#prince!calum au

[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.”

[wiiildflowerrr]

Hi! I don't know of any specifically male reader inserts, but if you take a look at @be-ready-when-i-say-go's masterlist, they've written several reader inserts with non-specific gender or gender neutral readers.

Their current fic, Sweet Dreams, is an AU following the developing relationship between heir to the throne Prince Calum and one of the Palace cooks, a gn reader insert.

Does anyone know of any 5sos x male reader fics

Idm if it's on here or ao3 and sfw or nsfw is fine, I'm just curious as hell 👀

[allsassnoclass]

💚 and mashton? or another pairing if they match the vibes better -megs

well @igarbagecannoteven, let's revisit the sorcerer/prince au, shall we?

mashton (sorcerer/prince): 💚 true love’s kiss / magic kiss / healed

“Michael?” Ashton calls, ears ringing and eyes stinging from the dust swirling through the air.  He coughs, the sound muffled against his damaged ear drums, spinning on his heel in a circle in a desperate bid to find his sorcerer in the debris.

A hand comes down heavy on his shoulder and he whirls around to find Luke pointing urgently, saying something that Ashton can’t hear.  Ashton follows his gesture and finds Michael lying on the ground, clutching his chest and writhing in pain.  Ashton can’t hear what noise he’s making, but he knows that it would stop him in his tracks if he could.  In his current condition, he just rushes to Michael’s side, crashing to his knees next to him and splitting skin in the process.

“Michael?  Michael, what’s wrong?” he asks, hands hovering uselessly as Michael’s body jerks.  Tears flow down his cheeks, eyes locked on Ashton’s with a desperation that cuts him to the bone.  His mouth opens uselessly, not forming any discernible words even if Ashton’s hearing was working.  Ashton grabs his tunic, pushing it up enough to see the black spiderweb spreading from Michael’s chest.  It hurts to look at, pulsing under his skin and unnaturally colored, like an ashy rot spreading out from his heart.

The fight is supposed to be over.  Ashton thought that once they killed the wizard, Michael would be safe.  He should have remembered that wizard magic works differently.  Michael’s magic is part of him; it won’t persist without him.  A conjured spell can survive without the caster.  This spell won’t stop until it has burned all of Michael’s magic out of him.

Ashton has never met a sorcerer who can survive without their magic, and he doesn’t want to.  He can’t.

They didn’t make it all the way here only for Michael to die on the floor of the throne room after the fight is over.  Ashton can’t let that happen.

“It’s okay,” he says, the ringing in his ears still persisting, but lessening slightly now.  Michael’s whimpers are breaking through the silence, ratcheting a vice around his lungs.  “You’ll be okay, Michael.”

Another hand falls on his shoulder, but Ashton shakes them off.  Michael’s body spasms, the black lines creeping further along his veins.

“It’s okay,” Ashton repeats uselessly, fumbling for the ring on the chain around his neck.  He yanks on it, breaking the chain and cursing when the ring slips out of his fingers and clatters to the floor.  He can’t afford any delays, not now.

“Ashton–” someone tries to say, sounding incredibly far away.

“Hold him still,” he commands, finally getting the ring on his left fourth finger, the one said to have a direct line to the soul.  This ring is one of the only things his father left him, built up with stories and legends over the years and holding all of Ashton’s desperate hopes.  He needs it to work how he was told it will.

“Hold on, Michael,” he says, placing his hand on the dark part of his chest.  Michael hisses and bucks, something sparking where the ring touches the darkened flesh.  Hands land on Michael’s biceps, holding him at least somewhat in place, and Ashton follows them to find Luke and Calum doing their duty with grim faces.  He meets Calum’s eyes.

“Do it,” Calum says, the first clear words Ashton has heard since the explosion.  He nods once, threads the fingers of his free hand through the hair at the back of Michael’s head to keep him in place, and presses their lips together.

Ashton doesn’t have magic, not like Michael’s, and he was never taught to harness it like the witches and wizards or speak to it like the druids.  Sometimes, though, gifts are given to royal families.  Ashton has heard countless times of how his mother saved his father the first time he got sick, with his ring acting as a channel for the gift to manifest, the kiss anchoring them together so the gift could take hold.

His mother was bonded to his father for the rest of his life, even though the gift only heals once.  True love, according to the druids.  A gift that can only work if the two souls are meant to be tied.

Ashton never gave much thought to his gift before.  He doesn’t know that Michael is his true love.  Before, he always thought that there would be time to figure it out, but he thought he would have more time with his mother, too.  He’s learned that time is a luxury that kings don’t get to have.

He’s wondered, briefly, before.  Only a passing thought here or there that he quickly shrugged off: when he would visit Michael’s workshop and be told exactly what he needed to, or at Lauren’s birthday when Michael’s eyes lit up with the reflection of his fireworks while his siblings squealed in delight.  He hasn’t entertained anything of the sort since the invasion, too many other, more pressing matters to attend to.

He doesn’t know if Michael is his true love, but he needs him to be.  The other option is unbearable.

The kiss burns.  Ashton screws his eyes further shut against the bright white light behind his eyelids.  He can’t tell if it’s something happening outside or if it’s internal, and he doesn’t have time to wonder.  Heat flares from their lips and the ring around his finger, but he keeps his hand on Michael’s chest and their mouths together, hand fisting the hair at the back of Michael’s head in a way he hopes doesn’t hurt him.  The scorching heat ripples up his left arm to his chest, and Ashton can’t breathe for the way he can feel something unraveling inside him.  Still, he keeps them connected.  He needs this to work.

Something in his chest pings, like the string of a lyre being plucked.  Ashton can feel the vibrations throughout his entire being, some part of him stretching further than it has before.  He can feel the magic crawl up his throat, choking him, taking some vital part of him with, and pries open Michael’s lips as gently as he can.

Michael gasps in a breath, taking all of Ashton’s air.  He’s still alive.

Here, he thinks near-hysterically and he presses the flat of his tongue against Michael’s.  Take it.  Take whatever part of me you need to help him.

Ashton has only had one other experience with magic transferred in a kiss, when Michael gave him a glamor what feels like a lifetime ago when he rescued him.  Michael’s magic was like a cool drink of water, washing over him like a summer breeze.  It felt nothing like the burning that comes with Ashton’s kiss, but maybe Michael will forgive him for his clumsy inexperience.  He didn’t think the gift would feel like this, but maybe it does.  Maybe the fire means that it's working, rather than killing them both.

Something inside of Ashton’s chest snaps, and suddenly he can breathe again, the burning sensation dissipating faster than a puff of smoke.  He inhales sharply through his nose, painfully squished against Michael’s cheek, then leans back, just slightly.  Not enough to separate them, only to turn the kiss gentle.  An apology, maybe, for how he’s surely bruised Michael’s mouth with this process.

He waits one more long moment before he finally breaks the kiss, pressing their foreheads together instead, eyes still closed tightly shut.  The air around them is still, like the center of a hurricane.

What if it didn’t work?

Ashton breathes, trying to feel if there’s anything different that may be tying him to Michael.  He can’t tell what sensations are from the battle, the burn of the kiss, the awkward angle of him slumped on the floor, or magic.  Everything is an overwhelming kaleidoscope of unfamiliar hurt, and the silence of the room is far more unnerving than the ringing in his ears was.

A hand brushes back a lock of his hair, gently curling around Ashton’s ear and tracing his jaw.  Tears spring to Ashton’s eyes.

“Ashton,” Michael says, voice hoarse but so, so alive.

Ashtn opens his eyes and sits back enough that he can see Michael without going cross-eyed, wincing when one of his tears lands on his face.  His eyes are open and so, so green, his own tear tracks cutting a path through the dirt and dust stubbornly clinging to his cheeks.  He’s pale, but only as pale as he usually is, not unnaturally ashy, cheeks tinged pink.  His lips curve up into a smile, creases forming in the corner of his eyes.

“Did it work?” Ashton asks, voice thick.  Michael reaches for the hand covering his chest, clutching at Ashton’s fingers until he turns his hand over to hold him properly.  Ashton looks down at their joined hands, then the pale pink skin of Michael’s chest, where the spider web of rot has faded until only a faint white scar remains.

“You used your gift,” Michael says.

“You’re my true love.”

Michael’s face moves through something complicated that Ashton is far too tired to parse through.  He grins at the end, and that string in Ashton’s heart sings like he just ran a careful finger over it.

Oh.  That must be the bond.

“How do you feel?” Ashton asks, pulling Michael up until he’s sitting.  He shifts his own position, moving forward so they’re pressed together with his knees behind Michael’s back, offering him a bit of a backrest if he needs it.  Michael slumps against him gratefully, but doesn’t collapse or untangle their hands.

“Tired,” he sighs.  “It’s going to take a few days for my magic to grow back.  I might pass out soon.  But we won.”

“We did,” Ashton says, squeezing his hand.  Michael looks down, turning their hands so he can see the ring around Ashton’s finger.  It’s no longer the simple gold band that his father gave him, transformed instead into a silver ring with a sparkling purple jewel embedded deep within it, almost hidden by the silver strands overlaying it.

“Oh,” Ashton says, taking it off with a few quick tugs.  He holds it up towards Michael.  “This is yours now.”

Michael takes it carefully with a shaky breath, tilting it back and forth to examine it.  Ashton wonders if his father examined the ring with the same amount of care when his mother gave it to him after their true love’s kiss.

“Thank you,” Michael says softly.  Ashton watches him put the ring on his own left fourth finger, then brushes his cheek with the back of his hand, letting it eventually rest against his collarbone.  Michael meets his gaze, eyes shining.

“What’s next?” he asks.

There are a million different answers to that question.  They need to rebuild the kingdom and rebuild their defenses.  They need to clear the rubble from this part of the castle and reconstruct it, but first they need to find alternate accommodations for the night.  They need to issue a statement to other kingdoms to reinforce their stability, and they absolutely need to enter deep negotiations with the magical alliance.  They need to plan a formal coronation.  They need to see what castle staff they have left and take stock of the lower town.  They both desperately need a bath.

All of that can wait a few more minutes.  Luke and Calum have already started clearing the room, gathering other knights to move debris blocking the door as they give them a moment of privacy.  Lauren and Harry are safe with the druids.  The kingdom may be in shambles, but it’s his again.

Michael is alive.

“I just want to kiss you again,” he admits.  Michael grins.

“What are you waiting for, then?” he asks.  “Better get it in before I pass out on you.”

Ashton doesn’t wait to be told twice.  He draws Michael forward, gently but with purpose, and fits their lips together again.

There’s no burning with this kiss, nor cool rush flowing over him like water.  There’s only this: Michael’s lips, chapped and dry.  Michael’s inhale, a slight whistle in his nose.  Michael’s hand wearing his new ring, curling around the nape of Ashton’s neck.  Michael’s quiet hum, the sweetest sound Ashton has ever heard.  Michael’s smile, mirroring Ashton’s own and making it difficult to continue.

It’s a wholly unextraordinary kiss with absolutely no sign of magic.

It’s the best kiss Ashton has ever had.

[littledrummeraussie]

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

📡why is writing and sharing your writing important for fandom?

💝: honestly, prince!Calum is still a shock because it really was just something inspired by a Calum video I saw and wanted to get it out of my system, and I never thought people would bring him up later or even request more of him. Guess I'm that deep in my Ashton feels and thoughts that I didn't really understand the hype Calum gets 😅

🤍: the light in your eyes and the dark in your heart. But that really is because it was a self indulgent piece so I can make Ashton into some kind of mysterious creature with a lot of literary references and like make it a bit dark academia. I think people are really picky with their AU preferences and I don't blame them.

📡: I don't think my writing has any importance in this fandom. I think most people wouldn't even know who I am and what I write. It's just entertainment for myself and those who are interested enough to read it.

[alwaysxlarrie]

I wanna know about twice upon a time and new luke fic?? :D

ahh yes ofc love !!!

twice upon a time / cinderella au is basically new employee harry = cinderella, evil coworkers nick grimshaw & simon cowell = evil stepsisters, evil boss james corden = evil stepmother, and prince charming = new boss louis tomlinson. nick and simon who were once friends with intern harry started stealing harry’s ideas when he became a permanent employee at their company, heavenly homes, because his ideas were always praised & they want that praise and a raise but without doing any of the hard work and they know harry’s too nice to like fuck em up for it. their current boss, james, is at best indifferent and at worst dismissive and condescending when harry tries to approach him for help/tries to point out instances when it’s happening. enter new boss louis who sees that something’s going on and wants to get to the bottom of it. harry and louis might just end up falling in love and having office sex, but who knows?¿ (i’m hoping to post chapter 1 before christmas, so if anyone’s interested in betaing it, please lmk!!)

the new luke fic is luke hemmings x OFC (it’s either muke or luke x OFC, those are the only acceptable luke ships for me LMAO) they meet at a bar, her best friend wants to see the guy she has a thing with (calum hood) performing at a local bar. luke’s best friend is — shockingly — calum hood. i haven’t sketched out more than a vague outline of the fic outside of that so far, but it’s not going to be as cliche as it sounds, i promise lmao. not that there’s anything wrong w cliches, i just don’t want this fic to be one LOL. it’ll probably be something along the lines of slow burn, enemies to lovers, domestic fluff, along with a few plot twist to keep people on their toes 😂

thank you sm for the question :)

[yeoobiii]

Burn Bright | Calum Hood AU

Pairing: Prince!CalumHood x Feminie!Reder AU

A/N: For the sake of this story, we pretend that australia was discovered in the middle of the 17th century instead of the 18th (in this household, we’re not going to white wash Calum Thomas Hood). Please remember that this is all fiction. I know none of the boys personally. I try my best to reflect their personalities, yet I want to bring my own twist to it. A huge part of it is how I personally imagine the boys to act and the other part is really just pure fiction. Please don’t be upset if you think I don’t portrait the boys correct or if it’s just not to your liking. Also, I try to stick to history as much as I can, but please respect, that it’s not always possible.

This fanfiction is inspired by the song Babylon by 5 Seconds of Summer.

This is only the teaser of a story I think about writing. But since I’m not fully sure yet, if I’m actually going to do this and don’t know if people would really read this, feel free to leave feedback. This would be my first, more chaptered story ever so, please be patient with me. Plus, feedback and criticism is always appreciated. Thank you.

Word count: 0.7k

Warnings: none yet (possible warnings: swearing, drinking, murder, blood, angst, fluff, light smut maybe, not sure yet)

As the news were announced, she was about to dry the last plate that was left from lunch that took place about an hour ago. She was glad that the work was almost done for the meantime and that her short but still much needed afternoon break would get her some kind of rest.

Y/N was about to put down her last plate as Amelie came rushing through the front door of the kitchen. She was out of her breath and her chest was heaving up and down pretty fast.

“The prince is returning!” she almost shouted, her voice sounding chipped.

You could practically feel everyone tensing up in the room at her words. The questioning and part time exited looks on everyone's faces were just absurd. Y/N for her part rolled her eyes at the still heavy breathing Amelie, even though that was kind of unfair, since nothing of this was her fault. She was just a chambermaid that had the luck to break the news down to them.

Y/N would be lying if she’d say that she isn’t even a little bit curious, though. She never saw the prince in person before, neither did most of the people living at the court. They got told that when he was at the age of six, he was send out into the big world to find a potential wife. His aunt, which accompanied him, returned to the a few years ago, because the prince must be nineteen by know and was able to watch out for himself. Nineteen is pretty old to not be married already when you think about it.

But the more important thing and also more annoying thing for Y/N was, that his return meant work. A lot of work. Starting with an reception buffet, preparing the dining room, cooking diner for at least two hundred people and clean the whole mess afterwards. And there goes Y/N’s afternoon break.

By every hour passing, the people got more nervous. The prince is supposed to arrive in the late afternoon. It was 3pm right now. Of course everyone was talking about it, more specifically, about him. The maids on the court went crazy. Most of them probably had multiple daydreams about the prince, which when you think about it, ridiculous. Almost every single one of them either haven’t seen him in person since he was six years old or haven’t seen him at all. They talked about how they hoped that he’d look good and fought about who was going to take over the parts as servants tonight.

All Y/N did was listen. She listen to them talking about this mysterious prince for what felt like four hours straight, when in real life, they didn’t talk and fantasized about him. They talked about the power and money he owned.

And then suddenly, the sound of the hornes resounded. Which meant it was time. Time for everyone to get in position. Within less than two minutes every important person living or visiting the court was perfectly lined up in front of the castle. They were all standing straight and ready to welcome the prince home. At the same time the kitchen maids were all pressed against the window in the bakery. It was one big scramble, because everyone wanted to be the first one seeing the prince with their own eyes. While Y/N was telling herself not to be a part of this stupid and superficial behaviour.

“He’s coming!” someone at the window shouted, making everyone just more of a mess then they already were.

“C’mon Y/N, you have to see this!” one of your mates cheered at you, his full attention on the arrival that was currently taking place outside of the window.

Y/N let out a sigh, took of her apron and placed it at the workspace infront of her. She made her way to the almost completely covered up window by the bodies of ther coworkers. As she was standing there, she still managed to catch a glimpse on the arriving carriage where the prince of england was supposed to step out of every second.

[calumxkisses]

Yellow | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

summary: prince!calum au - you're his yellow and he's yours.

a/n: hi! 'm not really good with au imagines but i hope you'll like it. let me know what you think of this imagine. love you!

this imagine its inspired by the song: yellow

✰ ✰ ✰

“Yellow.” A sudden voice makes you jump. You close the book you’re reading as you place a hand on your chest, feeling your heart beating quickly.

The library is huge, the storm lights barely illuminate the room, making it almost impossible to find your way around and read without the help of candles. The smell of old books is strong, there is a lot of dust on the shelves and feeling small near these high shelves make the perfect atmosphere to be able to take refuge from the outside world, from a world made of rules and confined to the land surrounding the property. Your little refuge, however, is interrupted by the presence of this man and you turn around quickly, trying to hide the smile that forms on your face at the sight of the stranger.

Despite the size of the room, the prince appears to be in full control of everything around him. He is standing in front of the door, several meters separate your figure from his, yet you can see the smile he gives you, his hands hidden behind his back and the fine lines near his eyes that underline his amused expression.

“What?” You ask before placing your hand in front of your mouth and widening your eyes. In your mind, a vivid image of your mother scolds you for your language and reminds you that you are no longer a child and that you must be careful when addressing a prince or any other high-ranking social figure.

“I'm sorry for talking to you like that, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand what your 'yellow' refers to.”

Prince Calum laughs briefly before slowly approaching you.

"We've known each other since we were children, we don't need certain formalities."

“My mother says-” you try to justify yourself, but he cuts you off right away.

“Nobody’s here.” He whispers before standing in front of you, keeping some distance to avoid misunderstanding in case someone enters. If it were up to him, there would be no such distance between you, but rules are rules and he would never want to compromise your image.

You look around to make sure no one is spying on you and, sure you are alone with him, you relax your shoulders and jaw, releasing the sigh you were holding back.

“So, yellow?” You ask, smiling, placing the book on the table to your left while you look at the boy, waiting for an answer.

His curly hair is carefully pulled back and the dark circles under his eyes lead you to imagine him sitting at his desk, with a lighted candle next to him and his gaze on the window in front of him, instead of the pages he is holding with his hand, pages he should study in order to become the man his father wants him to be, but that he will never be.

“It was a difficult choice, I will not lie to you. There are so many colors that remind me of you, the red of the dress you wore at your first dance when you entered society, the purple of the vase you broke when you discovered that you have been promised in marriage to an old man or the blue of water of the stream next to the tree where we always go to sit under it. And there are a thousand other colors that I associate to you.”

You smile proudly to hear that he paid attention to every detail and remember how as a child he couldn't even memorize the poems the teachers taught him and the thousand fights you had when you tried in vain to help him learn each verse.

“When I think of you, however, I think back to when you collected Ranunculus repens and put them in your hair, to embellish your hair and feel like the princesses who came to visit us. You always did it and you always took a few more so, when it rained and we couldn't go out, you had your little escort and you could wear them even inside these walls. You always have and if I'm not wrong-”

Calum slowly reaches out his arm towards you, his hand brushes your neck causing you to shiver all over your body, before moving a strand of hair and grabbing something from behind your ear.

“You still wear them.” He whispers, bringing his hand in front of your eyes and showing the small yellow flower you were wearing until a few seconds before.

“They still make me feel like a princess from one of those fairy worlds I read books about.” You whisper, you look down as a sense of shame takes hold in your body. Your heart seems to feel pain as you think back to how you still feel as a child, how you still dream of those fairy tales you hoped you could live one day.

“You're a princess with or without those flowers on, you know it too, you just hope that others see you as you do, too special for a life you don't want to be part of.” He says bringing his fingers under your chin and lifting your face up. His gaze no longer conveys joy and his tone is harsh, an angry expression has taken place on his face.

“Calum..” You try to stop him from speaking that truth you don't want to hear, but his words have broken through your heart and the pain you seemed to feel, now you are definitely feeling. You take a step back, trying to get away from a situation you can't escape from.

“You don't have to do it, you don't have to stay and spend the rest of your life between false smiles and sleepless nights. Your sister will be queen and my father thinks I'm a failure since I was born. Let's run away, me and you. My cottage already has everything we need and I'm sure they will never come looking for us. We will live that fairy tale we imagined for us and we will have the life we ​​always wanted.”

His hand grabs yours and his gaze is on you. You know he's not lying, he told you the love he feels towards you in the dungeons of this same castle and you haven't thought twice before confessing your love to him.

But this castle, these people, is all you have always known.

It’s a world that doesn't belong to you but you can't just leave. There are rules, responsibilities, tasks that you cannot escape.

“It's not that easy, Calum.”

“No, it's not, it's not easy and it won't be. We'll probably end up arguing and you'll regret running away with me. But then you'll think back to all these tight corsets you had to wear, all the formalities you had to comply with and the man you would hold if you have stayed and you will understand that country life is so much better than a life spent in sadness and that that terrible man who made you cry actually loves you madly and just wants what he knows it’s better for you.”

He also grabs the other hand and continues.

“And if you really want to go back, I will be ready to be looked at with scandal by everyone and to take you back to the castle, to face your father and see you held by arms that are not mine.”

You know that it will be hard, but you have never wanted to be a queen. It’s a big responsibility for a girl that just wants to live a fairy tale, that wants to be free in her own terms. You never wanted a kingdom, you never wanted to be property of some old man and certainly you never wanted to spend your existence submitted to someone else’s orders.

You just wanted to be happy, to live your life to the fullest, to love a man who respected you, your dreams, your independence and your passion for flowers and books.

And maybe house cleaning, mud and small rooms will never be like having silk sheets, breakfast prepared by someone else and the floor always clean, but they certainly convey a sense of greater happiness and a life spent in misery and in sadness it’s the dream of those who do not want to fight for what they dream of and are satisfied with mediocrity.

And you don't deserve mediocrity and the guy in front of you knows it well, he sees it in the way you feel uncomfortable during the dances, when your father talks to you about matters you can never take care of because you’re a woman and in the look that you give to your mother when she talks about her marriage, that is only political and not based on love.

You turn to your right, a huge gold mirror near the window reflects the library, the place where you grew up and where you have taken refuge millions of times. You look in the mirror, the diamond earrings reflect the gray of the sky and are too heavy for your ears. Your dress is gorgeous, hand-sewn by the best tailors, yet you don't feel as beautiful as when you wear old, unfashionable clothes and run free for the castle hills, without the fear of getting dirty or ruining expensive dresses.

Your eyes, pupils who love to look at the horizon, are sad, aware that by staying they will not be able to see any wonder. You touch your face, slowly run your hands over your cheeks, over your lips and run your finger over the bridge of your nose, remembering when you were just a little girl and were treated like a normal girl, a girl that loved when her father played with her and touched her nose while making funny noises with his mouth.

Then you look outside. The sky is full of dark clouds, the rain falls incessantly and a few lightning illuminate the afternoon sky. You look at that garden you have walked a thousand times, at all the flowers you have collected and at all the plants you have destroyed while playing with Calum.

You close your eyes thinking about all the places you haven't visited, all the trees you haven't leaned on to read and all the rivers you haven't seen flowing. There is a world out there, you think, that has yet to be discovered. And who are you, if not a woman ready for life's adventures?

“You didn't ask me.” You whisper.

“What?” Calum asks, confused.

“You didn't ask me which color reminds me of you.” You repeat as you slowly turn around to look at him.

A huge smile forms on his face.

“What color do you think when you think of me?”

“When I was ten, one night, I decided to explore the dungeons alone. I wanted to prove to myself that I was able to do anything. I almost made it, I almost managed to face the monster we thought lived in the cells, but then it was all too dark and I ended up going back to my room crying.” You slowly approach him.

“The next night, you showed up in my room with a jar full of fireflies, you gave it to me and whispered "You can do it." I ended up walking through the dungeons with this jar in my hand, you were a few meters behind me to make sure nothing happened to me, but I always knew you were there, even if you tried to hide.”

“I was able to face one of my biggest fears that night. Whatever other problem happened, you were always ready to help me if I needed it, you always supported me, with advice or simply by being close to me, a few steps back to let me free. You were essential in making me grow, while remaining away. Like the stars, who guide the sailors from the sky, they let the sailors do what they believe is right, but they are there to help and guide them if they need it.”

You bring your lips to his ear and whisper: “At midnight, in our place. Don't be late and take the blue carriage, it makes less noise on the street.” You turn around and walk to your room to pack a small bag with all the essentials.

“Wait, you didn't answer my question!” He says turning towards the direction you went.

“You are my yellow, Calum.” You say, you are far away but you know he’s smiling and you smile too.

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

Sweet Dreams--Part 11

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

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Melvin, reads the contact name. The 11 digits that follow stare back at you from the contact record of your phone. There’s never once been a text thread. His name wouldn’t come out on your phone outside of the contact in a search. But you had your distraction. You had your time to wallow and time to let pity make a fool of you. You can’t stay there. You refuse to stay there. So you tap the phone icon. It rings and rings. It might be a bad time, you realize now, as there’s no guarantee that Melvin will answer at ten in the morning. But that doesn’t matter much now. 

Melvin answers the phone breathlessly. Your name tumbling from his lips in a rush. There’s concern in your name that paints his voice as he asks, “Is everything okay?” 

“I’m calling to ask you that, actually,” you answer. The words nearly don’t leave your throat. He’d always been the easier of the two to interact with. He cared--you saw that with Teagan and Charlie. He seemed genuinely interested in your life when you spoke of it. But you didn’t think the care or the concern he had for your siblings would make him worry about you. Maybe now you’re even afraid of what that means. 

“What-what are you referring to? Did something happen?”

You can’t get off track here. You’re calling about Diana. You’re calling to fact check the conversation from last week and to make sure they’re not drinking again. “Do Charlie and Teagan have new winter coats?”

“Uh, yes, they do. Diana and I--we got them nearly a week ago. There’s no guarantee now either that they don’t have another growth spurt, but we’re hopeful these coats will last the season and into the next.”

The more you talk with Melvin the more you realize Charlie got the gift of talking from him. At least Diana hadn’t been lying about the coats. But the bitter bite of her words rings back against your ears. “Diana called me last week,” you start. It’s  the safest way to start. 

The line crackles and you hear the sigh from Melvin. Something shuts--you hear the creak of hinges in the background. “I was worried when I saw the two ignored calls from you on her phone that something might’ve happened.”

“Is she drinking? Are you?”

“I’m not, no. God, no,” Melvin returns. His offense is palpable. He sounds as if the thought disgusts him. 

“And what about Diana?” 

A pause. Moments are passing by, the clock in your room ticking loudly as you listen to Melvin breathe. He better say no. He better answer with the same disgust. But the longer the two of you stay in silence, the more dread leadens in your gut. “I’m trying to get her some extra support,” he answers slowly. Like he might even be unsure of the words himself. 

