yours. 

In the end, you don’t even pull the plug. Calum does after an hour or so, making rounds to say goodbye to all that ventured out and making Michael promise to at least let him know he got home safely. A promise Ashton takes on too, as he ensures that Michael will be staying at his place for the night. A fact you’re happy to have learned, seeing as Ashton has remained sober during the outing. 

The night is cold against your skin. You welcome it though as you step out from the sea of bodies inside--hot and humid as they share the dancefloor and share drinks. Calum’s hand is warm against yours as the two of you walk towards the parking lot. You’re parking about two rows away from Calum, but he makes a point to walk you to your car first. You could easily make it there yourself. It’d probably be easier for the two of you to separate ways, yet he doesn’t do that. 

“You headed back home or coming by my place?” Calum asks. Though the answer is almost always, his place, the fact that he asks is nice. You know that should you need to, you can always not choose to stay at the castle. 

You have another shift tomorrow and no clean work clothes at the castle. It’s not worth the hassle to grab clean work clothes and then head back to the castle. “Headed home this time.”

“When the day comes, and home is the castle for you, I think my heart might actually stop,” Calum laughs. 

It wasn’t a shock to you that Calum looked forward to a future together. It doesn’t scare you either. Of course Calum pictured it. Of course he could feel so casual to offer that up too. 

“I am CPR certified,” you return. “So I can revive you.”

“Good to know. I’ll be sure to plan my cardiac events when you’re around.”

It’s these moments that make you feel more sane, feel more like how things should have always been between the two of you. Life doesn’t always work that way. But there is relief if knowing that this dynamic has remained unphased by the interruptions of the world. Paused at the driver side door, you tug him in a little bit closer, seeking more than just the warmth of his hand. His cheek is stubbly--a few days out from his last shave. There’s rows of cars and larger SUVs shielding you two a bit more than usual, but both of you clear over most of the smaller cars in the lot. With the fundraiser ball happening next weekend, you’re sure that he’ll save again soon. 

“Can I kiss you?” you whisper at him, eyes focused a bit more on his pillowy bottom lip than any other part of his face. 

“You don’t have to ask,” he laughs but moves to close the distance--centimeters at most--between the two of you.

“It’s a lot more fun to ask,” you whisper right before sealing his mouth in a kiss. It’s slow. You can taste the scotch on his breath. His mouth is warm, much like his hands that are now slipping up to your hips, pressing into the bones beneath the flesh. You have his chin, cupped and firm against your palm. 

As much greed bubbles at your gut, as much as you think about taking things further, the two of you dance only at the surface. The echoes of your lips meeting and parting interrupt the night. Calum’s only holding your hips. You’re only cupping his jaw. Just under the hint of alcohol is his cologne. Just under yours is no doubt the smell of the grill and grease. But none of that really seems to matter. 

You hum as you ease yourself away, not without Calum whining just a little. But he takes the hint and eases back himself. Inches now between the two of your faces, and inches growing between your bodies. “Oh, don’t be sad, love.”

Calum’s laughter is mostly an exhale, coming from his nose. “It’s not sadness, I’ll say that much.”

“And here I was, attempting to spare you your pride.” The evidence of how much it was not his pride but his arousal is pressed against your leg.

“Don’t need it anyhow. But I for one should not be starting any trouble.”

“That would be a first. Is everything okay though?”

“Yeah, yeah things are fine. We’re wrapped up for the holidays but I’m procrastinating on just life things. Wellness check up, dental stuff. Laundry.”

“The easiest of all those things is your laundry, Calum,” you laugh. “You don’t even have to call anyone, or drive anywhere.”

“I know,” he huffs, dropping his head into your shoulder. “The boring stuff is just better when you’re around.”

“Do you have either appointment tomorrow? General check up or dentist?”

“Dentist,” Calum answers, lips now brushing along your neck. 

“Well, I can come over tomorrow after work and I’ll be there for laundry even with my own laundry too if that helps. But you have to have actually gone to the dentist and scheduled your wellness check up.”

“Deal,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your jugular. 

“I want proof,” you laugh. “Doctor’s note or something.”

“Consider it done, baby. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” you snort. 

Your retort doesn’t stop him. He presses another kiss along the thin skin of your neck before pushing up. “Thank you anyway. Let me know when you get home okay?”

There’s only a nod from you, but you press a kiss to his cheek. You fish your keys out from your pocket and Calum let’s you go. He takes a step back and you climb into your car. “I look forward to our laundry date tomorrow,” you state as you roll down your window. 

“As do I.”

[passthe5sauceplease]

{evan core}

introvert | slytherin | ISTP | libra | plains cree/ojibwa | calums lane, ashton cheat lane, sgfg stan, 5sos enthusiast.

writers account: @nicotinewrites

characters I kin:

ian gallagher- shameless

crown prince wilhem- young royals

JJ maybank- outerbanks

alex claremont-diaz- rwrb

eddie diaz- 911

maddie buckley- 911

TK strand- 911 lone star

steve randell- the outsiders

diego hargreeves- TUA

people I like:

calum hood

ashton irwin

luke hemmings

michael clifford

jason schmidt

zayn malik

zendaya

shows I watch:

911

shameless

the umbrella academy

young royals

heartstopper

queen charlotte

favorite songs:

[ao3feed-larry]

i’m just like you

by mocha_mac15

Being a world famous pop star and actor was never easy for Harry Styles, but it only got worse when his manager forced him to attend the Royal Academy.

