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allsassnoclass · 3 years

Text

i blame it on the weather (can you make it better)

Pairing: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Key Tag(s): College AU, Cold, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word Count: 6,177

Read on AO3

A/N: this was tailor-made for @michaelownsmyheart. I hope you like it darling <3 also big shout out to @clumsyclifford for looking this over and giving me Good Advice

—

Michael doesn’t remember the dorm being this cold when he left in December. He doesn’t know how the space between him and Calum got that cold, either.

—

The drive back to campus feels shorter than normal, songs on the radio flying by with other cars on the highway the further Michael gets from his family and the closer he gets to the loneliness of an empty dorm. Normally he wouldn’t mind having the place to himself, especially because that means he can blast music as loud as he wants and no one else is going to take the shower with the good water pressure, but there’s something foreboding about it now.

His phone is still empty of messages from the one person he’s been waiting to hear from. Two weeks alone in the dorms wouldn’t be so bad if he had Calum on the other end of the line to keep him company.

He pulls into his parking spot right as snow begins to fall, a little earlier than predicted. He sends a quick text to his parents to let them know he made it safe, then grabs his bags and makes the trek to his dorm. It’s an older building elegantly nestled between the newer residence halls with better air conditioning or elevators that don’t break down every month, but there’s more character to it. The other dorms are boxy and made of dark brick, but this one is lighter with turrets at the top and heavy wooden doors. It looks more like a fantasy castle than a dorm building, and Michael’s mum had fallen in love with it immediately on their campus tour a few years ago. Now that Michael is living here it’s lost some of its luster, but it’s also the only building to have single rooms, and while having Luke as a roommate turned out alright in the end last year, he likes being able to have the room to himself all of the time.

Michael fumbles for his key card to swipe himself in, biting off one of his gloves so he can get it out of his wallet. Thick flakes land on his coat and hands, the kind that would probably be good for making snowmen if he still did stuff like that but that will be hell to drive in later. Hopefully the roads will be clear enough by tomorrow, and he probably has some ramen that he never made from last semester that he can heat up for dinner tonight.

Inside doesn’t feel much warmer than outside, but there’s no snow or wind. Michael stomps his feet in an attempt to get all of the snow off his boots, but freezes as soon as he glances up.

Nestled amongst the armchairs, big windows, fireplace, piano, and little side tables that make up the front lounge, Calum Hood stares back at him like a deer in headlights. He’s got a notebook and pencil in his hand and a textbook open in front of him, blanket wrapped around his shoulders in a way that Michael wishes he were. He looks exactly the same as he did when Michael last saw him a few weeks ago, except he’s fully clothed this time. He looks good. He looks cozy.

He looks like Michael is the last person he wants to see.

Michael clears his throat.

“I didn’t know you were back on campus,” he says.

“I’m taking a j-term and thought it’d be easier to focus here,” Calum replies, lifting the notebook halfheartedly. “It’s a prereq for my chem class this semester. It turns out that switching majors put me a bit behind this time.”

Michael nods. Calum started as a music education major, then switched to an elementary education major before realizing he didn’t want to deal with little kids. Now he’s studying to be a high school science teacher, which means he has a few freshman science classes he needs to squeeze into his schedule. He hadn’t said anything about a j-term to Michael when he registered, but they also haven’t exactly been communicating much since before finals.

“I didn’t expect anyone back yet,” Calum says eventually.

“I got permission to come back early so I can take a few more shifts. Gotta pay for college somehow, you know…”

Michael trails off, unbalanced and uncomfortable. It feels wrong to be reacting like this around Calum, just like it felt wrong to not hear from him during finals or break, but after a few more moments of uncomfortable silence and chewing his lip he hefts his bag higher on his shoulder and makes an excuse about wanting to get his room back to rights. He feels Calum’s eyes on him as he leaves, the weight of his gaze lingering even after Michael has entered the stairwell, dug out his key, and entered his room. When he takes off his jacket he immediately reaches for a blanket, wrapping himself up and trying to suppress the shivers threatening to erupt throughout his body.