Not an outright denial but not an outright confession either. “Could it be vodka this time that gets her to her senses?” It’s a vile question to ask. But it falls and behind it comes more vitriol. That old wound, exposed again to the elements. “Could she go zero for three with her kids?”

“Enough,” Melvin commands. It falls clipped but tired. “We didn’t do right by you and we know that. We live with it every single day.  We failed you in ways no child should’ve ever been failed by a parent. But it is not easy to watch from the sidelines now. And I don’t want to make it your responsibility to let us back in after what we’ve done,  but please, do not mock us. The closer you get to Charlie and Teagan, the more hope grows in your mother. And the more you shut her down, the more she crumbles. It’s not your fault. She’s got to get better, face the consequences of her actions like we all must do. But she is human.” 

“A terrible condition to be human, I’ve heard.” Your chest aches. It certainly still feels like your responsibility; it still certainly feels like that wound will never close up right. You still wish to every god that you could’ve had what Charlie and Teagan had. Wish you could move the stone of anger off your chest when it comes to Diana and Melvin. But you cried for them. You begged for them and it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t enough. 

“Just, please give her grace. I’ll get her help. I will.” 

“Grace is Charlie and Teagan. You can give her grace.” 

“And what about you? Is there satisfaction in wrath?”

“Wrath is rather hollow.” You don’t know what you have anymore. There is something between contempt and regret filling you. Yet, you are tired of both of them. You’re tired of the wheel you feel stuck on. You’ve got to let it go. It’ll kill you if you don’t. 

“We hurt you. I know that. It was easy at first to keep our distance. It gets harder now—sometimes. She just needs some extra help.” 

“Then you get her help. But I don’t like knowing she’s on a spiral in the same house as Charlie and Teagan. They don’t deserve that pain. I will do whatever possible so they are not subjected to the same thing I was.” 

“As you should,” Melvin agrees. “As you should. I’ve been worried about disrupting Charlie and Teagan’s routine too much. I don’t think the kids are catching on.”

You have to tread lightly. You can’t tell him that Teagan’s caught on, as unknowingly as she is about what she's stumbled upon. But you can warn him. “Children are more perceptive than you give them credit for. You can hope. But that’s not the same as the reality.”

“Was it Teagan? What did she hear?”

“I hope Diana’s kept up with bedtime stories.”

“Fuck,” Melvin whispers. You’d never be able not to answer his question. He’d hear what you’re saying between the lines. “I can’t lose them too.” It’s soft as Melvin says it, thick with emotions you can’t see, but can hear. A true terror shakes his voice. 

Here you think is where you might reassure Melvin. That he won’t lose them. But you can’t promise that. You’d possibly be the hand that orchestrates it. You remain silent. 

Melvin fills in the gap of silence in a flurry of panicked words. “There’s a birthday party this weekend and then a field trip next week. Please give me some time. You have every right to save them from the fate that fell you. But they’re just kids. They’ll only see what they lost out on. Give-give me just a little bit more time. If things are getting out of hand, let’s arrange something then. Okay? Just give me a few more weeks to get through to Diana.”

You only remember what you lost out on too. The dances you never attended, the nights spent hoping that your parents' breath didn’t reek in the morning. Praying you had just a little bit more attention so you could ask them about field trips, tell them about the things you were learning about in school. All you wanted was a crumb of attention, more than just the plate of food at dinner. You wished you could’ve told them about the crushes, the dreams you had--that maybe one day you’d been a veterinarian as all children hope to become. Maybe even then you could’ve told them how much you wanted to paint too. 

You don’t know what’s more important, to save Charlie and Teagan from a potential fate or let them live their lives as children knowing what looms for them if Melvin is not successful. But they are just kids. They might hate you either way--if you pull them now, if you save them later. They’re just children. You don’t expect them to understand it all right now. 

“You’ve got until of November.” October’s nearing its end in another week and a half. “But if I get wind of anything that even smells like Diana’s losing her grip, I’m taking them.”

“That’s only--”

“I know. And Christmas will be right behind that. But I’d rather they hate me for ruining Christmas than letting their lives be at further risk.” Doing good might mean at times having to be the villain. A spark never knows it’s going to start a wildfire, but you’re wiser than that ember. You know the damage that could be done. You know the damage you will do as well. 

“End of November,” Melvin agrees. “I’ll, uh, we’ll have to come up with a contingency plan. I don’t know where you’re living these days. But I don’t want to pull them out of school.”

“We’ll figure something out,” you agree. Your hours at work will allow you to drop them off in the morning. But you’ll need help in picking them up in the afternoon.  You wonder if Calum would be okay to do it. Though you don’t want to interrupt or commandeer his schedule either, you’ll still ask him. It’ll take a village to help now. You’ll need to figure out where they’ll stay. You have no qualms with them taking over your bedroom in the place you’re staying. But it couldn’t be a long standing agreement. You’d need to move and give them their own bedroom at the very least. You don’t have a lot saved, but you could afford a two bedroom apartment on your own now. The first few months would be tight, but it’d be doable now. 

“Thank you,” Melvin nearly whispers. “I see how much you care for them.” The weight rounds your shoulders at his words. Is this what it means to be recognized—quiet and weighty recognition that feels like relief and lead? 

Beyond a sense of duty, you only want for them what you didn’t get. Teagan and Charlie are getting everything you wanted. Watching out for them is everything you needed. They’re children who do not deserve to be punished for what was between your parents and you. 

“It’s what they deserve,” you return. Melvin let’s you go and you blink up at the ceiling, swirling in your vision. You want them to be safe. You need it. But you still feel the whisper of Melvin’s gratitude. How it feels like thick humidity on your skin in the middle of summer. Your skin is hot and the tears caress your cheeks as they descend to your chin. As stupid as the thought feels,, you hope Melvin can find it in himself to be proud of you no matter what you wind up having to do. 

_____________________

It’s bright--the windows to the right bring in streaks of sunlight and though Calum sometimes wishes he’d opted for a slightly lighter brown, there’s few clouds today which makes the shed feel lighter. The clear skies make the deepening chill tolerable. Your slippers rest on the floor right under the easel you sit in front of. Your socked feet tapping lightly against the metal bar on the stool you perch up on. The stroke of your brush scratches against the canvas--a deep red cutting through the top left corner. 

Calum’s sure that even with your apron on the sleeves to his black and white striped long sleeved shirt will be stained forever. Not that he minds. He’d prefer to carry that little piece of you in the threads. He’ll be able to say that it’s your work if anyone asks about the stain. He’s supposed to be doing preliminary comments on this briefing. It’ll become part of the address he gives at the charity event in December, but given the magnetitude of the event it’s best to get started on these things earlier rather than later. Yet, he has no interest in the words on the document in front of him. He’d rather watch you as you gather more paint onto your brush. You stroke once, twice, and then reach for something else in the glass jar which holds other brushes and tools. 

From this angle, Calum watches the twist of your lips, fingers fluttering over the jar. Debating, he concludes--you’re debating which tool to go for next. The bottom right part of the canvas is still blank. He traces the faint line you’ve etched into the white fibers. You’ve told him that you plan to include pages from several print media types--books, pamphlets, and missing posters-- layered and attached to the canvas. You don’t want to add those yet until all the painting is done and can cry before you glue them up there to keep bleeding minimal. 

A knock sounds from the door and Calum turns to see his mum at the door, thanks to the addition of the glass cutouts in the door frame. He waves her in and she only opens the door just far enough for her head to poke through. “I don’t want to interrupt,” she starts. “Just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi, Mum. You’re not interrupting. They’ve got headphones in and I’m not really doing anything much myself,” Calum laughs. 

She laughs, sliding in through the crack. “So only one of you is being productive. But that’s alright. Rest, too, is important.”

“Something like that.”

His mother nods and shuffles softly over to you. You turn at the touch on your shoulder, slipping your headphones down off your ears. “Hi, Joy,” you laugh. 

The embrace is tight, even Calum can see how tightly his mother winds you into the one armed embrace. “The painting looks good, sweetheart. It’s coming together nicely,” Joy comments. 

“Thanks, I’m trying over here.”

“You’re succeeding. How was the feedback from the check-in?”

“They’re excited. They did ask to see what printed materials I’m using for the piece and said they were a little outdated. But they replied with some other books and materials that are more updated and relevant to their mission I could use. It was constructive at the end of it,” you explain. 

“And those pages are going here, yeah?” Joy asks, pointing to the blank corner. 

“Yeah, they are,” you nod. 

“Okay, okay. I’m excited to see where it goes. I hope you’re proud of the work you’ve put in.”

“I think I am. For right now. I’m sure once I start painting in the gold details it’s going to kick my ass again,” you laugh. 

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. It looks good.” 

“Thanks, Joy. And I finished off the last of those beets.”

“Oh, good, good. I was wondering. Did you roast them again?”

You nod. “Easiest way for me to get through them. But they were really good. Better than store bought.”

Joy’s laugh is loud, taking a firmer grip on your shoulder and tugging you into her. “You wouldn’t be attempting to butter me up, would you?”

“I’d never attempt such a thing. I always succeed.”

The shed falls into a round of laughter, even a round of small snickers from Calum as he unabashedly watches the two of you. Joy never falters, squeezing one more time at your shoulders. “Succeed, you do, I’ll admit. Don’t tell Calum though.”

“I won’t,” you promise. 

“Hmm, well, I guess I’ll leave you to work. Need anything?”

“No,” you return with a small shake of your head. “I’ve got everything.”

“Good.” Joy presses a kiss to your forehead and then steps away. 

Calum watches the way you linger, still pushed forward into where her embrace once was, like you might chase behind her. But you don’t. You lean back and put the headphones back on. But there was a pause. Long enough for Calum to see it. And he knows--or at the very least figures--what that pause means. How much you get from the small interactions with his mother. He’d be glad if you did steal his mother, as you called it, if it means that you were getting the pieces of what you’d missed.  

And it’s only a moment--the briefest of pauses. The headphones are settled back on and pick up your paints again. Joy slides into the bench next to Calum and nods in your direction. 

“Everything okay?”

“With them?” Calum clarifies, pulling the top of his laptop down as he sits up a bit straighter. 

“Yeah. With them. You’ve been a little tight lipped lately. If it’s not something you can share I get it. Just want to make sure of course.”

Calum looks back over to you. Your foot’s tapping again, the brush ever so gently scratching over the canvas again. You’d been tight lighted about it too to some degree. The only thing Calum has is that you asked if need be, could he help pick up Charlie and Teagan from school. He agreed that he could. Considering that sessions were closing in another two weeks for the holidays until January, his free time was considerably much larger than usual. And even if you needed help once sessions resumed, he’d always be able to take a recess whenever Charlie and Teagan were almost done with school to get them.  

He’s not sure what’s caused you to ask this--if you’re planning something for Charlie and Teagan, but the alternative is much more sinister. Calum turns back to his mother and she’s only watching. Her fingers are wrapping around his and he exhales. “We’re okay. But something might be happening with Charlie and Teagan. I don’t know.”

“What makes you think that?”

“They asked if I could pick them up from school in the afternoons.”

Understanding crosses her face, brows rising before she looks your way. “Parents drinking again?”

Calum shrugs at the question, but tightens his hold around his mother’s hand. He felt more comfortable telling his mother more about your situation than his dad. She was a bit more careful with what information she was given. “If anyone, it’s probably Diana. But they haven’t said anything to me. Not yet anyways.”

“Will their current living situations support Charlie and Teagan?”

“Temporarily, I’m sure. But not long term, I don’t think.”

Joy hums and it’s a sound that Calum knows well. Her wheels are turning. “Well, we shouldn’t assume. But if they need help relocating, we can help. If not here, then wherever they feel most comfortable being of course.”

“We will. We will,” Calum agrees. 

The conversation between you two had been short--that you needed a plan in place should you need it. Only as he rethinks through the conversations, does he think it was confirmation. I just need to have a plan, sooner rather than later. He should’ve pressed more about it, he thinks. But he does trust you. If there’s anything he needed to know, you’d tell him. But that doesn’t mean Calum can easily swallow down his desire to help. Yet, trust is the only way any of this will work. Choosing you means choosing trust.

“How’s the garden going?” Calum asks. 

“It’s all mostly harvested. But good.”

“Any new recipes you think you’ll try?”

Joy laughs, patting at Calum’s hand. “Oh, no, not this time around. Gave it to the staff mostly. But if you are interested, I could always use a second pair of hands for the spring planting. We can put something together.”

Calum knows that dance--dangerous as it is. He laughs. “Do you need some help right now?”

“Oh, no, no, I came out here just to say hi to the two of you. Feels like I haven’t talked to my boy properly in a few weeks.”

Calum waves her in, arms opening for a hug. “Love you, Mum,” he whispers into the embrace. 

“Love you too.”

Calum remains until she lets go first and when she does, he slides back into this original spot. “It's been rather boring lately if I’m honest.”

“Hmm, nothing from the boys either?”

Calum shakes his head at the question. “Nothing that I’ve heard.  Well, there is Michael’s birthday next month”

“Yes, yes, his mother was talking to me today about that. She said he’s just doing dinner?”

“That’s what he said he’d prefer. Ashton, Luke, and I are still working out the details and getting a table reserved.”

“Do you know who I talked to recently?” Joy asks. She grins as she speaks, a little bop to her head as well. It’s good news then. 

“Who did you talk to recently, Mum?” Calum laughs. 

“Do you remember Ms. Brenda, Joshua’s mum?”

Calum nods. He still keeps in contact with Joshua from time to time. It’s not nearly as frequent as Luke, Michael, or Ashton. But Joshua and Calum were thick as thieves as kids on the time. “I remember Ms. Brenda.”

“She told me Joshua is proposing at Christmas.”

Calum whistles. Joshua had told him that he was dating seriously and they were moving in. That was only a few months ago, maybe almost a year, but not more than that. “Wow. God, we are really growing up, huh?”

“Oh, god, you can say that again,” Joy laughs. “When’s the last time you talked to Joshua anyway?”

Calum had texted Joshua a few weeks ago, mostly to say he hoped Joshua was doing well and Joshua replied with his usual, hanging in there by my toes, but hanging. As they’d gotten older Joshua moved away from football. In high school, he’d gotten a little gig to help out at home. But he didn’t talk about it much and since, Joshua mentioned he’s swapped from trade work to an office job. But the conversations were filled more with jokes and laughter than catching up on their lives. 

Calum shrugs a little. “A few weeks ago. He said he was doing alright, but not this alright to be proposing. Has Ms. Brenda given up her banana bread recipe?”

“No,” Joy laughs. “But I’m going to get it from her eventually.”

“One of these days,” Calum teases. “If I get any more updates from the boys, I’ll be sure to share. As long as you share too.”

Joy holds up her hands, one at her chest. “Swear it,” she grins. 

“The holidays are coming up soon too. I’m sure they’ll have some juicy stories then. ”

“Never fails,” Joy hums. “Anything you want? While we’re on the topic of the holidays.”

The question does make Calum ponder. There’s nothing that he wants that he thinks could be given by his parents. His gaze falls back to you. The sun cascades down around you, propped in the almost perfect center of the room. It's a small floor plan to begin with--the shelves help give storage without sacrificing the too much square footage. But finding a good place to put the easel for you really only had a few places to go--along one of the walls that was taken up by the bench and table or go into the center. But it’s nice to have your work at the center. What Calum really wants is time with you, time where you don’t have to worry about anything, where nothing is hanging over your head.

“Something that I could get would be ideal,” Joy laughs. 

Calum snorts. There’s no embarrassment about being caught. “Can I take a rain check on that question then?”

“Absolutely, son. Absolutely. But besides the stuff with their parents, you two are okay, right?”

Calum regards his mother. The grays are prominent and continue to grow more so as the years pass in her hair. She shares a nearly identical cut to Calum’s though her sides are cut nearly as close as his. Calum had teased his mother when she first cut it that she was copying him. Joy never denied it. Just hugged Calum in tight and laughed. It’s going to destroy him when he can’t get one of those hugs--bone crushing and warm. Calum wonders if he’ll ever be able to recover from such a loss like that--death or not. He doesn’t know how you do it. How you’ve survived this long, but you do. He’s glad that for the time being the both of you can get soul warming hugs from his mother. 

 Because she’s real and present and looking back at him with the same concern she used to direct his way when he’d talk about a bad day at school. But instead of feeling like a child, instead of feeling small, he finds himself proud that he looks back into his mother’s face and knows that he’s got nothing to hide, that he can put it out on the table and she will always be there for him. He’s a little scared, how much he feels and how much of him is so willing to take the risk to get hurt again. 

“We’re okay,” Calum answers. “I told them about Nora though.”

Joy whistles, brows rising at the news. “How’d that go?”

“Better than expected.” He’d prepared for the day he told you about Nora. How it might send you into a panic or even worse might cause an argument given how some that hurt still lingers, how he still mourns what could’ve been while discovering how much of the desire isn’t broken or gone with you. But thankfully it didn’t. For all that could’ve happened, nothing bad did. 

“How do you feel about that? Now that it’s out there?” Joy asks, reaching for his hand again. 

Calum shrugs, gazing back up as a shadow passes. A few birds flying overhead, he assumes. “It feels like I’m hiding less things now. Like I can be human with them more. But it’s hard. I-” His throat jumps. Fear he can place as it thumps in his veins. “I love them. But the last time I loved someone like this…” The words are catching. He wants to get them out but the emotion seizes his throat. 

“It ended poorly. I know, I know,” she whispers in return. Both her hands wrap around Calum’s left hand. 

“Yeah. But it’s so strange. To know that this all falling apart is still a possibility but not caring as much. All I find myself focused on is what I can still experience. Like even if it does have to end, and I don’t. I really don’t want that. But if it has too, I don’t want regrets on the table.”

“Well, that sounds like something to me. Like you know what you want,” Joy returns. “Sounds like you know what’s worth taking the risks for, which in turn, means you don’t have regret.”

Calum notices the hand retreating now from his space. A bottle of water rests onto the table, on the coasters you insisted on having for the shed. “It’s a good thing I don’t have plans on leaving. I’m right here, love,” you whisper against his cheek before pressing a kiss to the stubble he knows he needs to shave. 

Calum takes his free hand and tugs you back when you go to step away. Your legs hit the edge of the bench with a stop thump. There’s red and gold paint on the end of the sleeves decorating the threads. Your fingers are stained too, but that doesn’t make Calum hesitate as he threads his fingers through yours. “You’re supposed to be painting.”

“I took a hydration break,” you laugh. He spies now the second bottle of water in your hand that’s now being lowered to the table.  With your second hand free, you reach into the pocket of your apron and unearth a clean rag and drape it over his shoulder. “For any snot.”

Calum laughs, head dropping into your stomach. “If we’re keeping score about who’s cried the most, I think you’ve got me beat.”

“I’m a water hose, sue me.” You press a kiss to the top of Calum’s head though.

The paint is tacky against Calum’s fingers. His skin will be stained red and gold too, but it doesn’t matter. He drags his thumb over yours, a soothing action back and forth.  You are there. You are just within reach. “I won’t,” Calum answers.  Your hum is reassurance coupled with the squeeze of your hand. 

Calum takes a deep inhale, attempting to commit to memory the way you smell in his clothes. The smell of paint powering over everything and yet, there is something so deeply you at the root of it--fresh like how clean linen smells. He tries to only take a minute or two, knowing that you’ll probably draw back first to head back to your painting. But you stay in the embrace. 

“You two hungry by chance?” Joy asks. “I’ll go fix us something.”

Calum nearly tells her that she doesn’t have to go. But she’s giving his one hand one last squeeze as she slips out from behind the table. Joy gives your shoulder a squeeze and then slips out the door; it shuts softly behind her. You stand, towering over Calum. But he pulls you even closer into him, hands winding around your waist. 

“You’re going to have paint all over your face,” you laugh. 

“I don’t care.”

“Is everything okay?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Just…I love you, that’s all.”

“I love you too.” The return is even and quick. You ease him out of his embrace and Calum looks back up at you. “Is now an appropriate time to make an inappropriate joke about why I’m not leaving you?”

“No,” Calum laughs. “Now is not the time for an inappropriate joke, but thank you for asking.” 

The cap on the water releases with ease and you pour a little bit of your bottle onto the rag. The touch is tender as you swipe it over Calum’s cheek and forehead. “You’ll let me know when I can, right?”

“Yeah, of course. The world needs all your inappropriate jokes.” Your work is steady on his cheek, one hand holding ever so gently against his chin. “Sorry to interrupt your hydration break.”

“Not an interruption at all,” you laugh. “How’s the speech coming along?”

Calum gingerly tugs at the rag in your hand. “You see how that laptop is closed?” You nod. “That’s how well it’s going. I don’t even need to worry.”

“Or are you too distracted?”

“Some might say those are the same.”

“Yeah, all people named Calum Hood,” you snort, before taking a sip from your bottle. Your gaze is steady. But Calum can see it, the question brewing behind your eyes. “Would I be correct in assuming that I’m the first person since Nora?”

There it is. Calum doesn’t even need to ask what you heard. “You are.” He’s sure it’s more obvious than needed but at least you asked. 

“I know I can’t promise not to break your heart. But I’d like to politely ask for the space to prove to you I’m not her.”

Calum knows you’re not her. It’s not even a comparison of people, just a comparison of situations. He’s right where he was before. And it’s all different than it was before. Less tense, more space to converse and to be. But he’s scared. He doesn’t want to fall on his face again, doesn’t want the person he cares about most taken away from him. “Since when do you have a polite bone in your body?”

“Since my sarcastic timing isn’t always well loved. And I know that’s rich coming from me, considering everything I’ve done and yet to tell you. However, still, I wanted you to know that I want this relationship with you.”

Calum knows that on an intellectual level. But it’s nice to hear the words again. “Thank you.” It feels too small a phrase for what he means. Because what he means to say is that you are right--you and Nora are two different people. These are two different relationships. But the fear has a strong hold. What he means to say is the sound of you saying that you want him makes his stomach knot, makes his toes curl, makes Calum feel like a kid again in the most innocent of ways. What he means to say is that he never wants to forget that, but he knows he’s human. So he will forget, but please always remind him. 

The kiss to his forehead is wet, no doubt to the water on your lips, but gentle. “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear.”

If he could have you say it all the time, he would. But Calum revels in the whisper of your voice even as you slip away. He knows you’re in a bit of a time crunch. The paint will need plenty of time to dry so you’re trying to get through this with enough time to spare. He lets you go, promising him to himself that he’s going to spend the entirety of the night having you say it again and again how much you want him. 

“Baby,” he calls out, just before the headphones cover up your ears. 

“Yes, my love?” you ask, turning on the stool.

“I’m glad it’s you.”

“You’re glad it’s me?”

Calum nods. “Yeah, I’m glad it’s you.” He’s not sure if you understand, if you’ll get what he’s saying. But he is glad it’s you. Someone that got to know him from the ground up, someone that he got to know out of pure interest. He’s glad you’re who you are and that the two of you have this. Truly, what other ways can he say it? He’s just really glad it’s you. 

You smile, headphones covering your ears, but you’re still facing him. “I’m glad it’s you too.”

______________________________

The heat from the oven grazes your arms as you slip the tray onto the rack. The orange pumpkins dyed into the white dough smile back at you--gaps between their carved teeth. You hope it’s not too much--that you’re coming over with a basket of things for what might be a pretty small holiday. But you are curious--has Mevlin made progress with Diana? Charlie makes no mention of noticing anything strange. Teagan hasn’t tipped you off that more things are happening out of the ordinary. It looks as though things might be on the up and up. Yet, you know looks can and will be deceiving. Its hardly been a week but the anxiety is gnawing on your innards—a feast for it and starvation for you. 

With ease you wind the white timer for 10 minutes and set it down onto the counter. The ticking seconds are background noise for you cutting persistently through the crackle of plastic as you tear open the package of black tissue paper. The orange plastic pumpkin mirror the cookies--blackness around their gaped teeth, a hollow but practiced smile. You line the bottom of the buckets with a couple sheets and then start to toss in the socks, and stickers. They get a book to color in each, a fresh pack of coloring pencils, and Halloween pins for jackets or backpacks. Charlie gets one in the shape of a ghost and you slip a bat theme pin packet in for Teagan. 

The candy waits in big bags--an unfortunate reality that you’d waited a little too long to get the smaller bags for the occasion but Calum promises to help when you get back to divvy up the remaining lollipops, chocolate, and other sweets into bags for people on staff and their children too considering he’d gotten a hefty amount of the remaining bags as well when he accompanied you on your errand run for the baskets. Teagan likes the sweeter stuff and Charlie’s a big fan of chocolate. So you slide a bag of the respective kind of candy in front of each one of the brackets for them.

“Oh my god, a ghost,” Declan laughs, sliding in next to you at the kitchen island. 

“Boo,” you smile in return. 

“You know that you and the Prince are both adults? I didn’t suspect the two of you to be into Halloween this hard.”

“These are for my siblings,” you return. 

Declan pauses, hands having stretched out towards the back of Snickers, Reeses, Almond Joys and other chocolates.  “Oh. Well, that makes a lot more sense. Need help?”

You know you don’t. There’s only the candy left aside of their bags of cookies that you’ll be putting together after they cook and cool. “If you’re truly that bored, sure,” you offer. 

It’s an easy out, a way for Declan to slide into the bench at the table and take a load off before he works. Dinner will most likely be starting soon and you’re hoping that your timing hasn’t interrupted Declan’s work. He started to take weekend dinner shifts most often. “I’ve got time. Just vouch for me if Janet chews out my ass.”

“I hope I’m not in the way. The cookies only have like another 8 minutes or so and I will always vouch for you if Janet comes.”

“You’re not in the way,” Declan answers, but takes the bag into his grasp and pulls it open. 

You slide him a few more sheets of black tissue paper.  “I was trying to time between shifts,” you offer. 

“You timed it well. How much candy am I giving your dear old sibling? Whole bag? Half?”

“No more than half? They’ll be going trick-or-treating this weekend too.”

Declan laughs, reaching into the bag for a handful. “Oh, your parents are going to hate you for all this extra sugar.”

“Perhaps that’s the point.” Perhaps, you’re adding fuel to a forest fire. But you’ll add it. You shimmy a few extra packets of the nerds into the bucket. 

“Are they still super young? Your siblings, I mean.” Declan tips the bucket in your direction a little for you to get a better view. “Too much or too little?”

You peer onto the bucket. It’s not empty, but it does look a little sparse. “Tiny bit more if you don’t mind.  And they’re still in elementary school. Nine and seven.”

“And you’ve never talked about them before because?”

You didn’t know about them before. You were terrified of what it meant. There’s a small part of you that feels vindicated. You knew something would happen with your parents involved. You knew that if you got too close you’d wind up in a mess. But god, there’s a larger part hoped you’d been wrong. 

“It’s complicated,” you answer. “My parents and I aren’t close. But I am trying to be there for my siblings at the very least. They’re important to me.”

“Well, I--should it matter in the slightest-- think you’re killing it. This enough?”

You take a peek into the bucket. There’s enough candy that you know Melvin will be dealing with wrappers and sugar highs for at least a week. You nod. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.”

“How-how are things with you?”you ask.  There’s a bit of hesitation. The timer ticks around you and with the baskets full, including the extra bits of tissue paper tucked in, there’s still something that lingers. Something that you don’t want to fall flat with Declan--like you know how friends do. 

Declan shrugs. “They’re going.”

The shrills interrupts what you think might’ve been on his tongue. Declan turns, kitchen towel already fall off his waist as he tugs on it. “Just going?”

“These extra shifts are a little bit killer, but they’re helping pay off the work I had to get done to my car, so it’s all evened out.”

“What happened to your car?”

“Brakes needed to be replaced, and new tires.”

You hiss at the answer, watching Declan slide the tray onto the aisle. The cookies are a golden color now around the edges--perfectly cooked. “At the same time?”