The Royal Academy consisted of many pretentious royals, especially its headmaster, Cosmo. It only seemed that there was a few good people there, but this didn’t include the prince of Harry’s home city, Helios.

Prince Louis Tomlinson was an absolute prick who only knew what silent treatment was; yet, the prince only reminded Harry of himself.

And, well, Harry didn’t like that. Not one bit.

Words: 4769, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band), 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Ashton Irwin, Luke Hemmings, Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, desmond styles, Liz Hemmings, Simon Cowell

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Calum Hood/Ashton Irwin

Additional Tags: Harry is a famous pop star and actor, louis is a prince, 5SOS are famous YouTubers and still a band, Niall and Zayn and Liam are also princes, Harry and 5SOS get to attend the Royal Academy, Royal Academy, ngl this is inspired by a lot of Barbie movies cos their plots are actually sick, Simon is a jerk (no hate against him irl cos idk him personally and I can’t assume what he has done), past deaths mentioned, Past Relationships Mentioned - Freeform, Harry and Ashton and Luke are brothers, the royal life consists of a lot of death in this (only mentioned), did I mention Simon is a jerk?, each city is basically a kingdom (but all of the cities are fictional), Manipulation, already home (Harry’s first album), ghost writer - Freeform, Louis’s kinda a jerk too lol, Song: Just Like You (Louis Tomlinson), COMPLETE MESS (fictional show)

via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' https://ift.tt/Y72UCzj

[ashtcnirwinx]

ASHTON IRWIN posted

if you don't shake your booty when Prince plays on the radio, who even are you?

[softforcal]

Nova bby! It’s always so exciting to get notifs of you posting on here! congrats on one year of patreon lovely! for your blurbies what about a royalty au with childhood best friends cashton??? love you lots xo

awww baby hello! I miss you oh my gosh, thank you! oooof what a great idea, it’s ANGSTY!

***

You’d met Ashton and Calum at a summer royal retreat when you were around four years old. They’d been total opposites. One, a loud little prince with a bright smile and blonde curls. The other, a dark-eyed quiet royal with regal cheekbones and a knack for watching as opposed to interacting.

The three of you had been inseparable the whole trip, and with each summer, your friendship had only grown. Things had changed of course, the three of you had grown, learning how to perfect your manners and ready yourselves for a crown that might fall onto your head one day. 

Ashton is 26 when he is told he’ll be taking the throne, the first of you who will become an actual ruler and not just a ‘next in line’. 

The three of you are in his room, you and Calum sitting on the sofa while Ashton walks around, practicing his speech. Calum doesn’t offer much to help in terms of editing Ashton’s run-on sentences and tangents about how much he ‘loves his kingdom’. You try to help where you can, but it becomes obvious that Ashton is getting more and more worried.

The man who’d been happy and eager since he was a boy, is worried, and that sets off your own anxiety. You find your leg taping up and down with nervousness and Ashton notices, realizing he’s in over his head.

Ashton collapses onto the sofa, effectively sandwiching you between him and Calum. “I’m fucked.” Ashton announces, he only ever swears in front of you and Calum. His family thinks they’d trained him against vulgarity at aged 15, however they’re wrong.

“What else is on the list of things to do?” you ask, hoping to maybe tackle a different errand and come back to the speech later once you feel better about having accomplished a few things. 

Ashton pulls out his phone, opening the file sent to him from his advisor, he hands it to you and lets you read.

Your eyes scan words like: coronation, crown fitting, royal address, and finally, they land on the bold word Queen at the bottom of the folder. 

“Queen?” you read out loud, drawing the attention of the men on either side of you, “like... you’re getting married?!” 

Ashton groans loudly.

The last time the three of you had talked about marriage, you’d been rebellious 13 years olds making a pact to stay single and together as the royal version of the ‘three musketeers’ your whole lives. 

Calum exchanged a look with Ashton. They’ve talked about this without your knowledge for years, since they were teenagers who realized they were both in love with their girl best friend. 

They’d agreed back then to stay friends, to not ruin the perfect group you’d created. But now that the word ‘marriage’ is getting thrown around, things aren’t so easy.

They’ve heard of ‘unconventional polyamorous relationships’ but those are for ‘commoners’ not royals. In the royal system, everything is about history and tradition. 

Ashton swallows thickly and Calum looks down, neither are sure what to say to you. They both want to tell you about their feelings, but they don’t want to create a rift in the friendship. 

Neither Ashton nor Calum know how to remedy this situation, but they do know, whatever ends up happening, your relationship will never be the same. 

******

1 year with patreon celebration :)

[honeyedlashton]

Me when I saw Calum in that Nine Inch Nails shirt