He doesn’t remember the dorm being this cold when he left in December. He doesn’t know how the space between him and Calum got that cold, either.

-/-

Once he has a bowl of instant ramen in front of him and his stuff more or less put away, Michael calls Luke.

“Good morning,” Luke answers, a leftover joke gone stale from when they were roommates with opposite sleep schedules. It almost makes him wish for a simpler time when Luke was forcing him to go places like Welcome Week events and they were literally running into people like Calum and Luke was forcing them all to be friends even though Michael’s smoothie got spilled and Calum dropped his nachos. Michael would take being newly flustered over a hot guy who got a strawberry drink all over his favorite sweatshirt rather than having Calum not fucking talk to him.

“Did you know that Calum’s doing a j-term?”

Luke sighs on the other end of the line.

“I’m doing fine, Michael, thank you for asking. How are you?”

“I’m bad. Calum is here and no one warned me.”

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t tell him that you would be back early, either.”

“That much was obvious.” Michael stirs his noodles, suddenly feeling like he doesn’t have the right appetite for this. “He looked like me showing up was the worst thing in the world.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m not,” he says. “You should’ve seen him. He hates me now, and I still don’t know what I did wrong.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Luke says. “He misses you, too.”

“If he misses me so much, he should respond to my texts.”

Luke hums on the other end of the line.

“You’re both in the same place now. Maybe you can corner him in person.”

“I wouldn’t have to do that if someone would just tell me what happened.”

“What happened is that you two slept together and then Calum ghosted you,” Luke sighs. “If you want his reasoning, you have to ask him. I will not be a messenger pigeon for you two.”

“I feel like that metaphor works best only if he’s been asking about me, too,” Michael says. Luke doesn’t respond right away, a drawn out pause that makes Michael look up from his noodles. He wishes they were video chatting so he could see what sort of expression Luke is wearing. “Luke, has he asked about me?”

“I’m not doing this with you right now,” Luke says.

“You fucker, he has talked about me! Do you know why he ghosted me?”

“Stop using me as a go-between! If you want to know why Calum hasn’t replied to your messages, ask him yourself. You both need to get your heads out of your asses and communicate. I can’t believe I’m the one who has to say that.”

Silence descends and Michael pulls his phone away from his ear to see that Luke hung up on him. Michael huffs. A second later his phone lights up with an incoming call, a very unattractive picture of Luke staring at him from his screen. He considers letting it ring out and go to voicemail, but in the end he decides to take the high ground and answer.

“What,” he says flatly.

“Sorry I hung up on you,” Luke says. “I don’t like being caught between you both.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I don’t like it, either.”

“Will you try to talk to him? He’ll let you if it’s in person.”

“I guess.”

Luke hums. They stay on the phone a little longer, small talk filling the silence so Michael doesn’t have to be alone while he eats, but he knows he’s being a bad conversation partner, too distracted by what Calum may or may not have been saying about him to Luke. When they finally hang up Michael flops back on his bed and groans, wondering if he should just move to Antarctica and change his name rather than put himself through this.

-/-

He manages to go the rest of the night without any indication that Calum is there. They miss each other in the bathroom, but every sound in the hallway has the hair on his arms standing on end, wondering if it could be Calum or just the settling of the near-empty building. He sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning on the sub-par dorm mattress, cuddling deeper into his blanket in an attempt to find some much-needed warmth.

The last night he spent with Calum, and the first night they’d spent together in that way, Michael fell asleep warm. It was almost too hot, sticky under the covers and burning wherever their skin touched, but he loved it. He’d take the heat over the cold any day, and he hasn’t felt warm since he woke up alone, bed feeling too big without the other boy in it to act as his personal space heater.