He nods. “Same time. I could’ve done the brakes myself but they were closing in on being dangerously thin. I was already going to have to go in for the tires so I just tacked on the brakes and figured I’d work out the money later. Was not the smartest financial decision, but it was either taking two days off from work or just one. I need my remaining PTO for the holidays.”

“Your sister’s graduation right?” He’d mentioned it once to you before but hadn’t really talked about it since. 

Declan nods. “Yeah.” It comes slow. And you’re not sure what’s causing his hesitation but he laughs with a shake of his head. “I shouldn’t be shocked you remember that.”

“Yet you are, you jerk.”

“Credit where credit is due. My apologies.”

“What is your sister studying?”

“Data Analytics. She’s got a job lined up too once she graduates.” 

A feat you know given the current landscape. A whistle leaves you. “A whiz, I see.”

“Just don’t let her hear that.” 

“Promise,” you laugh. 

“Her plan is to move out in another two years time, I think,” Declan offers. “Of course it all depends on how the market stabilizes."

“Do you know if she is looking for roommates? Could help her a little bit but it comes with its own risks of course.”

Declan shrugs. “I’d offer for her to move in with me. I know our parents are going to be a little overbearing, but it’s not cool to move in with your older brother and his roommate. But I did at least tell her that if she’s interested in my complex, to let me know. I’m only a ten minute drive from our parent’s place so she’d still be close enough to them too.”

“Sounds like that’ll be nice if it works out.”

“Time will only tell in the end. Things still going good at the new job? You sure you don’t want to come back to us?”

It’s a tease and you can tell by the way he bats his lashes. But even just the offer makes your heart leap. You think you’d take this job back in a heartbeat if you could. But Forest has its perks. There was a reason why you had to leave. “It’s good. It’s a lot more hectic than here on average. But pays the bill. Health insurance is a small step down but not that I needed more than yearly check ups for anything.”

“Good health is a fountain of wealth in the end,” Declan returns. “I’m glad it’s going well. I think Val said she tried to pop in but didn’t see you.”

“I’m back of house right now. Until I get licensed to bartend. When that happens I’ll be on the front a bit more.”

He nods, a hum falling from his throat. “Sounds like the place is still stretched thin though.”

More than a handful of times you’ve heard runners complain about how many shifts they’ve been asked to cover. The kitchen staff is pretty solid. It’d come up as you worked more than the person you took over for left because of needing to move back home for family needs. But Turner seemed to still be struggling to retain servers. You were sure that she’d train you up by now but perhaps the concerns you voiced about your relationship with Calum were keeping her from getting you onto that boat. Though, once you got on the bar you’d undoubtedly have to learn tables too. 

“It is,” you agree after a meaty pause. “But it’s not so much that I think I’m getting screwed over. I guess. I know my time will come once I move to the bar.”

“Does it make you nervous at all? To move to the floor? Given your relationship, I mean.”

“Makes Calum more nervous than me. But seeing what I have of the bartenders right now, I’d run food and take care of those right at the bar. Right now, it’s like a bridge that I can’t see enough to worry about if I'll have to cross it or not.”

You slide over to the cookies, testing the temperature with your finger. They feel cool enough and you gingerly wiggle them loose from the sheet. Declan slides you two plastic bags. “I guess in some ways it’s like not trying to stress yourself out twice about things,” Declan states. 

“Yeah,” you nod. You seal up the last four cookies for Charlie. Two more remain on a piece of paper towel. Declan takes the sheet and moves it to the sink. “Oh, I can wash it.”

With a pointed stare, Declan turns on the water and squeezes a bit of dish soap onto the sheet. “What was that? I can’t hear you over the water,” he shouts. 

You’re not sure what you expected but when he’s done, you toss him one of the remaining cookies, hoping he doesn’t drop it but hoping just a little that it tumbles. Declan catches it with ease. “For all your hard work,” you return. 

He snorts. “Thanks.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Oh, anytime as long as I get fed cookies at the end of it.”

The door to the kitchen opens, you catch the movement from your peripheral and look up from Declain. Calum peeks his head through the door. “Ready, baby?”

“Yeah, I just finished up.” You offer Declan the second cookie as well. He waves it off. 

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll see you around.”

“I’m not going to eat it,” you laugh and Declan huffs before plucking the sugar cookie from your fingers. 

“You owe me,” he calls out around his bite. “I need advice on what to get my sister for her graduation present.”

“Call me. I’ll help. But you can’t go wrong with money.”

“Aye, yeah, I thought about that. But I want to do something more personal. As the oldest, I can do better than that.”

The bags of candy rattle in your grasp as you slip the shopping bag they’re in on your wrist. The two baskets are wrapped securely into the curve of your fingers from the plastic handles. You get Declan’s concerns. The pride in his voice makes you realize perhaps you’re less alone than you felt with Charlie and Teagan’s situation. 

You nod at Declan. “We’ll cook up something. Be thinking about what she likes or what she needs. Text me whatever you think of and then we’ll grab coffee or something to solidify a plan.”

“Thank you,” Declan grins. “You’re a life saver.”

“Don’t I know it,” you laugh over your shoulder. Calum steps in closer, his fingers brushing over your wrist as he takes the Target bag with the leftover candy. 

“Shut up. No one told you to brag about it.” 

Calum holds the door open for you. “Sorry I couldn’t help with the baskets. But it looks like you still had some help around.”

“Don’t worry. I know you had other obligations. Declan sort of forcefully helped out. In a way.”

“Declan has a sister?” Calum questions. “Didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, he does. She graduates university in December.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I didn’t realize Declan was old enough for a sister graduating uni.”

“He’s 27. So not that much older.”

The lights on Calum’s truck light up briefly and you two slip inside. You’re not sure what you’re about to head into. Though you hope it’s good news, there’s dread in the bottom of your stomach. Calum doesn’t know. You only asked if he could help pick up Charlie and Teagan from school. But he doesn’t know. 

“When’s your next day off again, baby?” Calum asks. You were off today--having spent most of that time doing laundry and cleaning out your car. But then came by after were done so that both you and Calum could go over to your parent’s place--at Charlie’s request that Calum come. 

“Uh, next Tuesday, I think,” you return. “I have to look at the schedule again.” You take a picture of it when it gets posted. You can only imagine what haunts you in the photo album of your phone should you ever go back through it more thoroughly. 

“When you do, can you let me know? Next month we’ll need to schedule a fitting for outfits to the auction and banquet. It’ll be pretty straight forward for me. But I know they’ll want to do your measurements, talk about what you’re comfortable wearing and show you some pieces. It’s….going to be a lot. But it won’t take the whole day.”

That part you hadn’t considered. Though you were still working on the painting religiously in the evenings, the banquet was being pushed further and further down on your list of concerns. Having to actually go was a dream, or perhaps you held onto some delusion that you wouldn’t have to go. Though you definitely did. “I’ll let you know,”you return. 

“I’ll be there, the entire time,” Calum promises, a hand on your knee. “It’s really not bad. If you want, we can sit down together and look at stuff to help you prepare. Brands, maybe colors, silhouettes and such.”

“That would be nice.”

“Of course, baby. I’d be happy to.” 

The first part of the journey is smooth, the tires gliding down the road. Calum seems to find a sense of content with his hand on your knee, a gentle gliding up to the middle of your thigh and then a slide back down. Rhythmic in a way that you’re partially sure it’s not conscious. It feels unbothered, unworried in a way that only the subconscious is capable of doing. And the longer his palm slides along your denim cladded knee, the longer you think about the mess Calum could be walking into. He might already suspect, but it is still your responsibility to be transparent, to tell him what’s going on in your life even if it’s hard, even if it’s tiring. 

“I want to say thanks,” you start, capturing Calum’s free hand for a moment to give it a squeeze. “For agreeing to help me with my siblings. I do know I need to explain what’s going on right now. It’s just hard—I guess it’s also shame. But Teagan noticed that Diana missed tucking her in a few nights back in August or so. And things just sorted to feel off with how pushy she started to get. Melvin confirmed a couple weeks ago that she’s drinking again.”

Calum hisses, his hand squeezing against your knee. “I am so sorry, baby. That’s so awful.” 

“Melvin asked for some time to get her more help. He’s worried about disrupting too much of Charlie and Teagan’s schedule. I gave him until the end of next month to make progress with her. But if she’s not better, I’m taking them in for a little bit.” 

“Outside of pickup from school, what other help do you need? I-there’s-whatever you need, I want to help.” 

You know Calum’s being careful. You can hear how much might be behind those words. “We might need a room at the palace if that’s okay. I don’t know how suitable my room is long term. Until my lease is finished and I find a two bedroom apartment.” 

“We have space. That’s not a problem.” 

Your cheeks are warm. He says it so easily like he doesn’t have to think. And some in ways he probably doesn’t have to. But the deep pressure of his hold tells you that he means it deeply. “Thank you.” 

“Of course. I’m really sorry that this is happening. To them. To you all over again in a way. All three of you deserve so much better. But I think you’re doing what you might’ve wished someone did for you. And that in and of itself is incredibly powerful.” 

The tears burn. You watch the way the highway signs wave in their wake.  It’s not exactly what you’d want, though maybe in your younger years you did wish someone to save it before it started. And you can be that light. You can be the hero that your siblings need, even if they’ve never wanted for one. “I just hope they don’t hate me.”

“I can sympathize with that fear, baby. They’re kids right now. They maybe won’t get it immediately. But when they get older, you can explain more. And maybe you and Melvin find a way to frame it so it doesn’t seem so bad right now and they don’t take it so hard. And I hope they don’t hate you either. I can’t say they won’t. But Charlie and Teagan seem like kids that would at the very least listen.” 

You hope. You’d beg of the universe that Charlie and Teagan at the very least listen to you, understand that you don’t want to make any changes to their lives unless it’s to improve it. But they are just kids. Temporary displeasure for more stable and permanent change seems like a fair price to pay, but you know they’ll take years to see it that way. 

“I hope,” you return softly, sniffling back the snot that threatens to slip down your cupid's bow. “I hope.”

Calum motions to the glove box. “Tissues if you need them. But I’m here. Mum is too. So is Dad. You’ve got people in your corner. I’ll talk to security and we can get Charlie and Teagan set up so they’re safe and they have a nice place to hang out. We’ll create a plan so that they’re always on time to school and picked up and for any after school activities they’re in as well. All hope is not lost.”

Hope is not lost. Just beaten and maybe a little battered. “You sure you still want to be with me?” you tease, taking out the small pouch of tissues from the glovebox. 

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. But I am going to make sure Charlie and I have the best jack-o-latern on the block, so be prepared for that.”

“Not if Teagan and I have the best one.”

“Oh, game on, baby. I hope your mouth is not writing checks you can’t cash.”

“All my checks are good.”

Calum gives a disapproving hum but risks a glance in your direction. “We’ll see about that. We’ll see. Is it this exit or the next one?”

“Next one,” you answer. “Once you got off, I’ll help more.”

“Next one. Got it. Thanks.”

“No, thank you.” 

The front of the house is dark when you arrive. There’s no lights bleeding through the curtains. There’s no flutter or wide swinging of the door as you and Calum ascend the stairs. You’re not sure what this means and from what you can see there is at least one car in the driveway at the very least. There were two--a car for Dian and Melvin each. But you’re not sure who drives what. It feels a little pointless to knock on the door, but you do so anyway. It sits unanswered for a minute or two. 

Calum’s hand rests gingerly in the dip of your lower back. “Want to try the door bell?”

It feels silly to think you haven’t had to use the doorbell in months. But you wait a moment more and then reach for it. The toll rings out, so much so that even you hear it from behind the closed door. The seconds pass and you don’t hear anything. Melvin had told you to come at this time. You worried nothing had happened in the meantime but a few seconds later you catch a faint call, “Coming, coming!”

Melvin smiles as he opens the door. There’s light but from deeper in the house, from the kitchen you think. The front of the house is dark. “Uh, we’re in the backyard,” he notes, pushing his glasses back up on his face. 

You nod and step inside. “Okay.”

“That’s cute,” he comments, pointing down to the buckets in your hand. “For Charlie and Teagan?”

“Uh, yeah. There’s a lot of sugar as a warning.”

“To be expected,” he laughs. “Just head straight back. I’ve got to run upstairs and I’ll be right back down in a minute.”

Calum slides in around you, giving Melvin a passing greeting before taking a couple steps further ahead of you. You watch Melvin though, as he ascends the stairs one hand on the railing. He moves quietly though you distinctly remember the sixth step always having a little bit of a squeak to it. So far, there’s no Diana. Not that you can see but you know you’re staring too much when you notice just how Melvin skips over the second noisiest step too. 

“Ready?” Calum questions. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you return and then catch up. “It’s just this way.” You lead Calum deeper into the house, past the living room and kitchen to the sliding glass doors. Charlie and Teagan sit at the wooden bench in the backyard, two pumpkins resting already on the table on top of newspaper. The big kitchen trashcan sits outside--ready and lined with the black garbage bag. 

The two turn at the sound of the door sliding in the grooving, faces immediately brightening up when they spot you and Calum. Teagan slides out and rushes up the porch steps. “Hi!” she laughs colliding into your lower body. 

“Hi,” you laugh in return. 

Charlie follows up behind his own cheer leaving his throat. You wrap him up in a hug as well. But as you do, you pause. He’s hitting the middle of  your stomach now, and creeping towards your chest maybe. Just a few weeks ago he was maybe just starting to hit your waist. But now you feel it in your bones. In the next couple of years, you’ll be looking him directly in his eye. It would break your heart for it to be sooner, but the longer you take in the extra inches, you think it might be sooner.

“You’re getting so tall,” you marvel. 

Charlie laughs. “Yeah, I guess so. The basketball coach asked me if I’d considered joining the sport last week.” 

“No more baseball?” Calum questions, slinging his arm around Charlie’s shoulders. 

“Never giving up on that. But I might consider basketball too. If they don’t share the same season schedule.” 

You know you shouldn't be shocked. It’s supposed to happen. They’re supposed to grow up. But as Charlie collects his basket full of goodies and carries on back to the table, you find yourself still in awe of how much he’s grown. They won’t be little forever--a terrifying thought to have. But they still laugh, digging into the baskets for their first pick of candy. 

“We’re supposed to wait,” Charlie notes, warning Teagan of some previous agreement. You think you hear somewhere in there where his voice cracks too. Maybe it’s just in your thoughts. There’s no way he could be headed towards puberty young. You didn’t.

She huffs, but places the box of Nerds back onto the table. “You could let me slide.”

“No, Dad said to wait, so we wait.”

“Where is Dad anyway?” Teagan questions. Her gaze falls behind you back towards the house but when she doesn’t seem to garner enough for an answer she looks back to you. “You going to help me destroy Charlie and Calum from over there?”

The shock glued your feet. You hadn’t made it from the bottom of the steps of the porch but you soldier on and settle onto the bench next to her. “No, sorry. Any ideas on what you want to do with this here pumpkin?” you ask with a slap to the side. It’s a dull thud, but the gourd is still firm under the weight of your hand. 

She nods, reaching for a stack of papers. “I drew up some ideas at lunch. Which one do you think is best?”

As you begin shuffling through Teagan’s ideas, you can catch the murmur of Calum and Charlie discussing too. For a brief moment, you lock in again on Charlie’s voice. There’s nothing there, not another crack. It’s enough that you think you could convince yourself that you imagined the earlier sound. But you know it’s a fruitless wish. So you zero back in on the four sketches--one has furrowed brows and though the brows aren’t quite even in the drawing, you do like the added touch. You slide it out towards her. “I like this one.”

“That was my first choice. But I liked this one too a lot.” She reaches for the drawing with the word, Boo written in a speech bubble out from the pumpkin’s mouth. 

You look back up to her pumpkin. Charlie’s chosen pumpkin is shorter and wider, which you think would fit the words a bit more. But Teagan’s pumpkin is much taller and a tad bit narrower. The word would inevitably wrap around the side. “I think given the pumpkin you’re working with this one is the best bet,” you return, holding the picture in your hand up a little bit more. “The pumpkin’s a bit too narrow for the word. But if you really want it, we can try to make it work.”

Teagan holds the design up to the pumpkin, eyes flickering up and down from the picture to the pumpkin, around the edges of it. “I think you’re right.”

“Save that one for next year, if you want. Then we can make sure you get the right size pumpkin for it.”

“There’s also the tiny pumpkins we’re going to paint too today,” Teagan begins, “so I’m sure I can use that design on one of them.” She points to the side of the table you’re at but there’s nothing a top of the table so you look down and spot a collection of six mini pumpkins waiting. 

“Oh, yeah, that works too.” 

The four of you wait for another minute or two, but you can see how antsy Teagan and Charlie are getting. They fidget near their boxes of candy and near the tools assembled on the table for carving. Melvin made it sound like it would only take a minute or two. It settles into your gut that Diana’s the reason for the hold up. And behind that lead is bile at the realization that Melvin may not be getting to her. If your lungs could collapse at a thought, this would be their undoing. 

Charlie looks back to the house. “I’m going to go look for Dad,” he states. 

It flashes before your eyes--how he might discover Diana drunk, Melvin doing his best to coax her from the glass, or worse, an argument. His world would crumble in an instant. You know that it might be the wind to bring the house of cards down and it might make whatever you do in the future make more sense, but you call out his name instead. He doesn’t need to be dropped into reality just yet. 

“We can get started, if you want. I think Calum and I count as adult supervision,” you tease. “Even if just barely on Calum’s part.”

“Excuse me?” Calum laughs. “I have been well into adulthood for quite some time now. Not nearly as old as you, but it still counts.”

Charlie laughs at the exchange. “No, but like, we always do it with Dad,” he counters. He’s not moved closer back to the bench, hovering in the few feet between the bench and the deck steps. 

“You can blame me,” you counter, nodding for Charlie to come back. “C’mon. Teagan’s got ass to kick--yours specifically.”

“Oh no, now that’s unfair,” he retorts, inching back towards the table, back towards safety. “And you owe money to the jar.”

“Add it to my tab,” you grin, sliding him an apron. 

“Game on,” he grins. Devious as it is, you count this as a win. You know the trouble won’t get smoother, won’t get easier, but Charlie doesn’t need the veil torn down just yet.

As you help Teagan into her apron, you notice her own concern, the flickering of her gaze back up to the house. God, what you wouldn’t have done to save her the first time, when she snuck down to that kitchen and caught those few seconds of the cabinets slamming. 

“Do you want to scoop or cut?” you ask, trying to pull her back. You can save her now, even if it’s only for pumpkin carving. “After we get the outline done, of course.”

“I’ll take a stab at the cutting.”

You snort at the pun, but nod. “If it’s too tough, just let me know and I’ll take over.”

She nods and takes the sharpie with ease to begin outlining the brows, eyes, and mouth of her jack-o-latern. She works with little hesitation until she has to make the brow on the right with the one on the left. Charlie and Calum laugh from their side of the table as Charlie works to get the knife through the thick rine.  

“Please watch your fingers, yeah?” Calum states as Charlie works. 

Teagan slips out from the bench and takes a couple steps back. You watch her and she tilts her head just a little. “I can’t get the brows straight for the life of me,” she laughs. 

You lean over to get a more straight one look. The right brow is just a little lower than the left. “It’s now an aesthetic choice. Adds to the character,” you offer. 

She snorts. “We can call it that.”

As she returns back to her spot, you hear the slide of the glass doors. Melvin slips through but pauses with the door not fully closed behind him. You see it, the flash of fear and disappointment over his face. It makes you wonder if he ever consider that even this particular path of action would have its own cost? The hand of the universe is always perfectly balanced--for every x that is solved, there is a z. 

The two of you lock gazes, as you stand to help Teagan with getting the gourd open, and you know that Melvin’s truly not prepared. Neither are you. The two of you are wading in the same sea. Neither one of you has a buoy, neither one of you have a life vest for what’s coming or what’s already here. The difference between you and Melvin are merely only the reasons that brought you into this stormy sea. You already know the cost of every choice. You already know that every action you take or don’t take will come with its own weighty consequence. You know the cost of keeping Charlie from going inside is that when the truth does come out, it will destroy him tenfold. You know when you take them in, when you do what you must do, there will be anger and resentment. As much as it scares you, you know you’re going to do it--regardless. You don’t know how to navigate those feelings. You don’t know how to live with the fear of what you know must be done. But you will still do it.

Does some part of this feel like deja vu for Melvin? Not that you envy his position. He is at the crossroads of his own impossible trolley problem. If Melvin wanted to save his wife, save the mother of his children, Charlie and Teagan  would become the sacrifice. If Melvin wanted to save his two youngest children from the same fate that fell upon you, his wife would become the sacrifice. You watch the crushing reality swallow him whole. You’ve never seen true horror on someone’s face until now. Until Melvin watches as you work the knife through the flesh of the pumpkin and the foundation of a tradition cracks. 

You could and would do whatever necessary to protect them. You wish you could tell him, say to him that this is the moment of sink or swim. This is the very second to decide if he’s going to let Diana’s own choices destroy what he’d worked so hard to build. But you’ve the rest of the rind to get through. There’s Teagan waiting eagerly to your right with the spoon to scoop out the innards of the pumpkin. So you look back down to the work you’re doing, sliding the knife through the tough outer flesh and resign yourself come the end of November, even if you have to sink, Charlie and Teagan will still swim. 

You can only hope Melvin’s accepted that fate too.

[calumthoodshands]

Getting a fanfic idea be like: is this a oneshot or will i let it consume the next 37 of my nights to finish it a whole ass story?

[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 :)

[the5sosfanfiction]

Hey! I was wondering.... do you have any fics (preferably with muke or cake or lashton..... anything with luke😄) where one of them is royalty? Also can you recommend fics where one of them is abused (same ship preferences)? I'm sorry if I'm being a bother😕 Thanks❤️❤️

for the abuse recs i’m going to link our abuse tag and abusive relationship tag as the list is so long as it is and there are A Lot of fics that fall under that category on ao3 (make sure to read the tags of each fic and look after yourself

Lashton

Royally Pirate

Crowns and Riches

Once Upon a Dream

A Kingdom of Love and not of War

Castle Murmurs

a kingdom of hearts (but not of love)

Ashton, a Prince? Yeah right.

No Place Like Home

i'll be yours truly unbelievable (luke is underage)

Prince

Save Me From Who I'm Supposed To Be

no i could not want you more (then i did right then)

Cinderfella

Muke

When I First Met You There Was A Garden

Northern Lights

I'm Sitting Eyes Wide Open And I Got One Thing Stuck In My Mind (I Don't Wanna Fit Wherever)

Rebel Heart

We'll Never Be Royals

That One Name

Romeo Take Me Somewhere We Can Be Alone (It's A Love Story Baby Just Say Yes)

One True Love

come alive and bring the thunder

Cake

Baby Boy, I Can Misbehave

- kels

[lilacsos]

Calum as Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid

want one?

[zelfanswhenshecan]

back on some bs & craving a good prince / royal read ... if you have any PLEASE link :)

& if not how are you today?

[calpops]

searching souls | c.h.

Calum despised the crown that sat atop his head, he never wanted to inherit a throne and a kingdom if it meant bowing to the pressures of a court and a union that wasn’t with his soulmate. He was left with reminders of who he was supposed to be with; fleeting marks gracing his skin. They served as reasons, they told him in fine silver lines and blooming purple what was worth fighting for. A ballerina with an injured arm and distaste for all that royalty brought showed Calum what his soul truly yearned for. Who he truly was and who he was supposed to be with. He could only hope her soul was set out in search of the same.

18k words

This fic has been in the making since April of 2019 and I am so incredibly happy I have finally brought it to life and can now share it with you all. I hope you enjoy. <3

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

<< >>

Calum became one with the shadows, the night disguising him with tendrils of darkness that were a little too easy to sink into. His back pressed to a stone wall and a cry of relief and for privacy fell from his lips. He was always aching for a moment alone, to be away from the endless amount of people that endlessly crowded him. Moments before his dash down a flight of stairs he was sat among such a crowd and added tenfold; he had stared at a stage with dancers telling a story he didn’t quite understand, with people crowding him he didn’t really know. His presence was obligatory according to the court—an invitation one he was not allowed to refuse. He was a visitor in this domain, one where the tilt of his crown was less commanding and more endearing. He wasn’t quite considered and treated as a future leader here; he was viewed as a rare commodity, a celebrity and something to be passed along and propped up in advantageous places.

His royal guard, Ashton, stood just behind the exit, the door stayed propped open so he might spring into action on a moment’s notice. Even when Calum was alone someone always lingered. He wasn’t sure when his last true moment of peace and solace was. He’d bargain it may have never happened, that he might be chasing that feeling for the entirety of his life. Going round and round against the court and commoners, tailspinning through a whirlwind he never chose to be in. For the moment he found a semblance of peace; of all the people to be alone with Ashton was the easiest. He was a lively guard but a quiet presence when needed.

Calum could still hear the music that played floors above him. The ballet was only about half through, possibly nearing the intermission, more hours to sit through facing Calum in a taunting way. He had never been one for the ballet or operas or plays; he found them to be disarming, unamusing and hours of his life he would never get back. With agile fingers he pulled a lone cigarette from the inner pocket of his suit, a light to follow and took a drag—smoke pluming into the night air in a thick reminder of reliance. He was trying to quit, he knew the habit was nasty and left reminders on his skin, a tendency to forget leaving mild burns in their wake. Reminders that would fleetingly grace the fingers of his soulmate.

Footsteps echoed down wooden stairs, they were light and rhythmic; landing each step in a delicate and decisive way. Calum turned, shoulder pressing into the stone as his eyes shifted to the door, caught a shadow towering on the back wall as the person descended. He heard Ashton clear his throat and the squeak of a floorboard as he too shifted to accommodate and size up the new presence. Calum turned back, took another drag and let out his breath as the steps neared and dropped down to the level he stood his ground on. Saccharine invaded his senses, nearly covered the smoke and drowned out the breeze of city air.

“You know this is a performer’s exit only,” the voice that said it was soft but commanding, a warning laced with subtlety that spoke volumes more than a boom.

Calum rolled his shoulders back, dropped his hand with the cigarette to his side and spun to face the voice of reason. She stood tall, leotard clinging to every curve, large coat trying and failing to conceal her arm that rested in a sling. Calum shrugged, gave a half attempt at expressing an apology.

“I’d be careful. Intermission is coming. Some people like to sneak down for a smoke. Guess you couldn’t wait,” she continued around a pointed look and sigh, pushed falling honey hair that Calum surmised was once neatly tucked into uniform back behind her ear with her free hand.

“I could wait. I chose not to,” Calum mumbled as he lifted the cigarette up for one last drag before letting it fall to the cobblestones below and using his shoe to snuff it out.

He wasn’t used to being called out as clear as day. He wasn’t used to just anyone speaking so freely but it sparked something deep rooted and missing from his life. He enjoyed petaled pink lips giving him a reality check without inhibitions or fearing his crown. It suddenly hit him she might not know. That his identity could still be under wraps and as much a mystery to her as she was to him. He smirked, adjusted his jacket and crossed one leg over the other for a more casual stance.

“Very well, then,” she said and made as if to leave but Calum stopped her short with an explanation she hadn’t asked for.

“It was just a bit too crowded, I needed a breather,” he said and realized the tobacco infused irony of his admission.

She laughed, the irony not lost on her but his identity seemingly so. Her head tilted back ever so slightly with the giggle and her free hand found hold on the strap of the sling. He wondered about that; clearly something had gone awry in the time he left and she appeared. He couldn’t place her on the stage but knew her to be among the ballerinas, if not for the proper use of a designated exit or the leotard then for the graceful poise and posture that carried her every movement.

“I heard we sold out tonight. Quite the full house in there,” she began with understanding flooding her eyes. “Some royal was invited. Guess it drew quite the crowd.”

For the first time Calum noticed her eyes, his gaze finally drawn away from delicate pink to clashing colors. Her right eye was deep and dark, brown to the point it was almost black. The left was nearly hazel, green with tints of gold that glittered against the contrast of the right. Stars above them lit the way for Calum’s gaze to wander and linger, take in fine details he wouldn’t have if he spotted her on stage. A small silver scar hid at the edge of hazel, a story that tried to disguise itself with make up but shone through like the moon behind the clouds. Her coat was tweed and worn out, scuffed shoes took the place of ballet slippers and tights ran up and down her long legs with ease. She was put together but built with rough edges that would never see the light of a stage. Of all the ballets Calum had been forced to attend he couldn’t picture a ballerina out of the light; with hair falling down and clothes that hid immaculate costumes. He liked seeing her on the other side.

“A little packed for my taste,” Calum commented and inwardly shook his head, hoping the comment didn’t come off as condescending or belittling. Her eyes narrowed but a small tilt of her head spoke it more as curiosity and less as offense. “A little too long too. I’ve never been able to sit through an entire ballet.”

Once more Calum scolded himself for his choice of words. If not for the near insult then for the opening of questioning on her behalf. She jumped at the opportunity and Calum admired her quick observations and wit.

“Frequent ballets though you hate them?” She inquired and took a tiny step forward, sticky sweetness coming closer, another tendril of hair falling loose and covering her dark brown eye.

“It’s never really been a choice,” Calum reluctantly admitted.

She nodded as if she understood but Calum knew she didn’t, she couldn’t.

“It was never really my choice to be in the ballet,” She quipped with a shrug and a slight grimace at the motion; arm injured obviously hurting with the thoughtless act. Her fingers curled into her palm and Calum made note of the white knuckles and tightening grip that surely left crescent prints into soft skin. “Parents.”

She said her explanation just as Calum thought the word for his own explanation. Parents. The court. His crown. They all begged his duties and required his attendance to places he wouldn’t usually care for. He arched an eyebrow at her explanation though; suddenly captivated by how she might understand and what similarities they truly shared.

“At least you’ll get a break?” He offered in question as he peered at her injured arm, still curious what happened in his absence. “How did it happen?”

She laughed but the sound wasn’t as humorous as her first laugh at burning irony. This time it was dryer and expelled in a force that lingered between them. “Don’t tell me you left within the first five minutes?”

Calum shook his head and wracked his brain for any incidents but admittedly paid very little attention to his surroundings other than the creeping claustrophobia and desire to be anywhere else. He bit his lip, wished he hadn’t snuffed out his last cigarette so soon and felt his fingers close around empty air. He felt Ashton’s gaze and to his guard’s credit he did try to be discreet though his lingering presence must have aroused questions and suspicions to the ballerina rolling different colored eyes.

“Of course you wouldn’t pay attention,” she uttered and once more made to pass Calum but he was quick to pull her attention back to him, cleared his throat and mustered out an apology—albeit a bit of a sarcastic one—that made her sigh and pause in the night. “I was dropped and replaceable. I best be going. You might want to as well; if you don’t like crowds.”

The promise of people sneaking down during intermission reminded Calum that he had his own people waiting within the balcony seats. In a brash and unexpected even to him move his hand searched the depths of his jacket pocket for a crinkled scroll he had tucked away—after sparing half a glance at it when his advisor handed it over and droned on about the ‘gathering’. He felt the folds and pulled it out, smoothed it a bit so she might have a chance at reading it and offered it to her much more timidly than his confidence usually allowed.

Her curiosity was admirable as she willingly took it without a word and read under starlight.

“A royal gathering?”

Calum shrugged, hoping to keep up the facade he was one with the usuals. “A ball of sorts. I  have some connections to the kingdom. Drop by, tell them Thomas invited you.”

Her eyes roamed from the scroll and back to him, trying to figure out the sudden invitation and the reasoning for it. Trying to figure out who he was and what his intentions were. His middle name may have thrown her off, if she had any suspicions his method of secrecy was practiced; known to his kingdom but lacking common knowledge outside palace walls. His people would understand.

She folded the scroll back up with her free hand and didn’t say a word as she moved along, stepping around him and glancing back. Calum forced an uncertain smile as she blew out a breath of disbelief and fully turned back to him, hand raising with the scroll in her clutches. Calum felt winded as she pressed the scroll to his chest with a decisive shake of her head.

“I could go, I choose not to.”

Her words were a near replica to his explanation of sneaking away before the intermission. She raised an eyebrow and gave him a fleeting second of eye contact; his heartbeat was erratic under her palm. He wondered if she could feel it, if she could hear it past the music that still accompanied dancers he had paid so little mind. Her hand stayed in place, scroll pinned to him; his hand came up to ghost over hers, waiting for a reaction, waiting for her hand and the scroll to fall. Neither happened.

“I’ve never been able to endure an entire royal gathering,” she added on with a glint of humor and mischief sparkling clashing eyes.

“Or let go of me,” he remarked around a smirk. Calum heard Ashton shifting, held his breath and grimaced as he came into sight with protective senses in overdrive. The ballerina casted a quick and flickering gaze to the not so inconspicuous guard just doing his job.

She backed off in a split second, the loss of contact burning through Calum as she cocked her head to the side and pouted petaled pink lips. She gave a shrug as the scroll drifted down to the cobblestones below, settled neatly at the toe of Calum’s shoe. Part of him wanted to move to pick it up but he stayed stoic and merely dipped his hands into his jacket pockets and toed at the edge of the invitation. It was stagnant in the still night air.

“I don’t think your friend over there really wants me around,” she commented. Calum shook his head and gave a warning glance to Ashton to back off; all was fine and his presence wasn’t needed. But Ashton lingered with a serious gaze and set jaw, eyes flickering back up the stairs as if to communicate what Calum already knew. He should be getting back. Ashton cleared his throat to emphasize his point. “Oh don’t get all worked up. I’m leaving now.”

Calum watched as she began to stalk away again, her coat trailing down to her knees and sashaying with the swing of her hips as she glided under moonlight. Calum sighed as he watched her but one last question sprang to his lips, one last desire to see brown and hazel and a silver scar that held them together.

“I didn’t get your name?” He said it as a question and waited as she paused. He didn’t know if she would answer or if she would tell him the truth. He hadn’t. His offering of his middle name less than honest.

“Alena,” she said without turning back to him and granting him his last ditch desire. “Maybe some day you’ll tell me your real name, your highness.”

She rounded the corner of the alley and dissapeared around the edges. Calum stood in shock at her knowledge, the brash way she dangled his lies behind her back and in front of his face leaving him a bit breathless and uneasy. She knew and she still treated him as any other. She was aware of crowns that sat atop his head and thrones that placed him higher than others, of castle walls that shrouded him in a life he didn’t desire. He turned back to Ashton who wore his practiced patience in his subtle expression. Calum shook his head again; still befuddled by the exchange. He rolled his sleeves up and moved to enter the stone building and go back to boredom built around crowds. Ashton stopped him short.

“Your arm,” he said and made Calum peer down.

A fine line of bruising ran up his forearm. It was blooming purple and light blue, completely unfazed by the touch of his fingertips grazing along it. His soulmate’s aches appeared on his skin and tampered with his thoughts. He froze as Ashton was trying to carral him back into the building, the distant sound of footsteps above them delivering a promise from petaled lips and an injured shrug. Calum sucked in a breath that got caught in the back of his throat as Ashton placed a hand on his upper back and broke the motionless state he was once captured by.

“She was wearing a sling,” Calum managed to get out, craning his neck back towards the corner she rounded and dissapeared to. “She had a scar by her eye.”

Ashton was seemingly confused for a moment as Calum was slow to move up the stairs with him. But the statements quickly caught up to him and began bursting into a world where your other half bore your scars and wore your bruises for just a moment in time; just long enough to know their pain and identify matching intricacies.

“You don’t think?” Ashton asked, suddenly more deadpan than Calum had ever witnessed his guard. “She’s not…”

Calum forced nonchalance. Tucked his own wants and hearts content to the back of castle walls. “It doesn’t matter.”

The court would never allow for Calum to pursue anyone without a royal bloodline. It was all a game of opportunity. A contract in the making to unite kingdoms and gain more power than they already had. Power that Calum didn’t want and couldn’t actually control. Power he would gladly give away in exchange for being with the person he was made for. For years he was convinced there was no one out there; that he wasn’t deserving and if he was they weren’t deserving of the complications that would follow. Now, coming eye to eye with someone who finally didn’t care about his title, didn’t bow at his presence or fear his authority, to see hazel and deep brown marked by a silver scar, it was a fear he needed to confront.

Calum made his way back up the steps as ballerinas passed by, Alena’s promise becoming fulfilled as the music had died off and people made a getaway for a short break. He knew the scroll he had given Alena had fallen and was probably long gone, lost to the wind and roaming cobblestone streets in a nighttime haze. It was the only reason he would have to see her again. The purpled bruise that stained his arm would fade by morning and he would no longer have any trace of her except the drone of music that rang through his ears. If in fact an identical bruise laid within the sling that hid her arm from his view. If, a matching scar ever graced his eye. If, forgotten cigarettes left marks on her fingers or an accident with a sword ever graced her with a line from ankle to knee or the press of a blade marred above her heart too; accidents in training that sidelined him from any type of further combat work.

Questions would stay unanswered during the rest of the ballet. People would drift in and out of Calum’s focus and a new attention would be paid to the art form taking life on stage. He would go back to his quarters that night, fingertips grazing along the reminder of her—the wonder if it was truly her—as he lost himself in the echoes of the night and souls set out in search of each other.

***

Morning came in golden glows and faded colors already leaving his skin. The first half of the morning was spent in a haze, bypassing those who whispered words in his ears and controlled the strings that were always attached and following him in secret shadows that no one else could see but he felt with every step and pull. His accommodations were regal but they were so much like home he had a desire to leave and wander; to break away from the usual mold of frivolous expenses. With Ashton by his side he roamed halls made of marble and gold, with chandeliers that hung as high as the heavens on vaulted ceilings with intricate carvings. He wandered past the fleeting rush of advisors and the courts, of people who were likely to stop him in his tracks and push him this way or that; if only Calum hadn’t had a lifetime of slipping through the cracks and ghosting along hallways until an escape was found.

Only Ashton was a shadow behind him that could keep up as he made a getaway into the city. People passed by in rushes and Calum blended into the crowd with ease. He was practiced in the art of escape and when given the chance he could be one with a crowd—Ashton always following; evidentially two with the crowd. Only when his people lingered around him and royal clothes clung to his body did anyone make a fuss; except Alena. She was still on his mind as he wandered cobblestone streets in pursuit of something out of the ordinary. Street vendors hollered out their merchandise and prices in competition with each other’s voices. The sun beat down but a small breeze helped liven the day and make the heat bearable. Calum was accustomed to the warmth, his own kingdom was not far away and not much different in temperature though the winds carried salt from the sea up to his quarter windows and waves could be heard crashing around his land. This city held only the ricocheting of footsteps and busy voices.

Up ahead a flower cart stood elegant with orange petals spilling over notched woodwork. In a moment of intrigue and finding something out of his own ordinary Calum ventured over. White petals usually graced the palace halls. Orange was a far cry and more lively touch. Floral perfume greeted him with grace as his fingertips touched satin petals, eyes fixed upon the warmth of the flowers and the heat that touched his cheeks.

“Thomas?” A familiar voice said around a question and disbelief. Calum looked up, found clashing eyes fillled with questions and a silver scar shining under the sunlight and lack of makeup. Alena smirked on the other side of the flower cart.

“Calum, actually,” he corrected around a faint blush that danced from his cheeks and down his neck; painting a path of embarrassment at his half truth. His voice was low, hopefully only loud enough for Alena to hear. Possibly Ashton who lingered at a diagonal with shifting eyes and open ears.

She tilted her head to the side and let her smirk deepen as the truth floated between them. She nodded as Calum casted a gaze up and down, noted the sling still supporting her arm, the loose dress that hung off her frame and the honey hair that framed her face in soft tendrils. She was a different person from the previous night. Calum wished the bruises on his arm hadn’t faded so soon, that she might be able to peer at them and recognize them as her own. Affirm his suspicions or deny his foolish thoughts. But they were barely a whisper on his skin now, much too faded to catch the eye.

“Hate ballet but love flowers?” She asked around her tilted smirk and eyes that gleamed and tried to figure him out.

He gave a shrug and eyed a bunch of flowers at her side, she followed his gaze and used her free hand to scoop them up and offer them over the other side of the cart.

“A ballerina and a florist?” Calum then asked, just then realizing she was the merchant; the one in control.

“And a hard bargainer; just for the morning until my father takes over,” she said wryly with a raised eyebrow and a lingering touch as she made the exchange of flowers from her hand to his.

Calum took just a moment to inspect her hand, no identifiable marks except a freckle on the back of it laid on her skin. None to Calum’s knowledge other than of his own doing had ever graced his hand. Only small burns from forgotten cigarettes and blisters from weapons and instruments. Alena told him the price for the flowers and Calum saw it as an opportunity to strike a deal.

“How about all of that and a day with me?”

She contemplated his offer much more genuinely than she had his invitiation to the ball under the guise of his middle name and ‘connections to the palace’. His honesty must have been refreshing, his true self accepted. He didn’t need pretenses or walls up, he didn’t even feel the need to worry about being used for his title. It was abundantly clear it didn’t impress her and wasn’t the way to win her over. But a genuine offer and smile, a brush of fingers and hope strung up in his heart seemed to do the trick,

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” she said, free hand going to fidget with her sling and insightful eyes finding Ashton still lingering and watching. “But he can’t come.”

Calum heard Ashton scoff—his duty to protect and promise to stay inconspicuous being overridden by an ego that sometimes had a hard time fitting through drawbridge doors. Alena swept her gaze from Ashton to Calum, waiting for a confirmation and time spent together. Calum mused through the outcomes of his decision. He gave Ashton a glance that asked him to stay where he was as he pulled Alena slightly to the side and hopefully out of Ashton’s ear shot.

“Losing him will be difficult,” Calum warned with orange flowers tucked neatly into his grasp.

Alena smiled and Calum watched as her eye line got lost up the way of the street of vendors. “My father is just up there. We could make a run for it,” she whispered, gone on the tops of her toes to ensure Calum was the only one to hear. Saccharine came back to him, warmth collided with soft skin and fingertips tingled at the contact.

Calum followed her gaze and saw an older gentleman; flowers pinned to his coat and a cane in his hand. He grinned and waved at Alena who responded in kind. He then took a peek at Ashton who lingered around the flower cart; appearing as a curious customer inspecting petals; attention rapt on the display of colors and stems.

“Now?” Calum asked and instructed with a low voice and hand that reached out to capture hers not contained by the sling.

She accepted the offering and they started to edge away in a slow movement at first and then broke into a run that rounded corners and lost a guard who didn’t know his way around the city the way a poised ballerina did. It wasn’t the first time Calum had dared to run away from a guard but it was the most successful plight he had attempted. Ashton was lost around bends and breaths were caught as they came to a stop with backs pressed to a stone wall. Calum recognized the building; only because he lived a moment outside of his own mind. She brought them back to last night, the alley between buildings and an exit meant only for performers.

As Calum and Alena let their breathing level out Calum noticed the flowers in his grasp had lost petals along the way. A scattered and hazy orange path must have laid in their wake as they made their getaway. He pulled them up and presented them to Alena who giggled at the sight of mostly stems. Calum smirked as he handed them back to her.

“For you.”

She cocked her head to the side and clashing eyes scanned the once bouquet. Delicate fingers plucked a lone survivor from the pack, spun the stem and created a glow of orange dancing in the morning sun. Calum dropped the rest, carefully took hold of the one in Alena’s grasp and moved it to tuck it behind her ear.

It fell lopsided, cut shadows against a scar and added to the line of color that happened across her face. Dark brown glittering under the sun, warm pink tinging tan cheeks, hazel accentuating a crescent of silver, and orange petals blending with honey hair that fell free. In the night and morning he had known and interacted with her; her confidence had yet to be shaken but a sweep of modesty that had her playing with her skirt and turning her feet inward had Calum chasing that reaction. He rolled his sleeves up, still disappointed her gaze wouldn’t land upon a sign that perhaps they were something more than strangers on the run together. He could ask her but questions and words with implications only meant so much. Proof was much more becoming and believable.

“Let me show you beyond the city,” she offered. Her hand came up so her fingers brushed against his that lingered after placing the flower in her hair. They both dropped but he timidly intertwined their fingers and motioned for her to lead the way.

They were stopped before they could get in motion and for a heart pounding moment Calum was worried it was Ashton and their deal would be negated or another getaway would have to ensue. Though the voice was masculine it was different and called out her name instead of his.

“Alena.”

She turned and Calum moved with her, held his breath and kept his head low, hoping that whoever it was would pay as little mind to his identity as she had the previous night. The man didn’t bat a blue eye at Calum, only kept an apologetic gaze on Alena and shook his head somberly as he took her in. Calum was confused and waiting for more of their interaction to transpire.

“Luke,” she said with a courteous head nod and much to Calum’s surprise she didn’t untangle their fingers.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he offered and Calum stayed silent, simply watching the way Luke’s eyes fluttered to her sling and recalled words of being dropped and replaceable. “How long will you be out?”

“A few weeks”—she began and shot Calum a look that playfully turned to a smirk—“guess it will give me a break. Don’t worry about it.”

Luke nodded, left well enough alone, and headed for the performer’s door. “I’ll see you in a few weeks then.”

The door shut and Alena turned them back to the venture they were setting out on before being interrupted. Before Calum could question her about the exchange and affirm his suspicions she launched into an explanation laced with nonchalance. “He missed his cue last night. Timing was off. It was just an accident.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention,” Calum muttered, remembering the way she called him out for not noticing something that happened within the first five minutes of the performance.

“Wish you’d seen me fall?” She asked with a narrowed gaze that set nerves alive in Calum’s bloodstream until it was all followed by a giggle that fell unabashedly from petaled lips.

Calum blew out a breath of relief that relaxed his accidentally tensed shoulders, her banter was unwieldy and took him off guard. He’d never had such open conversation with someone so unafraid to speak their mind and make jokes. Calum let their journey pass by his peripheral vision as he kept his gaze trained on her, head slightly shifted to his left, corners of his lips begging to turn up but he kept his cool as she led him along. As promised their journey led them away from the city and the crowds of people that pooled into the streets. Calum appreciated the quiet as they left buildings and gatherings behind in favor of towering trees and grass up to their knees with paths inlaid by steps walked before them. Flowers bloomed along the trails and Calum wondered if this had any connection to the cart overflowing with petals.

“Where are we?” Calum asked though there was a feeling inside of him that told him he didn’t really mind wandering into the unknown with her.

Alena stopped and so Calum did too; the hold their hands held finally broke as she spun and her back was to walls of flowers. The sun casted golden shadows and glows that highlighted her in all of her glory. Silver scar faced the world and Calum, put questions in his head—ones he was determined to ask before their day together was up.

“I used to come here all the time,” she explained with a shy smile and cheeks that held a faint blush of rosy color. “My brothers and I used to run through the field. It was the only place to escape the city. That or running into another one. I thought you might like it here; no crowds, no boring ballets or royal guards.”

“I do,” he admitted around a smile. Her assumption was spot on.

Calum wished he had a place like this back in his kingdom but all of his hiding spots were known to Ashton, all of his escapes were mapped out. Usually he didn’t mind Ashton following, he knew it was his job and if push came to shove his protection might be necessary. But there were days and nights—like this one and last—where Calum craved alone time, wanted a solace to himself to sink into the shadows or the sun on his own. Being alone with Alena felt better than being alone by himself; or at least he was guessing.

“What’s your kingdom like?” Alena asked out of the blue, head tilting with her curiosity as she looked him up and down and awaited his answer.

Calum paused for a moment; just a slice of trepidation cutting through him at her newfound curiosity about his kingdom. She hadn’t so much as uttered a word about him being a prince since dangling his lies in front of his face with a sarcastic ‘your highness’. He searched her face, noted the dimple that deepened on her cheek as she pursed her lips and the slight arch of her right eyebrow as she waited.

“A lot like this one, I suppose,” Calum answered with apprehension. “Except we have the sea.”

A look of wonder and delight captured her, shone in her eyes as she approached him with slight and slow steps. “I’ve never seen the sea.”

“There’s a view from my quarter’s windows,” Calum explained and felt himself loosen up; her curiosity was pure, voice soothing as his anxieties filtered away as she broke into a grin.

“I assume that’s lovely,” she commented with a dreamy gaze at the feild expanded out all around them. Calum assumed she was picturing waves within the grass, ripples of water instead of petals and glistening highlights of the sun. “Have you ever sailed before?”

“A few times,” Calum answered and let out a small chuckle. “Why so many questions?”

“It’s called conversation.”

Calum continued laughing at her witty and fast remark. Her grin broadened at his response yet a bite of sass crossed her face and danced within her eyes.

“Then I deserve to ask you some questions too,” Calum quipped and moved around her, circled past her and came to a stop where she once had her back to the flowers.

“Ask away, I have nothing to hide.”

They were stood close, a summer breeze of distance between them. The fingers that fell from the sling curled in and her free hand settled on the fabric of her skirt. Calum hesitated, collected his words to ask as gently as possible, raised his hand slowly to keep his touch as soft as possible. His index finger grazed silver.

“How did this happen?” He asked in a whisper.

Alena sighed and slightly pulled away from him. “Except that.”

A beat of pause ensued between them and Calum felt his heart drop to his stomach as his throat tightened. He hadn’t meant to overstep. He went to apologize, words tight but she came back to him and the shake of her head jolted him.

“I’m only joking. I don’t have an answer. I don’t remember; I was too young, I can’t recall a time it wasn’t there.”

“You’ve never asked anyone about it?”

“What good would knowing do?”

“You could explain it to your soulmate,” Calum offered around a nervous shake of his head and fingers curling into his palms.

“Aren’t soulmates a little far fetched?” She asked without hesitation or flinching. “Even if there is someone out there perfectly matched with all the same scars, who’s to say you’ll ever meet them? The world is much bigger than that.”

Calum swallowed down a lump in his throat and nodded though he didn’t agree. At one point in time he held those thoughts, just last night he was stuck in a world where soulmates were outranked by royal bloodlines. But morning gave him new perspective and a need to know; to try and chase that person, to see if Alena was that person. Everything inside of Calum wanted to scream that she was, but maybe that was foolish and derived from finally being treated as a person and not feared or catered to as a royal.

Alena gave him a soft and inviting look as she settled into the grass, dress splaying out around her lap as she crossed her legs and used her free hand to pat the grass beside her. Her words on soulmates were conversation and she seemingly welcomed Calum’s response—whether or not she agreed with it. Calum knelt down, settled at her side and felt the earth beneath him, the dampness of dirt and the dew collected on blades, he didn’t mind, not when Alena shifted to face him full on and tilted her head to the side; golden glows finding her silver scar.

“What if you did meet them?” Calum inquired with a raised eyebrow and pure intrigue carrying his words. “Would you deny them?”

She pondered that for a moment and Calum was glad to see she was receptive to his criticism of her thoughts. She blew out a breath. “No, I suppose not. But coincidence is quite convincing.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“What if you truly believed you found the one but it was all coincidence in timing and placement? Are we truly that quick to be persuaded? Are we that desperate for a validated love that all it takes is marks in the same places? What if the one you found was coincidence and the one for you was still out there?”

Calum had never considered her elaboration but her words cut deep and left swirling uncertainties ghosting through his thoughts; he was sure they would haunt him for nights to come. The line on his leg tingled and his chest warmed to that of a small inferno; something inside of him told him that she was wrong.

“Wouldn’t you just know? Don’t you think you’d be able to feel something and know it’s true?”

Calum was asking her on account of wondering for himself. He didn’t quite understand the mysterious workings of the universe or the powers that may be. Alena paused and Calum could see the way she collected her thoughts and wished he could understand the way her mind worked. He caught the flicker of brown and hazel eyes, the way they darted from him to the flowers and back again, the slight narrowing as she contemplated.

“Perhaps that feeling is drowned out by the power of persuasion and thinking you know. Maybe I’m an idealist and want to believe I fell in love because I fell in love; not because some unknown power told me that I should.”

Calum was finally understanding and thought that he maybe even agreed, but there was still something inside of him that lingered with deflating hope and broken and splintered shards of optimism.

“What if you could have both?” He asked and inched just a touch closer. She responded in kind and the distance between them became so minimal Calum could feel the warmth of her collide with him. “What if you could fall in love first and then be reassured by that unknown power?”

“That sounds”—she turned away from him and lost herself in the field of flowers—“unrealistic. Too good to be true.”

Calum let the conversation go in that moment. Let the breeze drifting past take it away from them and instead focused on the tendrils of hair that became one with the wind and the way the scent of her carried through the air. The flower tucked behind her ear held on, folded with the breeze but stayed in place and only lost a petal. Calum nearly reached out to save it between delicate fingertips but kept his hands down. Their walk out to the field and questions turned to conversation hadn’t taken up much of the day—Calum was grateful for that and for their deal—though time felt endless and too fast all in the same breath.

“Any other plans for the day?” Calum asked, voice suddenly soft and implying it was okay for her to believe the way she did. “Anywhere else you’d like to show me?”

“Actually, yes,” she responded and Calum swore she lifted herself to the tops of her toes as she got up and spun around and away from him. She didn’t explain, didn’t wait or look back for him as she began to take off; merely trusted that he was following and so he did.

The field broke away into a tree line, mossy grounds took place of dew filled grass and sunlight filtered in through branches that dominated the sky. Foliage fell from branches and littered the grounds in muted greens that blended in with the path they walked. Wind carried through the trees and saccharine and petals followed after them. The walk was shorter than their first and soon enough Calum heard running water, Alena stopped and kneeled down, beckoned him over with a sideways glance and small motion of her hand.

The stream was small and wildflowers that thrived with water littered the edges. Alena looked peaceful as her fingertips grazed over the cool water, Calum settled beside her and followed suit; felt the coolness on his skin and reveled in the simplicity of the act. Never had he a moment alone when by the water. It was either crowded ships or lines of guards that ran up and down the shoreline. Being alone with her and the small stream was born of dreams and fantasies Calum never usually allowed himself to linger on for too long. He got a bit lost in the notion as he built worlds around such a simple desire. It was a flick of water that splashed across his cheek that brought him back to reality.

“Gotcha,” Alena laughed and sent another small splash of water towards him.

Her daring moves and unabashed nature around him was welcomed; but her warfare of water could not go without a fight. Calum splashed some her way, enjoyed the small gasp that left her followed by another laugh and flick of water. They became fixed on splashing each other and with only one arm available for the fight Alena quickly surrendered, lone hand raised to the sky—a metaphorical white flag waving in the wind. Calum took mercy and dropped himself away from the stream where a line of sunlight filtered in through a break in the branches. His skin was cool from the water but he was warming quickly. She joined him silently and wiped water from her eyes and inspected her now soaking wet sling.

“I didn’t think about that,” Calum mumbled as he moved closer to try and be of some assistance to the issue. She waved him off.

“I started it. It’s alright if I don’t move it. I can let it dry in the sun.” She was gentle and careful in removing her sling, practiced movements guiding the way, let the soaked cloth drop from it’s support as her arm very slowly eased back down to her side. She laid it beside her in the face of the light.

An identical line of bruising ran up her forearm and Calum was winded for a moment. But doubts began to plague him in the form of coincidence. With her words on soulmates he wasn’t sure what to believe, he wasn’t sure she’d want to know—she wanted to fall in love for love not for the notion that something told her she should. Calum stayed quiet as they laid back in the grass, enjoyed the lack of noise—the contrast to his usual daily life was striking and inviting.

The day bled on in swirls of clouds as their refuge away from the city went undisturbed. Calum knew Ashton would be looking for him but also covering for him with the court and whatever duties he was supposed to be filling for the day. There was another invitation to somewhere he didn’t want to go that laid ahead for the night. As much as he always wished to skip out on such occasions a sense of duty always brought him around. Evening was approaching and though Calum knew he should make another appearance before the moon was out and highlighted his absence that much more he couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye to Alena.