That morning the sheets had still smelled like him, but they were cold. He’d left long before Michael woke up. Michael’s first morning back feels like a mirror of that day. Right before he fully wakes up he catches himself reaching for Calum and coming up empty. When he realizes what he had been doing, he forces himself to get up rather than stay in bed and wallow only because he can’t afford to be late to work on his first day back and he doesn’t trust the roads to be cleared yet. The college is situated on the outskirts of town, an odd placement that puts a woodsy area to one side and only a few smaller shops next to it. Michael hadn’t managed to land a job in one of those places, but the family-owned restaurant he works at pays enough to be worth the gas it takes to get there. He throws on a hoodie and slippers and shuffles to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Calum is already at one of the sinks when he enters. Michael doesn’t let his eyes stray from his face, refusing to take in the tan shoulders and torso or the drops of water glistening against him, leading down to the towel wrapped around his hips. He has a toothbrush in his mouth, foam gathering at the corners of his lips, lips that Michael has--

No. He can’t think about this now.

“Morning,” he says, clearing his throat to get it to work properly.

“Morning,” Calum replies around his toothbrush, consonants muffled. He spits into the sink and Michael makes himself focus on his own morning routine, meticulously putting toothpaste on his own brush and hoping it’s not obvious that even glancing at Calum is dangerous for him right now.

Neither of them try to say anything more, and Michael wonders if the silence is hanging as heavily in the air for Calum as it is for him. Before break, silences between them were the only types of silences Michael could stand. He’s fidgety by nature and gets uncomfortable without background noise, but Calum always managed to temper that a bit. Being around him settles something inside, something that right now makes Michael want to scream.

He’s about to try to break the silence when Calum picks up his bathroom caddy and leaves without so much as a glance his way. Michael tries not to let it bother him, but he misses the weight of his gaze. Calum used to look at him fondly, filled with enough affection that Michael could feel it in his heart. He doesn’t understand why that would have to change now.

By the time Michael goes to start his car for work, Calum has set himself up in the lounge again, laptop open in front of him. He’s turned on the fireplace, something that Michael thinks they're not technically supposed to do but that he’s certainly not going to call him on, and he doesn’t look up when Michael comes down the stairs. Michael lingers by the doorway longer than he should.

They’ve spent a lot of time in this room, whether doing homework on the couch, trying to play duets on the piano in the corner, or hogging the chess set by the window, figuring out how to play and passing the time.

The chess board is set up for a fresh game. In a naive fit of hope Michael walks over to it and moves one of the pawns forward. Calum doesn’t glance up from his computer, but he’s still in a way that means he knows what Michael is doing.

On his way out he thinks he hears someone say drive safe, but the howling of the wind is already filling his ears and he can’t be sure.

-/-

Michael gets sent home early because of the snow. He fights it all the way there, pulling in late because he had to move so slow, and halfway through his shift the manager calls it, deciding to close up for the day. Right after he clocks out Michael gets a notification on his phone for a severe blizzard alert, and he steels himself to face it before leaving behind the warmth of the restaurant. Outside the world is covered in a thick sheet of white, plows not able to keep up with the large flakes still falling from the sky, and Michael wills his car to survive the drive, windshield wipers going furiously in an attempt to keep him seeing as much as he can. The drive takes three times longer than usual, and when he finally spots his dorm through the snow it comes with a sigh of relief.

Calum is still in the lounge when he comes inside and stomps his feet to get some feeling back into them. With the snow came a biting wind, and even after barely being outside he feels frozen.

“I was getting worried,” Calum says, startling him. “It looks like it’s bad out there.”

“It is,” Michael says, taking off his hat and shaking snow off of it. He squints at Calum, in a different position and bundled in a blanket now, the big blue one that Mali got him as a grad present. Michael once again has to push away the urge to cuddle up to him.

“It’s fucking cold,” he says instead, because it’s true and if he doesn’t make small talk he’s going to blurt something embarrassing like I’ve been thinking about you all the time or why did you leave me or I love you I love you I love you I’m sorry please can we be friends again?