“You’ve shown me your world, how about I get to show you mine now?” He asked, head turning, grass rustling with the motion.

They were still laid out in the grass, reveling in the quiet and making idle conversation. It was much less than that of the possibilities of soulmates but stories from childhood filled the air and time between them. Calum laughed at the tales she told, yearned for a life like it, and wished hollowed and echoing palace walls might someday be replaced with those of a home. That a marriage wouldn’t just be a union for power but a commitment with a soulmate.

“You want me to see your world?” She asked with an arched eyebrow and crooked smile. She sat up slowly, reached for her sling and stopped short. “Only if you help me first.”

“Anything for you,” he quipped and moved to take the now dried and warm cloth in his hands.

She shifted, slowly brought her arm back into place and let him wrap it into position and tie it in place. His eyes may have taken in the bruise that once stained his skin and committed it to memory. His touch may have lingered for a just a moment longer than necessary and she may have pressed closer into the smooth feeling of his fingertips on her exposed skin, he may have felt the gentle beat of her heart as he pulled away. But it didn’t matter. Her views on soulmates and his duties to his kingdom negated any possibilities that might have played through his mind.

He brought her back to the lavish accommodations her city provided. Watched the wonder in her eyes and realized she’d never been through the doors or seen the marble intricacies. One of his hands found the small of her back and the other pointed up at the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. She peered up and shook her head in disbelief.

“Your world costs a lot more than mine,” Alena muttered.

“My world made ours collide,” he offered and when she looked at him in confusion he went on, “if it weren’t for an invitation I couldn’t refuse I never would have been at the ballet. You never would have found me loitering at your exit.”

“Then thank the crown for that,” she responded in awe as she took in surroundings she had never seen before. For a moment Calum envisioned what wonder and awe might capture her at the view of the ocean from his lands. Wondered if she might try to drown him in splashes playfully and completely forget and disregard his title.

“Calum,” his advisor's voice rang through the space, it was high pitched and grating—his name always followed by an order or as his advisor put it; a suggestion. At times he felt less an advisor and more a keeper. “You have a dinner to attend.”

“Yes, Charles. I know, Charles,” Calum responded as he always did.

“I best be going,” Alena said in a breathy whisper. “I shouldn’t keep you any longer.”

“Can I see you tomorrow?” Calum asked before she could so much as turn to leave.

“Perhaps you’ll catch me at the flower cart,” she said nonchalantly and spun on her heel; the grace of a ballerina carrying her movement. “Sometime in the morning.”

Calum grinned as he watched her walk away, waited for the doors to close behind her and wished he had the power to invite her to the dinner. But it wasn’t his. He was a visitor and even in his own kingdom he often felt he had no say, no rule, no true authority until a prince’s crown was replaced by that of a king’s. Ashton took up a silent presence beside Calum; stealth and the art of surprise bringing about his return.

“You enjoy her company,” Ashton stated. “I’ve never seen you so smitten.”

“I do. It’s too bad nothing will ever come of it. My parents and the court would never allow it.”

“Perhaps they would if you tell them she’s your soulmate,” Charles’ nasally voice was finally a welcome sound that punctuated a sentence that made Calum crane his neck and shoot a look of confusion his way. Charles hadn’t seen the bruise. Charles pointed to the corner of his eye; right where a silver crescent accented hazel on Alena. “You had the same when you were just three years old. Scared the living daylights out of your mother. She thought something happened and it was yours; but it faded by morning and all signs pointed towards your soulmate.”

“I don’t think that it’s enough,” Calum said around a sigh and waved off their curiosity; an explanation of coincidence and finding love by falling didn’t seem so easy to explain or understand within regal halls and limited time.

He left for for the dinner, found himself surrounded by the royals that ruled Alena’s kingdom and felt a sinking and sneaking suspicion start to shroud him. This was no usual diplomatic gathering. The presence of a princess and sneaking glances built assumptions in Calum’s mind that he would place his crown on being true. A royal set up.

***

Dreams of moonlit scars and fading bruises graced Calum all through the night. When he woke a lingering ache burned through his chest and before he even realized what he was doing or where he was going he found sunlight on cobblestone streets and an abandoned flower cart. Alena was nowhere to be seen and the ache that built from a lonely night and morning only intensified. Ashton had followed but kept a more respectable distance this time. He now knew that Calum was chasing a question born of tales as old as the earth itself. Was she truly his soulmate? Was it coincidence? Could falling be achieved nonetheless?

“Good morning.” Her voice was soft but strong as it sprung up behind him and had him turning quickly to face her.

A new bundle of flowers laid within a woven basket she carried with her free hand. Yellow and blue were the colors that graced the morning and cart, petals overflowing and spilling everywhere. They reminded Calum of sunrise over the ocean on mornings when nothing particular called him away from himself. He greeted her with a smile and offered a hand in helping with the basket and placing new flora around the cart. She was gracious and grateful as she accepted the help. Her dress that morning was white; a soft cotton that clung to her and fell below her knee, showed scuffed shoes and had small stitch work of petals at the hem, cuffed sleeves and a draped bow neckline before buttons finished down the dress. Calum grinned as he took in the sight and decided everything about it screamed Alena.

“Up for another adventure today?” He asked and watched as her concentration of arranging flowers broke, hazel and brown eyes finding his with a playful narrowing. “You didn’t get to see much of my world yesterday.”

“Are you trying to impress me with fancy places and expensive pleasures only a prince can afford?” She quipped with a sarcastic smile and went on, “I can’t be bought you know.”

“I’m always trying to impress you. Never because of my title,” he replied in a murmur and let his eyes dart around the growing crowd.

It was earlier than the previous morning. Less people lingered and filled the city but there was still a bite of anxiety about his world being spoken so candidly and so freely. He still wanted to blend into the crowd. Alena picked up on his shifting gaze and awkward plea to keep his secret.

“I understand,” she said and leaned over the cart to whisper words only he could hear. “But if you’re looking to keep your status a secret your clothes are an easy tell.”

Calum looked down at his outfit curiously. It was as simple as his admittedly extravagant wardrobe allowed. A lace up shirt and slacks, dark shoes and a leather cap to keep the sun from him. He cocked his head to the side and waited for further elaboration but Alena pulled back and got lost in the job in front of her.

“We can leave in a moment,” she said and just like the day before Calum spotted her father just up the way.

He wondered about him, about her comment from the first night and how her parents were the reason she was in the ballet. The man looked kind but any chance to further investigate the situation was cut short when Alena rounded the cart and on instinct Calum offered her arm to walk along. Calum thought about what her father might think; if he cared his daughter was walking off with a near stranger or if Alena had an explanation that quelled any uncertainties that may have aroused from their situation.

It’d only been two days but Calum felt she wasn’t a stranger. Matching scars and coincidence set aside there was something inside Calum that told him all he needed to know. A lingering ache in his chest when he was away from her, a warmth that danced across his skin at contact with her, an easy feeling of the world coming together with clashing colors.

They began walking and Calum realized his world was much closer to hers than he first thought. At least in the sense of where his world allowed him to stay within the confines of her city. He couldn’t shake the feeling that had settled within him ever since the dinner last night. The prospect of it made his skin crawl though he had anticipated a marriage set up for most of his life. He had seen his older sister already face the consequences of what royal bloodlines entailed. She had run away from it; found her soulmate within their kingdom and fled the night before her wedding to a prince she didn’t know, didn’t love, didn’t have a soul purpose of finding and being with.

Alena was a calming presence by his side, her soft hold on his offered arm shot warmth and ease through Calum’s bones. Just enough so to drown out the impending doom of diplomacy that lingered and swayed with the weight of worlds and power above his head. He brought her back to his accommodations, slowed down within the halls to watch her wonder and disbelief gather on her face; to see the light from chandeliers sparkle within deep brown and hazel.

They snuck through the halls with Ashton trailing them at a respectable distance; once within his own private quarters they were afforded another piece of time that was completely alone.

“My place of holding for the time being,” Calum said as an introduction to the space.

Alena walked the perimeter of the room in silence; stopped to cast a gaze out the window that overlooked the entire city line. A gentle and poised hand lightly touched the grand drapes that shrouded the window. Alena was backlit by the glow of the morning; a perfect silhouette in the new light. As she paused to take in the view Calum paused to take her in, search for more identifiable marks that might grace her skin. A silver scar and line of bruising feeling like it wasn’t convincing enough to bypass coincidence, to prove to her or the court; though they were enough to convince Calum.

“This is more than I could ever show you,” she said in a low voice that edged on the verge of resignation.

Calum wandered to her, stopped short just behind her and for the first time truly looked out to the city below. It was vast and made him feel smaller. All of the power he supposedly held felt insignicant. If a royal set up was truly in the works then more power would be gained and the smaller Calum would feel. He looked back at Alena, all of those insecurities and doubts washing away into multicolored ease. She was soft and subtle as she peered at him in curiosity. It was easy to find silence and solace with her. Just a gaze was enough to settle him but Calum saw her own anxieties in a bitten lip as she gazed across the room once more.

“All of the glitz and glamor wears off,” Calum explained and tried to bite back a forlorn sigh but it escaped him in a small and quiet huff. “You could show me much more than this.”

Calum pointed down a line in the city, was thankful that her eyes followed and settled on a path that led away from it all. A small grin lifted the corners of her mouth and a shine in her eyes told Calum his explanation was well received. Their day in the field and under the cover of leaves and branches meant much more than a lavish and luxe lifestyle Calum didn’t sign up for—one that he resented at times.

“And I’m sure you could show me much more beyond that,” he concluded and felt her behind him, the sway of her hip bringing her to brush against him. “Now tell me, what’s wrong with my clothes?”

“It’s very fine fabric, it’s not what we wear in the city but what we make for people above us. It’s easy to see”—she explained and didn’t hesitate to turn and grip the shoulder material of his shirt—“even easier to feel.”

Her hold didn’t drop and Calum was reminded of their first night together. A lost scroll pinned to his chest and her hand keeping it there. He arched an eyebrow and blew out a small laugh.

“I see you still have a habit of not letting me go,” he quipped in a whisper and reveled in the way she didn’t pull back, only smirked and stood on the tops of her toes to bring them to a more even eye level. “Might you reconsider attending that royal gathering?”

The words left Calum before he could stop them. The invitation was clear and hung in the minimal space between them. The knowledge of a scar gracing his eye pushed him to do it, his parents arrival into her city for the ball harbored questions and possible solutions, the prospect of marrying someone who didn’t light fires inside him or bare the same scars fueled his desire to fight back.

“I’m not sure,” she said in an airy and playful tone. “Is Thomas inviting me or is it Calum this time? Should I drop by or am I properly invited?”

“I’d like you to go with me, Calum, properly.”

“Then I suppose I can reconsider. For Calum.”

“It’s the night after next,” Calum reminded, knowing she merely glanced at the scroll when he offered it to her the first time.

Alena didn’t say anything, didn’t move or break eye contact that held so easily it felt like breathing. Calum was caught up in the moment and the thought of seeing Alena nearly drowned out all the troubles that might arise from his brash invitation. With new knowledge of a possible arragngment with this kingdom, a princess who eyed him and his crown, and two courts that would make decisions in tandem with each other Calum felt the need to shrink back and flee from her touch. But her eyes brought him in, pulled him under and kept him breathing underwater.

A subtle smile shone through the silence and slow movements filled every minuscule edge and gap between them. The world spun in slow motion, Calum’s arm and corner of his eye tingled with remembrance he couldn’t actually recall but he reveled in the feel of her lips against his. It lit him up form the inside out, a small inferno turning into a wildfire that spread heat and certainty through his body, to his heart and rippling through his soul.

The city out the window became a blur when eyes fluttered back open and modesty tinged cheeks pink. Her hand had not fallen from the shoulder of his shirt but her fingers loosened and splayed out, edged the fabric away from his skin on accident and eyes fluttered to Calum’s own silver scar. It was much less noticeable than the one that settled on Alena’s skin. Forgettable to even Calum, but her eyes took it in for all the jagged line was worth. Calum held his breath as a whirlwind of thoughts plagued him. It was the first of his own marks she had ever witnessed.

“What is this?” She asked, a tone of allure and disbelief swept into the whirlwind surrounding Calum. “How’d you get it?”

Her questioning was nearly identical to Calum’s in the field. Her curiosity screamed and simmered between them. Calum bit his lip as she left a gentle trail of fingertips under his collarbone. He didn’t flinch, kept his breath held as she wandered his skin and waited for his answer.

“It used to be much worse,” Calum started, thankful the wound had healed and the placement was not any lower, not life threatening the way his parents and the entire kingdom surrounding him made it out to be. “It was just an accident. A few years ago. Tip of a blade pressed a little too hard.”

Alena’s eyes were insightful and her touch fell away from him; his breath coming back in a rush. He watched her step away, felt the distance that she enforced and heard the sounds of the city like static filling the air between them.

“I had the same, for a day,” she admitted and her eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed and a small shake of her head told Calum she was trying to reason with her stance on soulmates.

“Coincidence,” Calum said though he didn’t believe it for a moment. “It’s pretty powerful you know.”

The shake of her head turned to a nod and her hand found the strap of her sling. She gripped it with white knuckle force as her beliefs began collapsing around her. Watching new belief be born was slow and painful and beautiful and every contradiction under the sun and moon. Calum cleared his throat and pulled the fine fabric of his slacks near his knee, bending just slightly to roll his pant leg up.

“What about this one?” He inquired and watched as her eyes swept from ankle to knee.

She sucked in a breath and Calum heard the way it caught in her throat. Belief came hard and fast in that moment, crumbling walls that sheltered her from knowing a world with love finally fell.

“I should go,” she announced out of nowhere; the spell she was under breaking just like her old beliefs, the twirl of her dress guided her away from Calum who was quick to right himself and chase after her. “I need to think.”

“Alena,” Calum tried and felt the fire inside him start to snuff out as she pushed open the wooden door and made her way into the hall.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said and lit just one flicker of hope in Calum’s heart. “I’m sorry.”

Those two words bid Calum a sorrowful goodbye.

***

Alena left and Calum was thrust back into the role of a prince. Thrown back into the face of a princess who wore pink that was too bright, a smile that was too fake and selfish intentions on extravagant sleeves. Calum couldn’t help but compare her to Alena. Her eyes were dull in comparison to hazel and brown. Her hair was done up to perfection but left nothing to be desired if the breeze ever touched her. Soft skin cornering his eye ran fiery yet cold and held a dull ache in Alena’s absence and the princess’ presence. Just above his heart tingled and the line down his leg ached with pain he hadn’t felt in ages.

Ashton stood diagonal to Calum at another invitation to a dinner he couldn’t refuse. He saw the very subtle humor that crossed his guard’s face at the boisterous princess who didn’t quite have a grasp on personal space or polite conversation. The dinner droned on but an escape eventually found Calum when the meal finally disappeared and an excuse of it being late fell from his lips. He excused himself as cordially as he could and dodged forms of affection from the princess he didn’t want from anyone but Alena. Ashton walked with Calum back to his quarters.

“She’ll make a lovely bride,” Ashton commented—his observational and reasoning skills unparalleled. He must have rationalized the reason for the trip as well. Calum whipped around toward him, his disdain cutting across his face without censorship. “Though Alena would be better suited.”

Calum’s eyes shot wide at Ashton’s words and his heart thudded painfully against his rib cage. Pulse points came alive at the picture of Alena as a bride. Heat coursed through him and simmered with desires.

“Try convincing my parents and the court of that.”

Ashton cleared his throat and gave Calum an inquisitive look.

“Why don’t you?”

“They’d never agree,” Calum mused with regret and a harbored anger that finally came out. “A princess outweighs a soulmate. Just as a prince outranked a soulmate.”

Ashton understood Calum’s words; had been there the night his sister made her escape to live on her own terms.

“They could have stopped her,” Ashton said with a shrug. “They let her go. Maybe they’ll do the same for you.”

“They let her go?”

Ashton smirked. “An entire royal guard against two desperately feeling people? Do you really think they made it out on their own? We were told to stand down, let them pass peacefully. They could have made her stay.”

Calum had never considered that; didn’t know how she made her escape or where she went. It startled him to realize she made it out not of her own volition but because they let her go. But there were differences in the problems they faced. His sister was to marry and inherit a different kingdom. He was to rule his birth land, to take the crown from his father and create heirs to keep the line of succession strong. To keep their blood in power.

“It’s different.”

“Possibly. But you’ll never know unless you try.”

***

Calum worried that he wouldn’t see Alena again. That his revealed truths had scared her away and her time to think was just an excuse to get away. She was not at the flower cart when the sun rose into the sky; a flicker of flame lighting up the city in an orange haze. Disappointment lingered within Calum, made stone walls around his heart as he stood across the street with a watchful eye scanning pink petals. Her father manned the cart, brought new life to the woodwork and took her place entirely.

Calum sighed and shook his head at Ashton. He rolled up his sleeves and wished a fine line of purple still graced his skin, wished he could remember a silver scar that accentuated his eye, wished he had a memory of her forever with him; not just for a fleeting moment. He turned on his heel, took a few small steps, heard Ashton following but stopped short. Honey hair and clashing eyes came in a whirlwind up the street. Alena ran to him, out of breath and hair in disarray; perfectly unkept, dress wrinkled and eyes painted with  a sleepless night. Her sling hung a bit more slack than the previous days.

“Leaving so soon?” She asked around an attempt to catch her breath. “Before I could see you again?”

“Never,” Calum responded automatically and felt the aches that had harbored within him during her absence start to ease.

“Can we go somewhere… private?” She asked and let her eyes flicker over to Ashton and then around the bustling city. “I think we need to talk.”

Calum nodded and gestured for her to lead the way; wanted her to make the decision and find somewhere she was comfortable talking with him. He hoped all her thoughts that seemingly kept her up at night would match with his own thoughts the way bruises and scars mirrored the other’s. A sliver of hope made a home with him as he recalled the way she responded to the lines that plagued Calum and the crumbling disbelief that captured her eyes. While Ashton usually would have followed he stayed back; knowing his absence for this moment was more appreciated than fulfilling his royal guard duties. Calum was safe with Alena; the only danger he faced was the pain of a broken heart and scattered pieces of a soul left to search and wander.

Alena led him away from the city again, back towards the meadow that was overrun with flowers that Calum could never forget. She was subtle and demure under the sun, hazel blended in with stems and grass that stood lively with the petals. Alena reached for his hand with her free one, traced lifelines on his palms and stared at his fingers quizzically.

“You burn your fingers,” she inquired and though it may have been a question it was more of a statement.

“Cigarettes,” Calum murmured and watched as her eyes flickered from the pads of his fingertips to his eyes.

“You should quit.”

“I know.”

“You get blisters on your palms,” she said once more and tapped the middle of his palm. Her finger was light and tickled his skin, made his hand react and wish to capture hers and keep it there.

“Swords,” Calum offered the one word as a simple explanation that she nodded to.

Alena blew out a breath and Calum watched as her shoulders dropped and a grimace of pain cut through her eyes. She went silent and introspective at the new knowledge of what scarred her soulmate and appeared on her own skin for a moment in time. She never felt his pain, perhaps a tingle when the worst of them appeared, but never a burn or biting pang. Calum hadn't either. Not until after she graced his world with poise and tip toes, not until after she left and static filled the distance between them with uncertainty and longing aches. He wondered if she felt them too.

“I suppose ballet explains the bruises you get on your legs,” he stated with confidence and took in her nod and subtle bite of her lip for all they were worth.

Coincidence was drowned out by confirmation. By the timing and the feeling of matching incidents. Coincidence was powerless to the running tingles and heat that flooded all the spots they came to know as each other. They knew each other and the moments that graced their bodies, could remember the smallest of marks and moments and now they knew what they meant and what they were from. But questions still built walls around them in a meadow of silence save for the occasional chirp of a bird overhead or rustle of leaves from the wind. They both stood still, her fingertips still settled on his palm and seemingly not going anywhere.

“What does this mean for us?” She wondered aloud and lit Calum’s nerves back to life. Fire coursed through his veins and warmed him with a blush of possible scenarios. “You’re a prince. I’m no princess.”

Calum swallowed down a harsh lump in his throat, tried to ignore the tightness in his chest and the wind that was very fleeting in his lungs. He was breathless when he responded.

“You’re more than that”—he said as he brought their hands into a hold reminiscent of running away from a guard and to this very spot. Brought life back into shallow breaths and restored some peace that had been torn to shreds by a sleepless night of wonder. It was hard to believe that was only days ago. “You’re my soulmate.”

Alena paused again; seemingly collecting her thoughts as problems and complications faced them within a soothing summer breeze. The calm was eerie.

“Is that enough for you? For a kingdom?” She asked and furrowed her eyebrows.

“You are everything and more.”

Alena took his words and nodded. He hoped that there was enough room for belief in her heart that she truly understood and accepted the meaning of his words. Down to every last syllable.

“What do we do?” She asked and for the first time Calum saw that her confidence was well and truly shaken.

She didn’t have answers or ideas for the questions and problems that laid ahead. She had no quick quips or sharp tongue to guide them out of the storm that was brewing on their horizons. Calum shook his head, just as perplexed as she was. He had vague ideas built on idealistic expectations that had no concrete backing to them. He had snippets of knowledge of his sister’s escape and the circumstances that allowed it. His thoughts spiraled mercilessly around his mind. The root of the problems laid within royal halls and crowns that tilted on his head and shifted the path of his life. He decided that’s where they should start to mend the breaks and cracks in the interwoven life they wanted to share.

Calum brought Alena back to his world, determined to ensure they could properly collide and become one. Michael—a man of Calum’s court—was at the doors and Ashton was coming out of the shadows of a corridor when they entered. Michael held an air of control, he was always chivalrous yet not bowing in Calum’s presence. He held his own, gave and got respect for the attitude that followed him. Calum nodded at him, his arm around Alena in a light hold so as not to disturb the injury still resting in a sling.

“I’m supposed to give you this,” Michael said after clearing his throat and fishing into his pocket. “I would have done it earlier today but you’ve been quite evasive.”

Calum’s eyes wandered to the small box in Michael’s palm—his fingers were still partially closed around it but velvet peeked through and set Calum’s predictions of what it was on edge. Calum stiffened at Alena’s side, his arm fell from around her and slowly reached out to take the offering a man in his court was entrusted to keep, carry and deliver during the trip. Calum’s worst fears were confirmed when the small box laid within his grasp and his thumb flipped the lid open. A diamond ring laid within the cushioning and a princess in pink infiltrated his thoughts—made his heart plummet to the depths of his stomach and freeze in its once rhythmic beating.

“Why?” He asked though he already knew the answer and didn’t realize how much he didn’t want Alena to hear it. “Why now?”

“For the princess,” Michael said but his words held no volition or authority; Calum wondered if he even wanted to say them. “The courts expect a proposal and a union. Tomorrow. At the gathering; a rather public and royal affair. It will look good.”

Calum felt the shift of Alena under his hold and hoped with every part of his soul that she wouldn’t flee and give him a proper chance to explain. She stayed silent and Calum couldn’t tell if that was a sign made of good or bad or the worst. Ashton stayed as poised as he could but Calum noted the subtleties only years of being shadows together could have given him; his left eyebrow raised just slightly at the edge, his mouth twitched minutely and he shot Calum a look that only the prince could read. He was worried for Calum, rarely showing emotion other than determination and caution.

“I’ll speak with them in the morning,” Calum said decisively, shut the box and handed it back to a surprised Michael who barely caught the velvet as Calum walked away with Alena thankfully still at his side.

He brought them back to his quarters and held his breath the entire way. He had no clue if anyone of importance lingered in the halls or had heard what transpired in the grand entrance. There was a part of him that hoped they wouldn’t run into anyone and that no one other than the four of them had heard, but, there was another part that wished for confrontation then and there. To clear the air and speak his piece. But no one showed face and the only to follow their footsteps and conversation was Ashton. Alena wasn’t warming to his hovering presence but she accepted him as they made way down the halls and made sure the door was shut behind them to afford them a semblance of privacy.

“So this is goodbye,” she whispered as she turned to face Calum from the door. Her eyes were downcast, brown and hazel shining with unshed tears in which she held in only from a practiced lifetime of composure and poise.

Calum frantically shook his head, breath leaving him in scattered falls. Alena was still, back to the door and body language closed off behind the sling with a hand gripping the strap with white knuckle force. Calum moved to her, chased the taste he knew he couldn’t last a lifetime without and broke his vows of silence for his complete disdain for the crown.

“No,” he said and felt the fight inside of him swell with heat that flickered and coursed through his veins like the rising sun. “This isn’t goodbye. It doesn’t have to be. We can find a way to be together.”

Alena looked past Calum, out into the extravagant room with a view of a city he may be forced to marry into spilling light through open drapes. To the place that mirrored Calum’s quarters back in his own palace so well it sent shivers up his spine at the intrusive thought of an obnoxiously pink princess standing within instead of Alena.

“We hardly even know each other,” she said in an unconvincing whisper.

Calum stiffened; her words enough to cause a reaction that ran bone deep, coursed flickering fires through his resolves and livened them tenfold. He knew her. He knew the intricacies of her life without explanation—the bumps and bruises, the scars and silences that ran maps over her body and connected her soul to his. The only thing that separated them was time. Time they spent in different worlds. Time that forced them to make rash decisions. Time that might be stolen away from them.

“I know what I want. I know who I want to chase after it with,” Calum said and kept his eyes pinned on her, the concept of freedom making a home in his heart right beside clashing eyes and a scar that was crescent and silver just like the moon. “We know each other. Deep down. And if given the chance we can keep getting to know each other.”

Alena pursed her lips and Calum watched the crash of emotions that riddled her. A small breath left her lips. Her hand fell from her sling and invited him closer to her. Settled at the press of a blade that travelled the universe to find her. Her fingertips were light against the material of his shirt but he felt heat build under his skin. Fires came to life at the contact. Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment and Calum welcomed her as she stepped into his embrace, cheek resting against a scar they shared and her injured arm awkwardly shifted into the fray. Calum yearned to be able to hold her properly one day, feared that one day might never come, that a pink princess would be given her place in his arms—but never his heart.

“It’s only been a few days. You’ll go tomorrow. You’ll find your princess, you’ll bring her home and make her a wife and a queen. I’ll stay here. And maybe someday you’ll come back to the ballet and we’ll find each other again, if only for a passing moment,” Alena said in a soft whisper that landed chills up Calum’s spine. Her breath was warm against his skin but the prospect of her words left him chilled. The thought of distance already made all of the places she touched with soul connections ache.

“I don’t want to be with a princess. You would just give up on us? Sacrifice all that our souls are meant to have? Each other?” Calum questioned with fire behind his words but he stayed calm in her embrace, enjoyed the feeling of her pressed against him; a taunting feeling that it would be short lived driving him to soak up every moment of it.

“That’s what soulmates do. They love you enough to make sacrifices. You were born to be a king,” she explained and Calum caught the note of sadness that captured her voice and shook her sentences apart.

He believed she would make that sacrifice. But it wasn’t one he was willing to watch or have her bare the pain of. He wondered if she felt the burning cool on scars and the reborn ache of pain lived long ago when they were apart. He couldn’t imagine being the cause to the pain or the distance that would enforce it.

“I was born to be with you,” he refused, the title of king much less meaningful than finding the one and fulfilling a lifetime with them.

They were lucky. As Alena had pointed out there was no certainty to finding each other; no promise scars didn’t come as coincidence and a lifetime could be spent with the wrong person. Calum was sure of who they were to each other and what he wanted. He couldn’t let that slip between his fingers or fade away into a royal city’s night sky.

“You can’t have both.”

“I don’t want both. I’ve never wanted to be king. I don’t want to rule anything but my own life. With a crown I never will; I’ll still be a puppet. There’s a line of succession. They don’t need me, they just need a body to sit on the throne and fill the gaps,” he explained in a rush and felt the wind get taken from his lungs. He was running on low to try and convince her. She pursed her lips in contemplation at his long held admission. He’d never truly voiced his disdain for the crown before. Not out loud. “Run away with me.”

“Where would we go?” She wondered aloud with just a a touch of wanderlust and curiosity biting through her words.

“Anywhere. We can find the world together.”

They’d already showed each other pieces of their respective worlds. An exit meant only for a performer and a force that made her a ballerina. A meadow with flowers and a stream that helped laughter and childhood stories echo around a forest. Marble hallways and golden chandeliers strung up so high only angels could touch them; disdain for a world that neither one chose.

“It’s not that simple. We can’t just up and leave our lives without regard. What of our families, the ballet, everything surrounding us? Do you really think they would just let you leave?”

Alena hadn’t said no, just given reasons to slow down and think. But Calum felt time to ponder was frivolous and slipping away from them. The ball was tomorrow night and his parents arrival in the morning would mark time that need not be wasted. If they were to escape, if they were to prove soulmates and find a way to stay, they needed to act fast. No matter what they did, time was not on their side.

“My sister did it. She fled. We could too,” Calum admitted and smiled at his sister’s bravery and determination to live a life she chose. He often wondered where she ended up but knew that it being anywhere other than a castle and a prop to a court would ensure her happiness. “Or we could try convincing them. You could be my queen.”

Alena lapsed into silence, hazel and brown filled with contemplation. Her cheeks warmed to a rosy pink and her breath staggered once before evening out in her consideration. The corners of her lips turned down and Calum could sense she was seeing a life she didn’t want pass by her eyes. He didn’t understand how they could be so connected; want the same things and yet be world’s apart in attaining them. She blinked slowly, hooded lids fluttering with eyelashes that casted shadows along her cheekbones. She let out a sigh and buried herself against him.

“Think on it for the night. No matter what we decide, we’re not ready yet.”

“Will you stay?” Calum asked and felt the painful pause of his heartbeat against the moment it took for her to decide.

“Yes. We should make the most of tonight. In case it’s our last.”

***

Morning came much too soon for Calum’s liking. He had barricaded himself and Alena in his quarters. Kept her hidden in the shadows when advisors and his people made appearances at his door. He wanted to keep knowledge of their world to a minimum; to those who already knew—Ashton, Charles and a sneaking suspicion within Michael. They spent one night together. Days earlier it would have been more than Calum could have ever hoped for. Now there was a resolve that was ready to fight for all the nights and bliss filled mornings that mirrored each other’s desires. Alena was still asleep when Calum rose. Her hair spilled across the pillow in a honey halo, marks that bit into her skin thumped wildly with tension on Calum’s as well. If it weren’t for fingertips grazing and feeling tingles on purple Calum wouldn’t know which truly belonged to him, which were created by his lips and which were kissed by her.

Calum strode to the window and looked out to the city, the usual bustle he became one with felt far away from his high perch. The vendors were out and he knew flowers would be gracing a cart; Alena’s father tending the petals with a kind hand. When lust had been satiated and breaths began to even out; Alena tucked into Calum’s hold in the most comfortable position her injury allowed, they began talking. Calum thought back to the night they first met and the explanation of parents being her reason for joining the ballet.

He had asked her about it under the protection and serenity of moonlight with bliss still on their lips. She told him it was for them, to keep the memory of her mother alive in every step she took across the stage her mother once claimed. It was never her dream but one she was happy to afford her aging father. He had told her he’d love to see her perform again—and when she let out a dry laugh he corrected himself and promised to pay attention this time; knowing there was no way he’d ever take his eyes off of her. Calum had never heard an explanation so selfless, usually surrounded by those who did only for themselves. He turned to look back at her still warm under the covers, silent and still and a picture of perfection Calum wanted to memorize. He could have stayed right there for days but a soft knock on the other side of the door broke him of his reverie.

He made his way over to the door quickly, hoping it wouldn’t jar Alena from her sleep. He opened it carefully, slowly, made sure no creaks sounded through the morning. Ashton stood on the other side. Calum raised an eyebrow as a silent question.

“The king and queen have arrived,” he explained and shot a look down the hall that made Calum react and flinch on instinct.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” Calum said and shut the door; found clothes to put on and left Alena with one last look. When he was back in the hall he met Ashton’s eye and held his gaze to show the importance of his request. “Watch the door. Make sure no one goes in.”

Ashton nodded his understanding and Calum traipsed off down the hall in the direction Ashton’s eyes shot towards. He ran into Charles who directed him to the chambers the kingdom had graced his parents with. They weren’t expecting his hasty visit, were a bit shell shocked at their son’s promptness of their arrival. He was never one for punctuality unless it was led by the court and forced on his hands. Calum wasted no time with formalities—held onto hope that his parents would lend him their familial hearts and understand this was a matter of life and happiness. His sister’s escape instilled faith in him.

“I’ve met someone,” he stated and took in the slackened jaws and wide eyes at the bold claim.

“The princess?” His mother asked and bristled when Calum shook his head.

“My soulmate.”

Silence befell the chamber and somehow echoed around the high ceilings; played tricks within the shadows and settled heavily between the three. His father stood stoic and Calum could picture the crown that would be, could be, should be passed down sitting astray in a line of succession.

“We’ll talk to the court,” his father offered and it made Calum realize even as a king power would come with restriction and strings still attached to his every decision and movement. “Perhaps a different union can be arranged.”

Calum went breathless at the prospect. Recalled the flash of despair that captured Alena when she pictured a life on a throne by his side. Calum felt the same in regards to living a life under everyone else’s thumb. He had already endured it for years. Meeting Alena, running away into meadows and being afforded a fleeting taste of freedom told him what his heart truly desired.

“What if we don’t want the throne?” Calum asked in a rush and felt heat blaze through him, felt a pounding and throbbing that spanned from his ears to his temples. There was no time for his parents to answer as their advisor entered the room and a new discussion was born.

Calum phased in and out of the conversation that was about him and Alena. It was hard to pay attention even though the entirety of his future surrounded him in hushed whispers. He caught enough to know he didn’t like what he heard. The importance of uniting kingdoms, how the princess would be a lovely wife—that he scoffed at—and a learned queen to sit at his side. He left the room after refusing their words, making it apparent what he wanted and how willing he was to make it happen. His mother stopped him in the hall.

“Come to the ball tonight. We will figure something out, together,” she promised and while Calum was apt to believe her there was still doubt that made a home in his heart.

He offered a noncommittal shrug and made his way back to his quarters and Alena. Ashton stood with watchful eyes, back to the door and a professional stance of hands folded capturing him.

“Has anyone come around?” Calum asked.

“Michael passed by, he was looking for you; I told him you were with the king and queen. He still holds the ring.”

“He can keep it,” Calum mumbled and moved past Ashton as soon as he cleared the door and made room for him to slip through.

Calum stayed quiet though Alena was awake. She hadn’t moved from her comfortable embrace on the bed except to sit up and slip her dress back on. She was bleary eyed with tiredness born of a long and exhilarating night. Her hair fell in disarray that had Calum aching to run his fingers through. He approached the bed slowly, smiled on instinct when she smiled at him first. He kept words of the court inside, not wanting to worry her when his mind was already made up. Their chance to be together came before anything else, before minimal power afforded to him from crowns and thrones he had no interest in.

“You’re still going to the ball tonight, right?” Calum asked as he recalled his mother’s soothing words and promise. If all was going to be figured out then Alena needed to be there. She was everything in the grand scheme of things.

“Is that a good idea?” She wondered, the words stung Calum but her tone held no bite. She was downcast as the previous day and the ring Calum had refused came back to her. “I don’t think my invitation and presence will be well received.”

“It will be,” Calum promised and knew that even if it was just from him she would always be welcome in his world—no matter where that world may end up being. “Please come, for me.”

Alena slid across the bed and came closer to Calum as she let out an anxious breath but nodded her intention anyway. Calum bit back words from the advisor and suggestion to keep the unity between kingdoms with a marriage. It wasn’t for Alena to worry about. After the ball it wouldn’t be for Calum either. Either his mother’s words would come to fruition or a daring plan in the back of his mind would lead them to where they wanted to be. Together.

***

Alena’s kingdom spared no cost in the royal gathering. What was supposed to be a smaller occasion became grand and overcrowded with mingling people who were all too stuffy and boring for Calum’s liking. Ashton lingered in the crowd and Calum waited on his heels for the arrival of Alena. He picked a spot with a good vantage point of the front doors and an easy exit out the back. Music filled the overly decorated glitz and glamor of the ballroom. The princess offered eyes that spoke her knowledge of what the courts wanted at Calum. She fluttered her eyelashes and danced around him in an attempt to be inconspicuous and yet eye catching all the same. Calum all but brushed her presence off and completely abandoned her when familiar eyes found his.

Alena was stunning in a simple dress—soft orange clinging to her skin like a subtle sunrise—hair falling loose around her shoulders and a nervous smile all greeted Calum. Her sling still supported her injured arm. Calum knew eyes had flocked to her upon her arrival but many men and women of all status flooded the ballroom and it wasn’t her lack of royal blood that drew eyes. It was the grace and beauty that was so intricately her that made heads turn. She was hesitant to accept his embrace but ended up in his arms, spinning to the music that droned on behind them. Calum felt her poise, the easiness that carried her steps around the dance floor and the natural ability to be one with the music even with an injury holding her back. Calum’s hold was gentle and her gaze was soft as she peered up at him from under her lashes.

“I’m glad you came,” he admitted in a breathless whisper. He didn’t care who heard but her presence made his words and tone much softer than usual.

He knew what challenges laid ahead, what obstacles danced beside them with narrowed eyes and pursed overly pink lips. Calum didn’t want to waste any time in fighting for their futures but the moment was too good to let go of; she was too close to be anywhere else but in his arms. He savored it a moment longer. The rest of the people blended into the crowd and became a murmur in the background. Eventually he found the will to lead her away from the crowd, up towards the resting place for a king and queen of another land that were too weary to mingle among people that were not yet united to them. His parents sat above the crowd with regal posture and eyes that watched everything, broke away from it all to take in the sight of their son with his soulmate on his arm.

“This is Alena,” he introduced timidly; tip toeing on the splintered hope of a promise his mother made in the morning. “My soulmate.”

“We gathered that,” his mother said softly and Calum saw the way she took in Alena. She tried not to stare at the scar that once graced her son’s skin but it was a shock of evidence that commanded her attention. “She’s lovely.”

The compliment felt sincere but flat and missing a roundabout excuse and reason that it didn’t matter who she was so long as it wasn’t a princess. His father eyed Alena less carefully, his broad shoulders straightened as he shook his head minutely.

“The courts still find it in the best interest of all if a proposal is given tonight,” his father’s words came crashing down—that reason falling hard and fast; it was one his mother had much too soft a heart to break the news of.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Alena said quietly but Calum heard the break of her words as she broke the hold he had on her and slipped away with quick steps back into the crowd.

“I’m going after her,” Calum proclaimed, eyes skirting the crowd to keep her in his sights as he stood his ground.

“The courts find a union with the princess important, perhaps your cousin might be a more suitable match. We cannot stop you should you go,” his father finished and restored that broken shard of a promise they had lent him.

“We only have enough men to guard us tonight,” his mother explained with a wry smile and a tilt of her head out to the crowd—permission to go after what he truly wanted laying within the subtle motion.

Calum expressed his gratitude with one last hug and took off, searched through the crowd and bypassed a princess who was prone to invading his personal space. She was crestfallen at his rejection but her facade of affection would be easily replaced for the next man that wore a crown she wanted to sit by. Calum made a beeline for a side exit; a beautiful arching and round door leading him outside stone walls. Alena lingered quietly—oblivious to Calum’s presence—back pressed to the stone and fingers lightly stroking just above her heart.

“You know, this is a prince’s exit only,” Calum declared in much the same tone Alena had taken the first night they met.

She twirled around, eyes blown wide and gleaming with moonlight and tears that Calum wouldn’t allow to fall. He moved to her, felt every essence of her that ever graced his skin start to warm and tingle beneath the surface. She was more than skin deep to him; she was innate and ran through his bloodstream, pumped his heart with purpose and prospects of a life he wanted to chase after.

“What’s wrong?” He asked though he knew exactly what she would say, he could feel it within his soul and all that he knew about her.

“You changed my perspective about soulmates. You made me start falling before I knew and then gave me hope with matching scars and took it all away because of a crown. It was all for naught.”

Calum let Alena speak her piece while he brushed her tears away before they could stain her cheeks. He shook his head at her words that held no bite, no fight, no determination as she felt all was lost within merging kingdoms. He let out a small breath and she turned away from his hold, let dark brown and hazel find the cracked cobblestones beneath them and stay haunted with remorse for the way that she fell—unguarded and with the belief that he might be there to catch her. He wanted to prove that he would be.

“Alena,” Calum began and tried to grab her attention from the ground up. She was still stoic in his hold, eyes downcast but flitting up to him for just a moment, just long enough to show him that she was listening and wanted his side of the story and all the answers and rebuttals he could provide. “I don’t want the crown. I don’t want a princess unless she’s a ballerina and florist and hard bargainer as well. I’m not staying, I’m not going back to my kingdom. The princess will find another heir and sit another throne. Without me. I want to be with you.”

“How?” She asked and the question was needing an answer to instill faith of falling back into her heart and soul.

He explained his parents' words as his slightly disbelieving gaze swept the night for guards of his own and of the princess’ court. He found no one but Alena and that was just the way the world wanted it. “We can leave, if you want to go. They won’t stop us.”

“I think I’ve realized I’d go just about anywhere with you,” she admitted around a blush and fumbling words. “I don’t think I can take the pain of being without you now that I’ve found you.”

Her words confirmed what Calum had been wondering, he surmised she must have felt the aches and tingles in all the places he felt them too. That distance was an injury they might live with forever. Her free hand finally reached up to grip at Calum’s shirt, just under his scar and at his heart. It was so much like the first night they met, but this time Calum was sure that she could feel his heartbeat—that it possibly matched hers—that she really was the one he was meant for.

“Please don’t let go of me,” Calum whispered as a request much more meaningful than fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

“Never,” Alena replied with implications that would last a lifetime.

***

Calum sat among a crowd a world away from where he was born and raised. A world away from a crown and a marriage that wasn’t to who his heart and soul desired. Alena was radiant on stage. Calum found a new appreciation for the ballet when it was Alena his eyes couldn’t peel away from. When he truly could be one with the crowd and no one of importance other than a merchant that sold flowers and trinkets on cobblestone streets.

Using fine fabric and gems from Calum’s wardrobe had bought them passage across the open ocean, his parents' promise ensured they could flee without trouble. Goodbye’s were somber but filled with hope for the future. The king and queen understood. Alena’s father was kind and wished them well and asked them to write from wherever they ended up. They made that promise and kept it; found adventure in exploring the rest of the world and each other. They ended up finding a home in a country across the waters where princes were obsolete and royalty was hardly a murmur in the background of another world.

The ballet consumed Calum, all of the hard work Alena put into her art came alive on stage and Calum was grateful he was able to life a life that let him witness it every night. For once, the end came all too soon, though Calum was thankful that it meant Alena could be in his arms and not just in his sights. They met outside a performer’s door, orange flowers tucked into Calum’s hold and a plan in his mind.

“For you,” Calum greeted and passed the flowers to Alena like it was the first time—though it had become a well worn tradition through the time they had spent together.

Alena accepted them gracefully, didn’t hesitate to fall into Calum’s embrace of an arm thrown around her shoulders, and let him lead her on. He brought her to the ocean and lit up at eyes that were still mesmerized by waves they had sailed during their escape.

“I’m glad I found you,” Calum murmured into the night and watched as the moonlight rippled off the darkened sea.

“I’m glad I took a chance and let myself fall,” Alena admitted and Calum felt her words deep within him.

They fell back into the sand with flowers and hope in hand. Calum didn’t let his gaze wander to anywhere but brown and hazel and silver. Alena was demure under the moonlight and soft with grains of sand in honey hair. Calum grinned—wrapped up in the finality of searching souls finding each other, fighting for each other and making a home with one another. No matter where else they ended up, they would be at home so long as they other was by their side.

<< >>

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[angelbabylu]

Romance #5 with Calum!?!? Bitch please omgggg.

Romance 5 - He’s royalty of a small country and he wants to go to college and have the normal college experience and you’re tasked with teaching him how to behave like a normal college student

Calum looked at the food in front of him with an air of distaste. “I don’t understand how burgers have anything to do with me being a normal college student.”

You shot him a look of exasperation before flicking a fry off your plate straight towards him. He had to move left to avoid it hitting him in the face. “Look, Your Highness, do you trust me or not?”

Immediately, his jaw dropped; he frantically searched the room to make sure no one had heard you. You were in a Shake Shack, just a few miles from campus. When your dad, an American diplomat, had approached you with the prospect of teaching the prince of a small European nation how to be a normal college student, you thought it would be easy. Calum, as it turned out, was anything but. He resisted your efforts at every turn and continued to behave so posh and proper that almost everyone who met him could tell he was different. This, of course, made hiding the fact that he was a prince increasingly more difficult. Your solution to get him to lighten up was Shake Shack. There was no way to eat a messy burger and remain dignified. But Calum refused to trust you, or the burger.

Calum took another disparaging look at the item on his tray, then back at you as if to ask, Are you sure I have to do this? When your glare didn’t let up, he sighed and picked up the offending item. Sauce was already dripping from its sides.

He bit into it reluctantly, then slowly began to chew. Miraculously, the scowl that he had donned the minute his food came slowly turned into a smile. “It’s actually quite good.” He said once he had finished his first bite. Then, he went for another.

“Okay,” you said, reaching over to remove the lid off his cup.  “Now dip your fry into the shake.”

The look of doubt was back on his face, but this time he didn’t protest. Instead, he slowly followed your orders, eyes lighting up when the mixture of salty and sweet hit his taste buds for the first time. You laughed at his amazed expression and began to clap, not caring whose attention you caught.

“Yay,” you exclaimed. “Your first true American food experience.”

“I like this,” his voice was filled with wonder as he moved to dip yet another fry in his vanilla shake.

You laughed, moving to tend to your own plate as he took his time devouring his burger. He was actually quite cute, your brain supplied, when he wasn’t driving you crazy with mannerisms you believed to be somewhat antiquated. When he was finished with his meal, he used his napkins to gently wipe the sauce from his face. Unthinking, you reached across the table to wipe away splash of sauce still at his mouth side. You didn’t miss the way his eyes tracked the finger back to your mouth, watching, enraptured, as you liked the sauce off it.

An intensity lingered between the two of you for a moment, before you cleared your throat and said, “Now, will you start to trust me? I promise not to steer you into doing something I know you won’t like. I’m just trying to get you to lighten up.”

Despite your attempts to dispel the weird mood that had settled between the two of you, the intensity in his stare was still there.

“Honestly,” he began, and the prince had, on more than one occasion, demonstrated that he had no qualms about telling the truth. “You intimidate me.”

“What?” You couldn’t imagine a world where a prince was intimidated by a nobody like you.

“I want to, how do you say, ‘lighten up.’ But I look at you, and you’re just so beautiful, I find myself slipping into my old charms and mannerisms to try and impress you.”

You bit your lip and looked away then, trying to hide your blush from him.

“Calum,” you looked back once the heat in your cheeks began to feel a bit more manageable. “I am more impressed by you letting loose and eating a burger than you opening doors and pulling out chairs for me.”

You were not expecting it when he stood up from his chair and took one long stride to cross to you. Capturing your face between both his palms, he bent and kissed you gently on the lips. When he pulled away, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding.

“Kissing you in the middle of Shake Shack,” He quipped. “Is that the kind of letting loose you were looking for?”

You brought your hands up to bury in his curls. “Oh absolutely,” you say, before pulling him down for another kiss.

Send me a prompt!

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

Sweet Dreams--Part 15

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!

CW: Smut/Smut adjacent in this part. 18+

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

Calum closes the space, his hand dancing over the fabric of the seats to slip into yours. Your palm is warm. He watches from the corner of his eyes as you smile and he smiles too. It’s silly, he knows. But the air surrounding you buzzes, dripping with an anxiety you don’t speak on. Calum’s sure anyone might notice the fidgets. The constant turn of your chain around your neck--the gold accents the burgundy of your suit perfectly. A color that makes you look regal. An outfit that makes him look a little longer than he usually might, fitted in the right areas without looking uncomfortable on you. He knows it’s been tailored, hemmed to fit you just right but goddamn, does he like you in a suit. However, the desire in his stomach doesn’t outweigh for long as he watches your free hand play at the chain yet again.

“I’ll be inside before you know it,” Calum offers. 

You’ve opted to skip out on the full carpet as the news cycle still attempts to extract every drop it can regarding the verbal altercation with Diana. A lot of the chatter is calm, but what remains continues to make enough noise that you worry anything regarding you on the carpet will be focused on that particular part of your life. Calum doesn’t fault your choice, but does wish he could show you off on the carpet. You deserve to be seen. He’s proud to be yours. He wants everyone else to know it too. But he understands why you’re opting to skip this particular moment. He might too if there still seemed to be so much heat on such a private family matter in his own life. But he’s grateful you haven’t skipped the entire event outright. 

“I know.” It comes softly, but still with an edge of uncertainty. 

The first time Calum attended he’d been nervous too. His parents did their best to explain what and why things were happening to calm his nerves. But it hadn’t really worked. He still worried and fretted. Until his father asked Calum to make a list of everything that looked good at the event. He’d been young at the time, but the smaller objective was much more manageable of a task. It made the lights and the people feel secondary. “Why don’t you scope out the drinks, yeah? Let me know what looks good.”

“Now that sounds doable.”

“Good, let’s focus on what’s doable.”

You give his hand a gentle squeeze, but don’t give any other verbal answer. With no planned outing to the public prior, it’s not unfair to think that the actual charity event might also be nerve wracking. But this too is something Calum knows you can overcome. Even if it’s small steps at a time, scoping out the drinks. The traffic gets thicker. Calum can tell by the row of cars around them. There’s more frequent stops. All signs that point towards the arrival to the banquet. It’s held off castle grounds, at a fairly large museum of modern art. 

You freeze next to Calum, probably also sensing that the countdown is reaching its end. He doesn’t want you to panic. Not now. You’ve done most of the hard work already. This really is the easy part. “Hors d’oeuvres. I also need a run down on those,” Calum offers in addition to the task prior. 

“Drinks and food. Sounds like you’re more worried about your stomach than anything else.”

A jab, one that Calum would take over and over again from you, if it meant even for just a second in time he could cut through your anxiety again. “Ah, what can I say. I am my father’s son. Besides, the portions at dinner feel like they’re going to starve you out anyway. Just wait and see.”

“I have seen. I think next time they could do away with the live band and put more money into the food budget.”

Calum winces at his own oversight. These events are advertised at the castle. Personnel staff--particular kitchen-- are offered additional compensation to take shifts at this event too. Rules he’d approved again this year, much like last year and the year before that one too. Yet, still forgotten. Only a few weeks at this new job and somehow Calum’s fallen so accustomed to the change. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. 

“No harm, love. We can always use some extra grace now and again. Like I’m sure once I’m inside, I’m going to positively embarrass you in front of your peers so I’m just getting a head start.”

Calum can say that you won’t embarrass him. He can say that you’re not even going to embarrass yourself. But it feels so dismissive. He’s done this before. He’s been raised in this. “Well, I’ll try to top whatever it is that you do. You drop a glass, I’ll break a plate. You stumble in a conversation, I’ll--oh, I don’t know, just burp in someone’s face. They won’t even remember your faux pas.”

You snort--the choked laughter leaving you in spurts. It’s silly. Utterly and entirely silly. Calum imagines the headlines now that would swirl. But it’s a storm he’d weather without hesitation. “Can you picture it now? I think Miranda might actually kill me.”

“Please, spare both our dignities,” you smile. 

“I make no such promises.”

“Are they now threats?”

“I prefer to call them dedications.” Because Calum knows he needs no dignity when it comes to you. He needs no etiquette. He needs no worry. It will come, the worry, the desire to do what is right for you. But they are not necessary. Just byproducts of his devotion, but byproducts he’d take all the same if it means you laugh next to him. If it means, you take his hand and kiss the back of it, lips pressing at the steady pulse, he will accept them hand over foot. 

“I like the sound of that,” you whisper. The air between you is gentle with the words and he almost doesn’t catch it. He’s not sure if the sentence is meant for him, or if it’s a thought that you verbalized without realizing. 

“We’ve arrived, Your Highness,” Jacky calls out from the front seat. She always tags along for events, usually just there and then again if Calum was headed to an afterparty. But the simple sentence she’s uttered is enough to suck the air form the backseat 

Every muscle of yours that had melted, relaxed thanks to Calum’s quips, freezes rigid again. The truck stops and his door cracks. But he takes the moment, slides across the leather saints next to you. The carpet is loud, the shutter of cameras goes off constantly. Voices rising higher and higher above the other to be heard. It is a cacophony of noise from the open door. But that can wait--five minutes, thirty, he doesn’t care. All of that can wait for you. He slips in close, lips pressed to your temple. “Remember, drinks and hors d'oeuvres.” 

“And you’ll embarrass yourself more than me, yeah?”

“I’ll tarnish the Hood legacy for decades to come for you, baby.”

“Thank you, love.”

Calum pushes on, stepping out from the relative quiet of the truck. And as expected, the already bright afternoon fills with the flashes from cameras. The dots in his vision turn silver and then fade, leaving behind a burst of reds and blues that dance. It only takes the first few blinks for Calum to adjust. 

“Oh.” It comes out a bit more shocked from you. Undoubtedly not quite prepared for the flurry of lights. 

“A little bright. C’mon. I’ll at least walk you to the door.” 

Though you freeze at the warmth of Calum’s hand, you follow him all the same. Not quite like leading a horse to water, more like directing a frightened creature from a distance to its own safety. From the crowd, there’s a roar, “Are you walking the carpet?” alongside, “Why are you skipping the carpet?”

“Sounds like someone is a popular guy,” you tease as the two of you approach the side doors. 

“Not as popular as you’re going to be after tonight and people see your amazing talents,” Calum returns. He pauses, poised to take the handle of the door into his grasp. 

“Didn’t they tell you flattery will get you nowhere?” There’s a twinkle in your eye, a small smile dancing over your lips as you speak. 

“Something tells me my flattery will carry me places.”

“Maybe only for you. And maybe only when it comes to me.”

“Those are the only places I need to go.” The air is a tad cold as Calum pries open the door. He’d anticipated the inside to be a bit more given the descent of winter. But it could be the sun that makes it all feel warmer and the air feel colder. 

“I’ll be sure to save you a spot.” You carry on, giving a quiet thanks as you walk through the door. Calum watches you down the hallway just long enough for him to see you get assisted by some of the event hands inside towards the main room. Assured that you’re settled, he turns back towards the carpet. His arrival is marked by another wave of roars. 

“Your Highness! Where’s your partner?”

“Your Highness! A little to the left.”

It’s a flurry of directions and questions--to be expected.  But as Calum steps onto the marks as directed, he slowly tunes them all out, tries to distance out his stare so the flashes don’t feel as blindly. He makes sure to look in all directions. He makes sure to smile and wave in all directions. It won’t be perfect, but it’ll be good enough to move on to the next spot. One of the assistants guides him down, another spot for more pictures and then onto the next. This part feels mechanical--an over-calculation of what people are going to be asking, always anticipating how long he’s going to be told to stay at one marker before being moved down to the next one. He always worries that in the pictures it’s always going to be obvious on his face that he’s thinking much too hard about it all. Yet, they also come out well enough. 