“Going to be a cold night for us, then,” Calum says. “The heating’s been shit this break. I don’t think they keep it up as high when there’s only one student here.”

“I’ve had a few cold nights,” Michael snorts before he thinks about it. “I mean--I’ll use some extra blankets.”

Calum nods once. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then snaps it shut again, looking down at his computer. It feels like a dismissal, like Michael isn’t worth his time anymore, and it stings.

He should go upstairs, anyway. He needs to find some blankets of his own. He glances over the piano and the fireplace, eyes landing on the chess game by the window.

Someone has moved a pawn on the other side. He glances at Calum, then moves a knight, continuing the game. He wants to ask Calum to sit down and play a proper round with him, but one glance at Calum’s posture has him biting his tongue. He’s closed off, blanket wrapped around him securely and face tense, and Michael can’t bring himself to bother him, not when interacting with Michael seems to be the last thing he wants to do.

Michael looks back at the chess set, three pieces out of place, and heads to his room.

-/-

The night comes simultaneously fast and slow in the way that all boring winter nights do. Michael sits in his room scrolling through social media while the sun sets around him, and when he does eventually get up it’s only so he can make more ramen to eat. He had lunch at the restaurant and never did get to the grocery store, but he has a few snacks to munch on and if things get really bad he can always see if Calum has anything he’s willing to share.

Calum initiated conversation earlier, so things can’t be too bad between them, right? It’s still terribly stiff and uncomfortable, but at least he’s not getting the silent treatment anymore. At least Calum looked at him for a little bit.

He plays video games until he’s too bored to continue, then showers and crawls into bed. It’s still cold, just like Calum said it would be, but they haven’t lost power yet. Michael piles on the blankets and pillows, but his sheets are frigid, not yet warmed by his body heat and making him shiver. After a few minutes of tossing and turning he considers boiling water just to have a warm mug to hold in his hands.

Maybe it’ll be better in the lounge with the fireplace on. No one’s here to get mad at him for falling asleep on the couch, but then he’d have to haul all of his blankets down there, something that he doesn’t think he has the energy for right now.

He wishes Calum were here. It feels like all he’s done since getting back to campus is think about Calum, his presence in the building affecting him more than it would have if he was fully alone, but in a pragmatic sense he also really wants a warm body next to him right now. Two people under the covers are warmer than one, and he’s already put on socks and a hoodie. Wrapping himself in Calum would keep him warm on a physical level, and maybe it’ll settle him enough that he’ll actually be able to sleep without having weird dreams or waking up every few hours.

He hasn’t even gotten close enough to touch him since getting here. Before break, he and Calum were always handsy with each other, personal space a myth with the two of them. It feels wrong to have seen him and not immediately gone in for a hug.

He flops onto his stomach, trying to get comfortable without disturbing the blankets too much, but sleep isn’t coming easy. When a knock comes on his door, he’s immediately awake and alert. He wonders if it was a piece of a dream instead, given that there’s only one other person in the building and late night visits did not seem to be an option on the table, but after a few moments someone knocks again.

The light of the hallway is bright after the dark of his room, making him squint at the silhouette of Calum standing before him, wrapped in a blanket like he always seems to be right now. His hair is messy, no doubt from his own fitful attempt to sleep, and Michael wants to run his fingers through it and put it back to rights.

“Hi,” Michael says.

“I called maintenance about the heat,” Calum says. “They said they’re having a bit of issue with it and will send someone out, but with the road conditions it could be a little while. I think they forgot that there were people here.”

“Oh,” Michael says. “Okay.”

He stares at Calum again, cataloguing how tightly he’s wrapped up and the way he’s chewing on his lips. Michael waits for him to say what he really came here to.

“It’s really fucking cold, Michael,” Calum blurts finally, a little desperate.