“We thought we were going to lose an appearance from you,” the lady laughs as Calum approaches for his interview. Her dress is pale pink and shines under the lights. 

Calum shakes his head. “No, no, I could never think of such a thing and miss the opportunity to speak to you? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Oh, you flatter me. May I ask, when you first arrived, it looked like maybe your partner was here with you as well. Is that correct?”

“They are here. Yes.” It’s all he wants to say. All he thinks he needs to say but there’s a bit of anticipation that drips from the interviewer’s face. Calum knows what they’re waiting for. 

“And no carpet for them? We’ve seen some of those photos. The two of you look quite cozy.”

“No carpet this time. When they’re ready, they’ll walk it with me. But I highly doubt we should spend all our time on personal business. There’s a great cause at the root of why we’ve gathered.” A gentle redirect that seems to do the trick as the interviewer nods. 

“Yes, yes, we’ve heard there’s a lot of great things being auctioned off for the charities involved tonight. Is there anything in particular you’re interested in seeing how well it does?”

There--so simple and so innocent of a question, but he knows what’s underneath. All the items up for auction have already been listed. If he doesn’t talk about your painting, which he is sure tabloids and reporters have looked at the preview, then it’s going to look back. But if he does it’s yet another trap he’s fallen into. Calum takes a deep breath. “Well, there’s some interesting offerings of dinner with some celebrities, which always goes over well. Those pull in a lot of bids. There’s some original artwork that I’m also interested in seeing how well it does too.”

“Would one such piece be that of your partner?”

Calum laughs. He’s caught, even as he tries to tiptoe around it. “Yes, it would be. They worked incredibly hard on the piece and I think given how routine these things can start to feel, I am really hopeful that something like my partner’s art can strike up a good bidding war.”

“Well, we are certainly rooting for them and hope that they too can bring in a good momentum to the funds being raised tonight.”

“Thank you. That’s greatly appreciated.”

Calum takes the cue to exit and then slips down a little further to a couple other waiting reporters. They ask a similar round of questions, speculating about the lack of your presence and also wondering how tonight will turn out amongst the total for the funds raised. And all this happens amongst the flash, the shouts, the roar of everyone’s voice rising. Somehow each move makes things feel louder, like the noise will reach a critical mass. Calum’s never sure what the end result might look like. 

But inside is much quieter. The second Calum steps into the air conditioned lobby of the museum, his shoulders drop. The cool air is welcomed as the sweat starts to prickle on his back. Even the carpet gets to him occasionally. It is utter relief and just inside the foyer, up the second but smaller set of stairs, you stand next to the fountain. In the middle a sculpture of a woman sits, her marble stomach rolled as she arches herself forward. For a moment, Calum’s sure if he were to touch it, the stone might give under his hands like flesh. Her veil ripples down over her back. And Calum watches your face as you take in the work, something like awe writing over your face. 

He follows the lines down, taking in the bend in your neck to support your head as you tilt backwards to get a larger picture. Calum carries on all to your hands, where two plates. Each one stacked nearly the same. You rattle off the name of the artist. “Each time I see it, I can’t help but fall a little bit more in love with it.”

“I’m almost ashamed to admit I’ve seen it so often I forget it's a wonder,” Calum offers to your initial bidding. 

“Problems I think I’d kill to have,” you laugh before extending one of the plates. “You wouldn’t believe who I had to fend off for this.”

Calum takes the plate, noticing the skewers holding veggies and meat that he’s not sure what it is, alongside a few other finger sandwiches. They look much too small and thin to do much, but it’s the thought that counts. He thinks too maybe there should be less focus on the theatrics of such an event and more focus on the food. But he looks back up from the plate to you. “Who?” he asks. 

“David. He spotted me the second I walked up to the food.”

Calum snorts around his bit of the tiny sandwich. “Probably because he was headed for the line too. I love him, but he’s predictable.”

“I quite appreciate his predictability. It did lead to me being introduced to the art director for a local gallery, who is quite eager to see my work in person. And that absolutely has not shattered my resolve. Not in the slightest because it was Amy fucking Whitacker.”

The sudden inhale makes Calum choke on his bite. He sputters for a moment before catching air back into his lungs and keeping the offending item from going down into his windpipe. Amy Whitacker is not just the art director for any small local gallery. She has a direct hand in helping the modern art museum in selecting and showcasing talents in contemporary and modern artists. A well traveled legend in the art curation scene, always on the pulse of whatever is surely to become the biggest trend. She’s always right, even if at times she’s too early for her own good, having helped a couple artists who got caught up in the wrong avenues of the art scene before getting themselves clean. 

“Baby, that’s fucking incredible.” Even if all that becomes of it dies at the introduction, someone knows your name. Someone big knows your name. Someone big would’ve seen your art. The kind of strings that not even Calum can pull no matter how hard he might’ve wanted too at some point. But Calum doubts it’ll just end there. Your talent speaks for itself and though you think of art as just a hobby, it’s a hobby Calum knows with a little fostering could lead you to great realms. 

“Yes, why do you think I am trying not to lose my cool here?” Your laughter is soft and nervous. 

But Calum can’t fault that. He’d be nervous too. Hell, he might even be nervous now at the thought of it. What could today bring for you? You talked about wanting to be there for Charlie and Teagan, and something that paid your bills, but feeling stuck. Like you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do next and though that was in relation to finding a new job, Calum feels like maybe art could help get you unstuck. What could life look like for you should have wind underneath your art? It could be yours fully. There’d be no politics involved. Not even Calum’s life and reputation could take it away from you. He wants that for you. He wants you to have that kind of freedom. 

He switches hands to wipe his palms on the handkerchief in his pocket. It’s a much too formal touch to have it in his front facing suit pocket for the studded look he’s going for. He can see the wheels turning. The way you chew at the corner of your lips. For the jest, Calum takes the handkerchief and dabs at your temples.  “You got this. You’re going to remain so calm,” he laughs. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Always.” It’s one word, but Calum hopes you understand what he means. That he’s always got confidence in you. That he’s always in your corner. But before he can utter the sentimental clarification, he’s interrupted. 

“Your Highness, it’s a pleasure to see you here again,” the voice is shaky and Calum pauses at the last dab to your forehead.

George stands next to you,  nearly shoulder to shoulder with you, hand extended out to him. He’s a retired Cabinet member, but keeps a high level of influence in some circles. Calum’s not sure what he really does anymore. But he does remember his father’s huffed complaints about George from his younger years. 

“Nice to see you again too, George.” 

“I hear you’re up for volunteer time again. An old staple,” he retorts, dropping his hand as Calum’s yet to move to take it. 

Calum knows George has to notice you. But his gaze wanders over nearly everywhere but you. “I am,” Calum answers. “I haven’t heard anything about you yet though.”

“Oh, no, nothing from me this year. Next year I think my efforts can be better served.” Calum knows what that means. This effort to focus on marginalized communities is not worth his time. There are better reasons to spend money has never sounded so sleazy before. 

Calum feels a part of him is thick now with disgust. This is the part of it that he was afraid of. That he’d turn into a George who forgets the merits of helping a wide variety of communities. That is the dirty part of the job are all the George’s in the game. But today’s not the day that he’s going to slip into the mud. “Well, I do hope you bid today at the very least. Especially on my partner’s work. Whom I’d like to introduce you to actually.”

And like Calum’s hand hasn’t been outstretched pressed against your temple and now at your shoulder, George turns. “Oh, excuse me. Poor manners. Nice to meet you.” There’s no extension for a handshake. 

Your smile in return is tight. “Nice to meet you too.”

“And, uh, what is it that you do? Here for this fundraiser, I mean”

“Art,” you return. “I painted and used mixed media for an art piece.”

“Ah, art. I heard you were a cook. Wasn’t sure if you’d whipped up some kind of desert,” he laughs, his jowls shaking at the action. 

“I cook too.” There’s a small bit of challenge to the sentence. As if you’re daring George to make a quip about it. Calum can’t fault you, but prays George doesn’t pick up on it. 

George nods, his face flat of emotion. “So you cook and you do art, that is indeed interesting. Well, I hope your art does well tonight for the cause.”

Just as quickly as he walked up, George walks away. If anyone would leave a sour impression it would be George and Calum takes a moment to place his handkerchief back into his pocket. Not how he wants your first few introductions to go tonight. You already had an expectation about the people at the vent. He’d hope that no one would stoop so low as to affirm them. “He’s an asshole,” Calum states. 

“The only reason he still walks is because the earth doesn’t want to deal with him either,” you spit. 

Calum would be a liar if denied the small surge of pride from his chest. But this is not necessarily the place for it. Even if Calum thinks you’re spot on. “I’m sorry about him. George has always been rather rude.” There’s no other way to say it. There’s directness--a trait that has its time and place--and then there’s blatant disrespect. 

“Well, if I’ve got nothing else to motivate me I think I’ll take spite. He thinks his efforts are better suited for something else? And I most definitely did note that he was quite noncommittal stance on bidding.”

“I was hoping I could catch him. But for as old as he is, he’s still rather squirmy. But he’s just one guy. Just one.” 

There are better people. There are. He knows it. You nod, but Calum’s sure it’s not the right foot for you to start off with. Not in a place like this, not at a time like this. 

“I’m not sure I got the memo that our uniforms changed colors.” 

Calum’s glad for the divinely timed quip. You snort, stepping aside and unveiling Cyprus behind you even in the thickening crowd. The tension at your shoulders melts as you face her. She holds the tray, only a few remaining glasses sit on top. There’s bubbles in the liquid in the glass. She smiles before holding the tray out. “Champagne?”

“Janet still likes me more than you,” you retort. “I can try my hand but it might be a hard sell.”

Cyprus nudges gently at your shoulder. “All efforts are appreciated. Good luck tonight, we’re all rooting for it. It looks gorgeous, the painting.”

“Thank you, Cyprus.” 

God bless her, Calum thinks as she grins at the two of you before she carries on, “But seriously, do either one of you want a drink? I’m sick of carrying this tray around.”

Calum takes one glass, leaving three more behind. It’s a small token of gratitude, not that he’s even sure Cyprus even heard the exchange. And if she did, he’s glad she stepped in. “It’s the best I can do.”

You take a glass too. “Halfway there.”

“Such caring people. Besides, if I weren’t working, I’d down both these glasses. Thank you for your efforts. They will not go in vain.” Then she’s off, sliding down to the next group of people. There’s an utter factualness to her statement that Calum knows it’s true. He doesn’t fault the sentiment. 

“I feel like I don’t know how to breathe in a place like this,” you mutter. You’ve yet to move, not that you necessarily have to. Most of the guests are still arriving. Soon there will be an announcement to help move all guests to the dining area. But there is a firmness in your stance that echoes the discomfort you’ve verbalized. “Not dressed like this, you know. I know the other side.”

Calum takes a moment, glancing over your shoulder to take in the all black uniform as the room echoes with stiff laughter and the click of expensive shoes that are priced a thousand times more than the materials cost to make. How even in a sea of suits, workers stand out. And no one looks at them. Invisible, but utterly necessary as the cogs that keep the machine running.  Glasses on trays that look like they float by if no one takes the moment to look at the human servicing you.  

“You’re doing great for what it’s worth. It’s all going to be okay.”

“You promise?”

It’s so soft as you utter it. Like you’re not sure if you really should be asking. It breaks his heart to hear it. The fear that underlies every anxiety you had. 

Calum nods. “I promise, baby. Just take a breath, okay.”

Your inhale is deep, chest rising with the action and your exhale is long. You repeat the action one more time. 

“You ready to prove that old man wrong?”

_______________________________________________

It feels like a simple question. It is a simple question. You ready? And you’re not. You’re not ready for this. But you’re already here. You’ve got the suit on. You’ve sat for hair. You’ve been adorned in the jewelry. You’re here dammit. But you don’t know if you’re ready. Such a concept relies on a sense of confidence, of such assuredness that you don’t have. But maybe you can use spite to create a false precursor for the necessary emotions. But even with the sour taste of George’s interaction, you find that your feet won’t move. 

“I wish,” you exhale, looking back to Calum. He looks calm. His plate is clear. You’re not even sure how. But the portions are small. He seems so unphased. Your shoulders are starting to ache. You’re gripping the glass too hard. You know that. Everything is too tight, too stiff. 

“I’ll be right by your side the entire time,” Calum reassures. 

And you know you have to move. The crowd’s pushing up and on. The announcement from overhead is asking folks to move towards the main dining area as the event will be beginning shortly. You are running out of time. Part of you wishes you’d skipped the whole thing. 

The glances are sharp as people look at you. You tried not to focus on them, but you could always feel them. And now they feel even heavier after Calum utters anything about actually moving on from the lobby. The plan had just been getting in, looking at the initial selections of food and drink. Somehow you’d tricked yourself into thinking that’s all there is to this. 

But that is not the reality. The reality is that you have to go deeper. And you can picture it now. The dining section around the corner from the lobby opens wide and in front of the stage all the items up for auction are displayed. Tables are strewn about, labeled for who’s sitting where. You know in the back there is an entire map, scaled down to show who’s sitting where, food allergies are assigned to specific color dots. Food preferences are labeled with various star stickers. The back is a lot more comfortable. In the back, in the kitchen, the untouchables reign and all the rich people are just colors and stars. 

In the lobby, in this burgundy suit, you are a colored dot; you are a star. But you know you don’t belong. Everyone else knows it too. You’re only here because of Calum, in this lobby. You’re only here because your submission was approved. You’re only here by whims and fates. It feels so unearned. But you can’t change that.

“Oh, there they are! Really, when you see this painting you’ll understand what I mean. The talent is out of this world.”

It’s Joy’s voice. You spin at the cadence of her words, some relief easing your chest open. God, thank the heavens for Joy and for Cyprus too. Joy smiles as she approaches in her navy blue dress, floor length as it dazzles in the lights. The dress looks like it cost more than you’ve ever made in your entire life combined. The shawl covering her shoulders echoes the ripples of an ocean. You don’t recognize the woman she’s leading across the floor. But you smile in return. 

Joy gives your name first as she introduces Lilith, the CEO of her own company. You think there’s more that Joy says but you can’t hear it all properly. Your heart is racing in your ears. Though you do catch as Joy explains that Lilith is an art collector.

Lilith laughs. “Oh, Joy, please. You say it like I’m an expert. It’s a hobby really. By trade, I find myself surrounding my code.”

“Oh, like software coding?” you question. It feels like a stupid question but you don’t know what else you’re supposed to say. There’s a heavy moment where you open that her introduction as CEO wasn’t linked to her coding. You’d surely make a fool of yourself if it was. 

Lilith nods, face opening up at the question. Her dark curls bounce with the motion. “Yes, software. I’ve dabbled in front end stuff, user experience, websites too. I prefer the backend though. I know people think that’s a man’s world. But I’m rather proud to admit that my small company’s been around for the last fifteen years. We’re focused now on funding STEM programs in underfunded schools to encourage girls in the field.” 

“Oh small. You all have started and funded over 20 different STEM programs in the schools just in your hometown. Small is not serving you in the slightest,” Joy reprimands. 

“Thank you,” Lilith laughs. “But enough about me. Joy speaks highly of your talents. Did you study art?”

The question stings. Will the truth make you look worse than a lie? But she seems genuine. Lilith feels like a total opposite to George. And maybe there’s more to this room to the people in here than you originally gave credit for. Joy nods when you catch her eye. It feels like a silent encouragement so you exhale and with it comes the truth, “Culinary by trade. But nothing formal in the fine arts.”

“Oh, you’re a chef who paints. That’s amazing. Do you think you’ll ever want to study it more formally? I think my wife’s been in talks with a few local universities and if you’re interested, I’d be happy to offer any support. Joy’s spoken so highly of your work and I, for one, would love to keep the art scene alive. Have you had a chance to speak with Amy Whitacker? I think you two should connect if you haven’t already. I do believe I saw her here earlier.”

The sincerity in the offering is unarming. She’s so close and yet still so far off about you. Yet you can’t help the laughter that presses at your chest. You keep it at bay. You swallow it back down. It’s not worth the correction that you’re currently nothing more than a line cook who’s finally got a license to bartend. But the generosity cuts through the cynicism. “It’s a hobby, really. But I do appreciate the offer.”

“Yes, yes, of course. If you ever change your mind, just give me a call,” Lilith pops open her clutch. You’re not sure what she’s going to produce until a small white business card moves across the gap towards you. 

It’s silly, but you take a moment to consider the plate and the glass in your hand. Before you can make a move, Calum slips his hand forward and takes it on your behalf. “Tha-thank you,” you managed to get out. “Really, it’s greatly appreciated.”

Lilith smiles. “Of course. But, truly, do call, okay? I’m eager to see what you’ve produced today and what comes next. It was nice meeting you.” She gives a goodbye to Joy before walking on past to another group. She doesn’t appear to be moving closer to the dining hall. Perhaps, she’s less worried about the overhead warnings. 

“You okay, sweetheart? You look like a deer caught in headlights.” Joy’s concern is palpable. But there’s something about the glances, you spot them as people come back. Do they know the terror locking into your joints? Are they going to gossip about you behind your back once they’re out of earshot? Are they thinking about whatever godforsaken pictures that have surfaced? Are they nice like Lilith or will you encounter more George’s in your time here? How do you prepare for such wildly varying encounters when everything in you is telling you to run?

“I don’t know what to do with my hands,” you confess with a laugh. 

You took the glass from Cyprus purely to save her, knowing how hard it can be to cart around a tray with drinks, how the quakes in the shoulder can start. But you don’t really want a drink. You don’t really want the food. You want to be invisible again. Though it saved you initially, maybe it was a smarter idea to actually know what the public consensus about you was. It’d at least give you a tougher skin. 

“Oh, okay. Fair enough. First, do you care to finish this drink or not?”

You shake your head at Joy’s question and she takes the glass from your fingers. “Never even started it.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart.”

Calum stacks his empty plate under yours and takes it. “The skewer thing or whatever is decent if you want something off the plate,” he offers. 

You look back at the item. Your stomach turns a little. Calum eases the plate away from you. “I’m good,” you answer. 

“Your face speaks for you do,” Calum laughs and takes the item for himself. 

“You’ve been to this event before,” Joy starts, taking a sip from the glass she got from you. “You know this place better than we do. What happens next? What would you do next?”

“I know the kitchen. I know that yellow is a dairy allergy and gold is a dairy free preference. I know greens are plant-only restrictions.”

Joy slips an arm around yours, both your elbows hooking. “Well, tell me who’s plant-only then, yeah?”

You’re walking before you realize it. You’re rounding the fountain and the dining section is opening up before you. The guests change a little year to year. But you do know that people with similar dietary requirements and preferences are usually grouped together unless they must be seated separately due to charting reasons--usually for press or affiliation reasons. “The northern quadrant is typically your strictest dietary needs. We try not to put them too close to the kitchen should anything be airborne.”

Joy hums at the news. “Aye, I can understand that.”

It’s easy to talk about what you know. The words are falling and you don’t really care to stop them. “Middle typically sits your people with some restrictions or preference but nothing severe. Closest to the kitchen either didn’t indicate a preference or indicated they had no preference or restrictions. You’re grouped, or I guess I am too, upon charting requests and dietary needs. If you’ve come alone, you’re usually sorted into tables by dietary restrictions. If you come with a plus one, you’re seated together, but if one party indicates severe restrictions or preference you get booted to the farthest end. Being at the far end does mean, you are served first.”

“To avoid cross contamination?”

“As much as possible.”

Joy grins, squeezing at your bicep. “Well, you’re inside it now, sweetheart. Do you think you’re a green dot?”

The dining hall is quieter than the lobby, but more and more people are trickling in behind you. And there in front of you in the 60 x 40 inches is your art. The red paint drips down the pages, but never reaches the floor. Frozen thanks to the hair dryer you had to use and gravity. A sea of red and gold. You know the pages up close are articles, missing posters, poems and songs from families affected, literature about the hardship of a community never believed. You know the imitation of bells you’ve etched into the corner do whistle if listened to closely enough. You know the braided fibers creating the border between the ocean of red and the black text doesn’t truly echo the vanilla and hay of the plant it’s created after. The painting looks so out of places, much like you feel. It’s big and bright. The other items are in glass boxes, small, and polite. Yet your art is bold.

“Why do I want to apologize for my art?” you whisper, mostly to yourself. It’s such a silly thing. You made it for the intention of selling, of raising not just a little bit of money but hopefully a sizable amount. You made it to make a statement. You made it as a reminder. It’s not meant to be a thing that can blend into the background. Yet, all you can feel is the hot sting of shame. 

Joy hums at the question. “Well, you don’t have to apologize for anything. You’re here because you’re meant to be here. What it actually looks like, only time will tell of course. Doors open for reasons.” 

It dances at the edge of your tongue that you didn’t walk through any doors to get into the hall, but you know what Joy means. Metaphorical, not literal. “Doors open for reasons and I wish I could see them.”

“In due time.” Joy slips from your side to the front of you. She lifts your chin and smooths at the lapels of your suit jacket in a fluid motion. A well practiced set of movements that you know she’s probably done a thousand times over with Calum. “I’m proud of you. Whatever happens today, okay? I don’t care if no one bids, or if everyone bids. I don’t care if you drop a glass, or two. I don’t care if you laugh too loud. I don’t care if you have to hide in the bathroom for ten minutes or twenty. I am so incredibly proud of you for showing up today and for putting in the time for this cause.”

She swims in your tears. Joy’s there, and then she’s blurry before you can blink her visage clear again. “Thanks, Joy.” Your throat quivers and you’re not even sure you’ll be able to get the sentence out fully. You know you’re truly going to steal her one of these days. Or perhaps, she’s already stolen you. But either way, you’re incredibly grateful for you. You wondered in the back of your mind how your parents might have reacted to the news of you getting into the banquet. You still wonder if Melvin’s caught wind, if he’s tuning into the live coverage. Will he text you at the end of this? 

“Would you look at that? Is that gold foil around the corner to make bells?” It’s pure awe. You know it’s about your piece. But you don’t look to see who it is. All you manage to focus on is the last warm comforting pat at your shoulder from Joy. She grins and you know what she is saying. You know that your fear might have caused you to suffer twice. 

“I am going to make a couple more rounds. Find me if you need me, alright?”

You nod. “Sounds like a plan.”

Joy doesn’t go terribly far, but you move on to look at the other items on the docket after wiping the tears from your cheeks. A few collectable items sit out--a watch, a necklace,--things that look like they mean a lot more to people who can afford to care about status. But as you move further from your own peace, you do watch. People seem rather uninterested in the display boxes but stop to regard your piece for minutes at a time. 

At the end of the stage, you take in the rest of the room. You can spot Cyprus shuffling back into the kitchen, empty glasses and plates on her tray as she goes. Valerie skirts around her, empty tray tucked under her arm and you know that means she’s looking for someone or something. You hope it’s not bad. 

“Yes, yes, we’ll have to arrange a time for drinks. I think after the holidays is best.”

Calum’s trying to pull himself out of the conversation. His hands are now empty from the plates he was holding earlier. He’s a half step from the group and you don’t know if they gathered while talking to Joy, but he looks back to you before facing the group again. You can hear someone mention needing to stay away from vodka though as the group laughs. Calum wiggles his fingers behind his back, as if attempting to reach for you through the several foot gap. 

You do feel out of place on your own and you’re sure you’re going to feel out of place in the group. But Calum’s there and you carry on, knowing that you’ll have at least one person. You do have to duck around a group paused now at the last display. “Sorry,” you whisper to them as you slink behind. 

“Oh, my apologies,” the man returns, looking back to you. 

You continue on, poised to slip your hand into Calum’s but someone calls back out. “Are you the artist of this here painting?” 

You turn, fingers just brushing Calum’s to see the older man you passed looking at you. His hair is graying, but still has some of the dark brown in there. You don’t immediately recognize him, but you don’t recognize hardly anyone else in here. Your lack of social media truly keeps you rather out of the loop though you paid attention to the things that mattered to you. You wish for a moment that you could place him. 

Your heart thunders in your chest. Though there was no picture attached to the display in the room. However, considering the website did ask for a headshot to pair with your work, you assume he might’ve noticed your picture there. You can’t help the wince that overtakes you. “I-I am.”

“Goodness, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything bad by that question. I, uh, I’m actually quite excited about it. It looks beautiful.”

“Thank you. Sorry about that. I-I’ve never really had my work out like this before so I’m still never quite sure how it’s going to,” you return. 

“Understandable. You know, about four, maybe five years ago, there were more artists that were commissioned to make pieces for this very event. Those pieces were always a favorite. I don’t know what happened. If they stopped commissioning because of optics or something, but I really hope after this year we get more art back. I hope your art comes back too, I mean. I really do think it’s such a worthy and important form. You might be on the edge of something truly, truly, special.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.” He smiles and then continues on at the beckoning of his wife. Or who appears to be at least his date for the event. You don’t really know the relationship.

Calum’s palm is warm against yours. Out of reflex, you thread your fingers through his. “I was sure I was going to have to unglue you from my side. But it seems like you’re getting quite popular.”

“I got sidetracked looking at the items up for auction. But you might be right that it won’t be all bad. I didn’t think I’d be getting this kind of response.”

“Oh, I might be right, huh?” There’s a small tuft of laughter exchanged between the two of you at the jest. 

“Sarcasm is a love language.”

He hums. “I’ve got Lilith’s business card in my suit pocket, so please remind me to fetch it out before I return this suit back.”

“Hey, Calum?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget you have Lilith’s business card in the suit pocket.”

“Smartass.”

“Yes, yes I am. That is quite the astute observation.” 

At the table, after about fifteen minutes or so of additional chatting, you settle between Calum and Joy. It’s directly in line with the stage and the podium. A spotlight that you cannot escape. But you know the order of events. There will be a few speeches, from the organizers, from the spokespersons of the charities receiving the funds today and one final speech from a keynote speaker. It then moves into a reading of the rules for bidding. Each plate is set with a corresponding paddle. On it is a number. The paddles have to be raised and have to be visible to the auctioneer when actively bidding. The interval increase is set by the parties bidding, but cannot exceed a five thousand jump at once. Each item is independently appraised for where the bidding must start. But no one, not even the original owners of the items know what that number is set. After all items are auctioned, dinner will be served. Refreshments will be served after on the back lawn until the very end. 

You know this, having caught pieces of this spill before. But still nothing prepares you as you look down at your number on your paddle, 827, after all the speeches and you know that eventually all the talk you’ve heard about your piece will have to find legs to stand on. You’re not sure if spite or the reassurance from Joy are truly a match for the wave of anxiety. The items are auctioned down the line, starting with some fine jewelry at the start of the stage. The camera zooms in for the screens hanging on the corners for everyone to see the item in question. 

The jade necklace sells for six thousand in a blink. 

The heirloom watch goes for ten thousand. 

Calum’s volunteer time is auctioned off at twenty thousand. 

Dinner with various celebrities for CEO’s range from ten thousand up to twenty-five thousand. 

Rugs go for twelve thousand. 

“We have an original painting with us today entitled, Nomenclature: A Calling. Acrylic paint with mixed media on a 60 x 45 inch canvas. As described by the artist, ‘Nomenclature is a call to center voices and literature of the women missing and murdered that the charities today strive to call back out to, to tell them they are not forgotten. With a history steeped in silence, Nomenclature asks the viewer to not only listen--or in some regards, to read the excerpts attached and highlighted in the piece--it also the viewer to speak as well. It asks the viewer to touch the braided sweetgrass imitated and to listen for the call. Each woman missing is a family begging for her return. Each corner of the earth must be searched. Each person here today, and who encounters this piece, must reflect on what we can do to help, to speak up.’”

The camera pans to the bottom angle and as it does, the bolded parts of the literature and posters attached make out the shape of a hand print, dripping down, the thick red paints only serves to illuminate the undercarriage and hidden symbol. The room fills with a low ‘ooh’ the new angle from below unveiling to them yet another layer. And you know, you know if they’re to study it from each angle too more would be revealed. You mentioned that they should show the bottom left angle before out of desperation. You thought maybe your vision would strike at a handful of people to consider a good bidding war. A round or two at the most. 

“Bidding starts at 5,000,” the auctioneer states after a few more seconds of silence. Five feels way too steep to start for the work. Not even Calum’s volunteer time started there. The camera moves back to a front on angle of the painting. 

You don’t know what number you’d expected. Maybe it was somewhere in the low ten’s. Perhaps in your wildest imaginations you might break thirty thousand. But the minutes are long as they go, and as they go, the price goes up. You count passing seconds in increments of five. 

“I have 50 thousand. Do I have a response? 50 thousand going once.”

“55!”

Your heart is swimming in stomach acid. Your plate feels like it’s spinning in front of you. You’re too afraid to look up. If you do it makes each bid real. Who’d spend 55 thousand dollars on your painting? It’ll stop soon. Besides, it’s all for a good reason. It’s all going to good use. But yet, it still feels much too steep, like it’s generosity that is undeserving. 

“60!”

“65!”

“Can I get 70?” the auctioneer eggs on. 

“70,” a voice returns. Where other bidding has been relatively quiet. You catch the lilt of something that sounds like a thrill to the bidder’s voice. 

Your bidding number 827 blurs in your vision. You hold onto the sides of your chair, hands clammy even to the wood beneath. Surely you can’t exceed 70. No one would want to spend that kind of money. 

“75!”

“80!”

“85.”

“90!”

Your ears feel thick. Every sound wave that hits comes in slowly. You can feel every curl of folks tongue as they shout out their bids. But it feels unreal. The air thickens. Everything is slow as the number continues to rise. There is no way. No way. No way. No way. No way. The number just keeps going up and up, and up. It’ll stop soon. It has to stop. It’ll stop. It’ll stop. It’ll--

“Sold for 135 thousand dollars to 955. All other numbers down.”

“I’m going to throw up,” you state. Your stomach flips and you know there’s nothing to come up, but know that’s an error. There’s no way your painting could’ve sold for that much. Your grip on the bottom of the wooden chair tightens. “Someone please tell me I actually hallucinated that entire thing.” 

“Hey, no, no hallucination.” Calum’s arm slips over your shoulders and he eases your head up from where you’d tucked your chin to your chest. 

With your head up, the cheers are much louder. An applause deep and echoes from corner to corner. You can tell if it’s sweat or tears rolling down your cheeks but it doesn’t slow Calum as he clears them away with the pads of his fingers. 

“I-I did that? Like my artwork?”

His lips press against the apple of your cheek in a quick kiss. “Yeah, you did. A hundred and thirty-five big ones.”

And even with the praise, the reality feels too far away to grasp. Everyone in the immediate vicinity of your table smiles at you when you catch their glance. You manage a smile back, but feel heavy with disbelief. You didn’t even look to see who 955 was. Could it be Lilith? You don’t even let the thought of it being Amy linger too long in your mind. Joy squeezes you, a hug that normally feels bone crushing but at this particular moment it’s a hug that lets you melt. You’d suffer twice, possibly even three times over. But the rewards pay out for it in the end. 

You don’t remember dinner; you don’t live it deep enough to remember it. You wouldn’t be able to say how it tastes, or if the chicken was dry or not. Yet, you know that once everyone’s excused to the lawn, you’ll remain in the hall for pictures. You’ll come face to face with the person who won your painting. But you’re still lifting a fork to your mouth. You’re still eating food without tasting it. 

The dining hall echoes with the whispers now. Above you are the photographers and winners. You can hear the shutter of the lens as the photos are snapped. Calum excuses himself to the restroom, a kiss pressed to your cheek before he goes. Most of the crowd is outside. You’re not sure why the event would move there, considering as the evening settles it will get colder. But perhaps, it’s meant to be the excuse. Folks can leave now, using the chill as the perfect out before they make moves to the after party at a few different clubs around the downtown area. All you can think to yourself as you stand just below the stage is that part of wishes you could slip out into the night too. 

Your name comes, a sound deeper than you’re used to. So it’s not David. In your peripheral, you can see a hand, pale as it extends out. “Sorry to bother you,” the man laughs. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His nose is sharp on his face, light brown hair slicked back but you can still tell it’s long. “I’m Walter.”

You take the extended hand in the polite but firm handshake you’ve learned over the years. “Nice-nice to meet you.”

“I won your piece. Sorry, that might’ve been good information with which to also lead.”

“No worries. I-I hope you enjoy it, for all that you donated for it.”

“I do. You don’t need to worry about that. It is truly incredible work and the description you also wrote for it. I mean, goodness. Utterly moving. I don’t think I’ve seen you here at this event before. What brings you here this year?”

Saying my boyfriend feels too thin, too asinine to utter. But it is the truth. “Well, uh, I was originally just a plus one. But submitted a proposal in tandem with my boyfriend. He sort of asked if I would be willing and I agreed and it got approved based on some other art samples I submitted along with the proposal. And I am talking entirely too much.”

Walter’s laugh is short, but feels genuine. “No, no. It’s okay. I can ramble on myself. So you don’t do art full time then, I take it?”

Walter’s tactful sidestep around asking who is your partner makes you wonder if he already knows and wants to make conversation or if he truly just doesn’t keep up. You’re grateful for it regardless. “No, not right now.”

“Would you consider it? Taking more of it on?”

“Potentially. My life currently doesn’t fully suit it, but I guess we never really know the future.”

“No, no, we don’t,” Walter agrees. 

“I take it you’re a bit more of a regular attendee than I am, considering that you notice a newcomer.”

“I too started as a plus one. My father served in the Cabinet when I was younger and I never liked politics much myself. I come with him for networking purposes every year. I work currently in the nonprofit sector and help organize this event on odd years. Which I guess you could say nonprofit is adjacent politics, or at least responding to the political landscape of our country. But I digress. I really just wanted to let you know that it’s truly inspiring what you’ve created. What you so boldly demand of your viewers too with your work, specifically for this cause.”

The more you take in, the more you try to place who he might be related to, but you come up short. “Do you enjoy it? The nonprofit work?”

“Most days. But I think everyone has a day or two where things don’t seem to ever go quite right.”

“Yes, they do happen a time or two.”

“I--well, do forgive me for this. I know you said you don’t do art full time, but I’d hate to see talent like yours underutilized. I’d like to connect you with some people I know. They want to commission a mural for their shared office space and prefer to work with local artists.”

“That-that would be amazing. And I’m so sorry that I don’t have a card to give you. I am woefully under prepared for this kind of response. But thank you. For bidding, for speaking with me.”

Walter nods. “No worries. Here,” he reaches into the front suit pocket and unearths another white business card. “Keep this. When you get everything up, just give me a call. I can then pass along all the information. Thank you again. It’s really an incredible piece and I’m honored to be able to take it home. I was sure someone else would outbid me.”

You take the card. There’s no way for you or Calum to forget to check for all the cards before the suits are returned. Your pockets are full of them now. So are Calum’s. You look down at the full name: Walter George Thompson, Jr. “I didn’t think the bids would go as high as they did.”

“Well, here’s to the both of us being quite fortunate tonight.” You nod at the sentiment, unsure of where you should take the conversation next. But your saving grace is as the two of you are called up to the stage. You pose at the sides of the canvas, the corresponding charities spread behind you. And it all happens in a flash, the count down before the shutter comes. 

The photographer takes a moment to look at the photo in the preview. He throws a thumbs up. “Thanks, y’all. Turned out great.”

You and Walter both move down stage and back down the stairs. Calum’s at the bottom but before Walter leaves, he pauses. “Please consider that offer. I hope to see your work again next year.”

“I certainly will.” He leaves with a final nod. 

As you turn back to Calum, you notice his lips twitch into a smile. The kind of smile that tells you it’s just just amusement. “Do you remember our lovely friend George from earlier this afternoon?”

“The one whom even the earth detests. Yes.” Of course you remember that old man. You wish he had bid. Though there is some revenge in his earlier comments knowing now how much the painting sold for. 

“And do you recall how he very clearly didn’t answer about bidding on your work or anything tonight?” 

“Vividly.”

“Take a guess how Walter and George are related.”

The wheels turn. Walter’s long gone but you turn back to where he exited, as if somehow he’d still be there. You pull back out the business card with his name on it. Understanding descends and brings with it disbelief. “Walter is George’s son? That rude man’s son won my painting?”

Calum laughs, but nods anyway. “George is going to have a sour reminder in his son’s house of his lack of empathy.”

“There’s no way Walter knew about what happened between George and I though.”

Calum shrugs. “Walter knows his father just like everyone else knows George.”

A perfect irony. Even if Walter never knows, George will. George will have to carry the weight around with him.  You slip Walter’s card into your pocket, amongst the thickening stack already nestled there. “My first call I guess should be Lilith to see if she can help me put together a website,” you muse. 

Calum nods, his grin is soft. “Tomorrow though. She can be your first call tomorrow.” He takes your hand and tugs you into his chest. The two of you stand toe to toe, chest to chest. There’s still others posing for their pictures. But in the soft whispers of the nearly empty room, you don’t think you care enough to stop. The kiss is hardly a second long. But clearly not enough. Calum’s hand settles on your hips.  “No, no,” he laughs as you pull away. “That’s too little of a tease.”

The second kiss is longer, an exhale to how long you’ve been holding your breath. Your fingers tease at the button of Calum’s suit jacket. It’d be so easy to pop up, slip your hands inside. But that’s a bit too far. For now at least. You’re gentle as you pull away from the kiss. Though even in your own throat you can feel the whine of displeasure building. 

Calum presses one final kiss to the middle of your forehead. “Tonight you should celebrate. Your first original art piece selling for 135 thousand dollars. You’ve eclipsed my twenty thousand almost a full seven times over.”

“That number doesn’t feel real.”

“It is. It’s on record. It’s a number so big that I know for a fact Walter’s going to have to do several wire transfers with his bank.”

“It's unfathomable.”

“Fathom it, baby.”

You can’t. How can a number that big be real? You drop your head to Calum’s shoulder. Maybe it could be real. Maybe it’s a number so inconsequential to Walter that he’s not worried about how it has to get paid. Maybe it’s a little bit worth it for the sweet taste of small revenges. There’s nothing to say Walter heard that conversation, and there’s nothing to say that he didn’t. But you carry with you a little piece of you vindicated nonetheless. 

You’re not sure you can fathom anything in the sterile lighting. You still feel much too much clay in the suit, firmly molded by someone else’s hand and not your own. If you’re going to celebrate such an accomplishment, you’d like to feel like yourself. And you don’t feel like yourself here. “Can we get out of here?”

“Absolutely we can. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“Home, I think I just want to go home.” 

“And home as in your place?”

You shake your head at the question. “Yours.”

“Yeah,” Calum breathes. “Okay. We can go home.”

It’s easy to leave. Calum manages to flag down his parents and let them know about your early departure. David’s grin is wide as he embraces. “A stellar night!” he cheers. “I hope you’re proud of yourself like we’re proud of you!”

“Thanks, David.”

It’s strange to think that you should be proud, when you’re not sure if anything’s truly happened. But it had to have happened. Why else would your photo be taken? Why else would you have a stack of business cards in your pocket and in Calum’s pocket too? 

Joy’s embrace is still as strong as she presses a kiss to your temple. “Enjoy the rest of your night, okay? You deserve it.”

On the way out, you pass by the sculpture of the woman bowed as she picks up the basket to settle onto her hip. Her veil still ripples behind her. You wonder why in that moment, under what seems like such a mundane chore, she feels so compelled to be so bold. Yet you can’t ask her. She is a woman captured in motion but frozen by the marble she’s carved out of it. Held so perfectly still you’re glad stone can’t ache. It’s a craftsman ship you admire but not out of envy. You know you don’t want to work with stone. You know you don’t want the life of the chisel. But you get it. You understand why she stands where she does. You want your art in a museum. You want your art on more walls too than the shed and now Walter’s house.  It’s a thought that feels strange. It feels heavy but is light enough for you to carry it. Art’s always been a release, the place to escape when you can’t seem to escape the hardships of life. You thought it was something just for you. And it is--but maybe you can share that with others too. Maybe it’s okay if things are doing multiple things at once. 

“I’ll get a ride back. Give me two seconds.” There’s only one car that was meant to collect all four of you at the end of the night and you’d rather not leave his parents stranded. 

“I’ve got plenty of time,” you hum in return. Here, outside, things feel a bit more normal. Time feels right again, the seconds are seconds, sixty of them to make a minute. Sixty of those to make an hour. It’s as it always should be outside. 

The night is cold, but the chill feels great against your otherwise clammy skin. The breeze is an exhale. Even if the suit is well fitted, it feels like it breathes better outside. You can breathe better now. You momentarily regret not having an additional layer. But you shouldn’t be out long. You step in behind Calum, winding your arms around his waist. Part of it is out of warmth. He tends to always run a little bit warmer than you do. But you’re also acutely aware of the ache deep in your belly. The studded collar to the jacket gives Calum an edge, sets him out from the other boring black tuxedos of the night. He looks handsome, devilishly so. Your fingers dance over the buttons again, holding the jacket together. You know it’s a dangerous game. You know that every paparazzi is aware of the event tonight but you don’t care. 

You slip the top button undone, anticipating Calum’s going to say something. Yet, he says nothing. So you move on and slip the second one undone while planting a kiss at the nape of his neck. It is a dangerous game. The way you’re teasing at the other buttons of his shirt. It’s entirely too public. But there’s a little thrill to it all. If people are going to talk, why not give them something to talk about? Calum threads his fingers through yours, stilling your steady up and down over his buttons. The headlights cut through the evening well before the car makes the final turn onto the street. But it slows as it approaches and you assume it’s the car meant for you and Calum. Perhaps, folks were waiting nearby for people to pick up.

Calum brings your hand to his lips before starting forward to the car. “Think you can keep your hands to yourself during this ride?” he teases. 

“I could if I wanted to.” 

“Do you want to?”  

The question tastes sweet. It coats your tongue in a way that you never want to swallow it back down. “Do you want to?” you ask. It leaves you in a pant, but you savor the taste as try to regain some of your breath.  

Calum’s hair is in your hands. His tongue traces at the thumping vein of your neck. The front door is closed behind you, pressed against your back. Your right hip is in the palm of his hand. The grip firm as he pulls you in. Your leg hitching up, wrapping around his hip. This feels right. This feels so good. Calum ruts up against your clothed crotch and you know the answer to the question. Much like he knew the answer when he posed the question to you earlier. You know he wants to. You know you want to as well. 

Outside of that museum, you could feel yourself unthawing. Even with the fear, you had to admit to yourself that Calum looked good in the all black attire. You wanted a taste long before you got into the SUV, but all that flew out the second the car started towards the museum. You couldn’t think about anything else as you spiraled around your fear. Some of the anxiety stll lingers, but much less than before. The thought teases the back of your mind that you’re going to somehow wake up and not have actually lived any of it. It’ll just be a dream. 

But the thought is drowned out by Calum’s touch against your body. There’s no way his touch isn’t real, not when it feels like it can feel a burn. A stark contrast to the back seat of the ride here. You two sat comfortably in the back of the SUV. The drive was mostly quiet. Occasionally the driver posed a question and you and Calum. You’d answer and the volley would fall. But all underneath that was a current, a strong enough tide that was going to pull you both under the moment you got alone. You held hands, but it was tame. So much tamer than the second the two of you got inside. 

And now that you are alone, you are more than happy to succumb. But you can’t help the question, not at the way Calum barely got the door closed. He laughs against your throat, nose running the length of your neck up to your jaw. “Well, yes, I do want to. Thank you for asking. Do you?”

You drop your hold from his hair to cup his jaw to bring his face up for you to see. His gaze is lazy to meet yours but once it does, your stomach melts. His eyes drip, a gooey dark brown that you can feel. “I do,” you return. It’s breathy, but you laugh all the same. 

“Then I truly think you ought to tease me less.”

“Oh, I tease too little. I tease too much. Which one is it, love?”

The retort is primed, you can see it curling on his lips but you kiss it away. You don’t really care which one it is. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that your body is seared by his touch. What matters is that you get to taste every inch of him, that you get to consume him totally and utterly. And God, you know you will have everything when the retort from Calum melts into a whine from his throat that you swallow down.

“I think you might be the death of me if you keep making sounds like that,” you laugh. His whines have turned your insides into liquid. All you want is to hear them again and again. 

Calum hums against your throat, the vibration falling down your spine to your toes. “I’m not CPR certified, so please refrain for the time being.”

“I’ll be sure to pencil my metaphorical death into your schedule.”

 You’re not even sure how you manage to get from the front door. For a moment as shirt tails are pulled out from pants, you worry you don’t need to move from the front door. In a place this big, it almost feels like it’ll be impossible to get caught. But that’s only a thought. The reality is that you two do take yourself from the front door all the way to the back elevators. 

The reality is that you don’t wait for the doors to close this time. The inches feel like miles and you’ll do whatever you need to close them. It’s only steps, and you’re grateful for that. You’re grateful it’s only steps. You’re grateful it’s only buttons. You’re grateful it’s only hallways. You’re grateful when the edge of Calum’s bed hits the back of your knees. 

Calum laughs as you lose your balance. The backward shuffle is a little unforgiving if taken too far. But the bed catches you. From above Calum sheds the undershirt, leaving his bare chest on display in front of you. A sight you know you’ve seen a hundred times over, but never get over seeing. Perhaps, he should be carved next, molded into stone so that you don’t forget the sight. 

He holds himself above you, palms pressing into the mattress on either side of your head. A smattering of black ink across the cosmos of his body and you’re sucked into his orbit. “I think you worried incorrectly about those stars you painted over,” you whisper, finger tips tracing over his golden skin. Things just make sense when you’re with Calum, even if it’s not easy, at least he’s there. At least he’s always rooting in your corner. “They’re dying anyway, what we see of them. And I’ve never felt more alive.”

“Never?”

“Never,” you return. You’re not good at letting people in before now. You’ve always been too afraid of it. But you’re glad you have Calum. You’re glad he’s in your life. 

“I know I can do better though. We’ve barely gotten started.” 

Calum doesn’t need to do better. That’s the thing. It’s not a scale of passing or failing. It’s not a test. It’s a dial. It’s the antenna that needs just a little extra help to get a strong signal. It’s about what’s unearthed, and excavated. It’s about the fact that you know you love this man. Who else could’ve gotten you to showcase your art to the world? Who else could’ve gotten you to open up about your family? Who else would’ve gotten your permission to pervade? You knew you didn’t want to let Calum go and you knew it’d be hard work. But it would’ve been so, so much easier to stay locked away. 

This man has you dreaming of things you wouldn’t have dared of. Maybe you could do art full time. Maybe the entire landscape of your life has just opened up to you. You’d be a fool to think love was about passing, doing everything right and perfect. But you don’t correct him. When he dips closer to you, you happily take the kiss. When his tongue traces the valley of your chest exposed with every undone button, when he takes hold of your flesh, you wonder if you should carve yourself in his hold too. 

As if somehow the statute of Calum is incomplete without his devotee. All you have on your tongue is his name, all you have is the gratitude as he works down the length of your body. And though you’re on display, though you’re the one under him, you know you’re addicted. You know no touch will be the same. No one after will make you feel like Calum does. Your body is a prayer and only Calum knows the verses. Only he knows just where to bite, where to kiss in just the right way to bring every neuron to life, every nerve ending ignited. 

The stretch of his fingers, the whisper of his lips at your jaw of I’m so proud of you are your undoing. And over and over you want the words etched into your skin, I’m so proud of you. You don’t know if Calum’s talking about how well you’re taking him, how well you match the pace of his hips with yours, or if it’s about the auction, or if it’s all of them, but you love the sound of the phrase leaving his lips. 

“Oh, fuck!” It comes out hard, a strain over your lips and tongue and through your teeth. Your legs are shaking, muscles quaking from the exertion. But the crash of your orgasm is faster this time than before. You’re not sure you even expected it. You knew it was coming, but you’d gotten too lost. Between the final stages of undressing and you settling atop Calum’s waist, you’d gotten lost in the sting of Calum’s grip on your hips. You’d gotten lost in the way he thanked you. You’d gotten lost in the way Calum drove his hips up to match the pass of your hips coming down, a perfect coordination of ecstasy. Well practiced but always so divine as the two of you meet, body to body, soul to soul. 

And even when the release comes in blinding, you don’t worry to fight against it. Calum pulls you in, hands cupping both cheeks as he seals your mouth in a kiss. It’s slow--lips meeting and parting but so unhurried the seconds feel like they might be hours. You think you’d like to spend hours in his embrace, getting lost again and again in the soft brush of his lips, the entanglement of his tongue.  You’d be okay with a sleepless night, if the morning sun greeted the two of you as long as it meant that it was Calum you’d been buried in and up against. 

“Come back to me, my love.”

You hear the command, but you’re hazy. You’ve already kept track of the orgasms, but you think they’re definitely catching up. Your bones feel heavy but you blink back up and Calum’s hovering above--the inverse of where you’d been previously. His thumb strokes over your cheek and you cusp his fingers into your grasps. “I’m still here.”

“Barely here. But here.”

“It counts for something,” you huff. 

“You’re supposed to be more alive than ever, but alas.” The end of the sentence lilts up into a tuft of laughter. You take your free hand and swat at his chest. The tap barely connects. 

“I look so alive.” Your eyes are closed. The desire to sink into sleep next to Calum, under his sheets, warm in a way that’s beyond body temperature, is strong. 

“Something like that,” he returns. 

You feel him as he pushes in closer, a kiss to the end of your nose. “I love you, you know.” Your lips brush over Calum’s as you speak, not in a kiss, but due solely to the proximity. You two are sharings breaths, his exhale is your inhale. There will be a small part of him that is pressed into your lungs, a piece of him that you’ll carry around. 

“I love you.”

Calum’s smile is evident when with your eyes still closed. God, you should say that phrase more. The two of you had an exchange of actions that spoke more than the words themselves, but when you feel his lips turn up into a grin against yours, you can’t lie that it makes your chest warm. You did that. You make him feel that way. 

The blink of your eyes open is slow but Calum’s still smiling in front of you. “You’re pretty when you smile.” Calum’s smile turns shy and you already know he’s blushing even if you can’t see it fully. “And when you blush too.”

“Shut up. But don’t. Tell me more.”

“I’ll tell you as many times as you need.”

There’s a moment of silence, shared breathes passing back and forth. You can see it on his face though as the smile settles into pensiveness. He chews at the inside of his bottom lip. “Ask me,” you command. You know there’s a question. There’s no need to deny it. 

“When you called the palace home, what-what did you mean by it?” There is so much hope in the question, wrapped in a thin lace of fear. You know the sound all too well. 

“It feels like home. Like it’s safe. But more importantly, you make it feel safe and feel like home. Joy and David make this place feel like home. That’s what I meant by it.”

“That might be the third best thing you’ve said to me yet.”

“What’s the first and second?”

“First is every time you’ve said you loved me and second is still when you said you wanted to steal my mum. I’ve never had someone phrase their adoration for my mother like that.”

You snort. “It was a moment of weakness. And I’m actually offended second isn’t when i said I wanted you to fuck me, in lamest terms of course.”

Calum presses more weight into you. You sink a bit more into the mattresses, cradling his head as he buries his face into your shoulder as he laughs. “God, as much as that sentence was and still is quite hot, no, it doesn’t make the list. I’m much more romantic than that.”

“A near fatal flaw, but I excuse it.”

“Alright, Shakespeare.”

___________________________________________

Your phone vibrates against the table. You hardly think it could be Lilith. You’d emailed her, thanking her again for her kind words last night and to see if she could help you in the direction of getting a website set up. It’d taken you a while to find her card as you and Calum both work through the stacks unearthed from suit and pant pockets after rousing in the morning. Calum found her card in his stack after a solid five minutes of shuffling. You set it apart and then rubber banded the remaining cards together as to not lose them. You’re sure you’ll be headed to an office store soon to find some way to store all the cards you got properly, but for now the rubber band would have to work. But it wouldn’t make sense for Lilith to respond to your email a measly twenty minutes later. She seemed like a much more important person than that. Certainly, she would respond, but you expected at least a week before she got back. 

Calum slides you over a mug, instead the liquid is a lighter brown than his cup. “Two eggs or three?”

“Two,” you answer, flipping your phone over. Calum insisted on cooking breakfast for the two of you and though you’re not a big breakfast person, you obliged. There wasn’t much you could fight as he batted his big brown eyes at you. 

Melvin. New Text Message, reads the notification on your screen. Your first thought is that it’s about Charlie and Teagan. He’d agreed that he’d reach out to you if he needed a little extra help with Diana away. But you weren’t sure he’d take the offer. 

As you unlock the device and pull up the thread all suspicions about him reaching out about your siblings disappears. Saw this article about the banquet. Congrats on your painting raising 135k. Quite proud of you, kid. It looks phenomenal. The shakes in your hand nearly cause you to lose your grip on the phone. How’d he even see this? Was he looking for information about you? Had it just happened across his newsfeed? 

Quite proud of you, kid. 

Words you always wondered how’d they feel. Even if it’s not words you’re hearing, seeing them alone makes your chest constrict. Your lungs burn. You don’t want to cry. It could be nothing, but it’s Melvin. That is your dad and it doesn’t feel like nothing. It doesn’t feel like you have to keep him so far away from your life. 

Quite proud of you, kid. You are his kid, even if you’re closer to thirty than your teens. All you’ve wanted was for him to care. All those years fighting, hiding away, could’ve been used for something more restorative. Yet all the pain and anger wouldn’t have made you receptive towards it. Maybe you can now. Maybe there’s something there. But what happens if you jump the gun? What happens if you get your hopes up and they fall flat again? The tears are hot on your cheeks. 

Thanks. Your first move for the ‘m’ first and then you pause. Using his name doesn’t feel right. But you can’t bring yourself to use dad. This here is the gap. Do you leap it? I appreciate that. A lot. Probably more than you know. 

“Baby, chocolate chips or blueberries in the pancakes?”

“Whatever you want is fine,” you answer to Calum’s question, phone clutched in your hands. You catch the croak in your voice, but you don’t dare look up should Melvin respond quickly. 

“I was thinking blue-Oh god. What happened? Why the tears?” 

You can’t look up. You can’t. Not when your phone shakes again.  Think you could come over for dinner next week? I’ve heard around that my cooking’s not that bad. I’d love to hear more about the event. Charlie and Teagan are asking about you too. 

“Is it bad?” Calum asks. 

You shake your head. “No, just- one second.” Your fingers are swift over the keys. I can bring a dish too. Would Friday work?

Friday’s perfect. Please extend an invitation to Calum too. 

Your hands are trembling. You feel like you’ve run a marathon but managed to scroll back up the thread and hold the phone out to Calum. Words are going to fail you. Your throat is tight, even you can feel it. Furling your fingers into fists to get the tremors out. Calum reads over, lips whispering as he reads with half breathes. His brows raise before his eyes meet yours. 

“This-this is good. And you’re willing to meet for dinner?”

“I mean it’s Melvin, so yes. But-” there the words go. They’re all leaving you. He cares. He fucking cares. “It’s like-” The tears are choking you, closing up your throat each time you try to speak. “He cares.”

The embrace is warm. You settle your head into his sternum and try to inhale. “Baby, he’s made his mistakes, big ones. But he’s always cared. I’m glad you’re at a point to embrace that.”

You’re not sure if you embrace the right word. But something about him reaching out about the banquet, after how nervous you’d been, unlocks the dam. The thing you’d been swallowing back comes barreling forward. You can’t hold it back. “I hope the stove’s not on,” you manage to hiccup out. “I don’t think I want to be the reason for burnt pancakes.”

Calum’s laughter rumbles through his chest. “I turned it off. Take all the time you need.”