“I know,” Michael says, not sure how to tell Calum that he’d set the world on fire for him if it would help.

“It’d be warmer if we were together. Like, scientifically speaking. If we cuddled, it would warm us up a bit.”

“Well, you are the scientist in this duo. You would know.” Calum finally meets his eyes, looking up through his eyelashes a little in a way that’s completely unfair. He’s already got Michael wrapped around his finger, heart skipping a beat at the simple occasion of having his attention again.

He has it so bad that it’s pathetic.

“Is that all?” Michael asks, trying to scrape together some of his dignity. Calum has been ghosting him for weeks, and a conversation about the bad heating isn’t exactly what Michael wanted from a real conversation with him. He’s too tired for small talk and much too cold to be standing here when he could be under the covers.

“You’re shivering,” Calum says. Michael hadn’t noticed the small tremors, but now that Calum pointed them out he can’t ignore them.

“Come on, Mikey,” Calum says, stepping closer. Michael wants to lean into him and the warmth he promises. “I promise it’ll be warmer if we cuddle.”

“Do you want to come in?” he asks. Calum nods, so he steps aside.

Having Calum in his room again when the last time included one of the best and most overwhelming experiences of Michael’s life is weird, to say the least. It’s like Michael can see two versions of him: the current Calum, wrapped in a blanket and closed off in every conceivable way, and the Calum from that night, laughing at all of Michael’s jokes and spouting off facts about gravity to explain how they kept getting closer and closer.

“See, everything with mass exerts gravity on everything else, except typically it’s not enough to be noticeable compared to the gravity of the Earth. Your gravitational field must be really strong today.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No, Michael, you idiot. Stop misinterpreting what I’m saying!”

Calum surveys the room, the safety light reflecting off the snow outside just enough to give him silhouettes to work with. Michael wonders what he’s remembering.

“How do you want to do this?” Michael asks when the silence has stretched on for too long. Calum shrugs, so Michael climbs up onto his bed, sliding under the covers and leaving a corner flipped up in invitation. Calum hesitates, and for a moment Michael thinks he’s going to turn tail and run, but he throws his blanket on top of the covers and joins. The bed is too small to avoid some awkward elbows and involuntary brushes of clothing, barely big enough for one person, let alone two. Michael holds his breath while Calum gets somewhat settled, pressed against the wall to give him as much room as possible.

“It’ll be warmer if we’re touching,” Calum whispers, words hitting Michael like a shout with the close proximity and otherwise silence of the room. If the lights were on, Michael would probably be able to count his eyelashes, but now his face is a combination of different shadows.

“How do you…” Michael trails off. Calum reaches out first, a cold hand wrapping around his own and pulling him closer. They end up with Calum on his back and Michael’s head on his shoulder, legs tangled together. Michael’s sure that Calum can hear how loud his heart is beating, but he can feel Calum’s own beating in a similar pattern so he can’t be too upset about it. He can hear every inhale and rustle of clothing, can feel the soft cotton of Calum’s shirt against his cheek and smell the faint remains of his soap.

He’s warm. It’s not the burning heat from their last night together, but it’s almost worse with the gradual way that Michael can feel himself unthaw in his presence, slow enough that he could forget it’s happening only to wake up as an irreparable puddle.

“Okay?” Michael asks, sending flashbacks to the last few times he had asked that question and Calum’s answers: always positive, whether a verbal yes or a nod or a fierce kiss and wandering hands.

“Yeah,” Calum says. Michael swallows.

Calum starts tracing a design on his back with his finger, barely-felt with Michael still bundled up. Michael wills himself to stay in the moment rather than slipping into the past or wishing for a different future.

It’s not bad like this. He gets Calum close at least, receiving that little piece of contact from him that he’s been craving. If this is the last time they’re like this, he wants to enjoy it if he can.

He shifts, Calum freezing under him for a moment until they both exhale and relax a little more.

Michael closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep.

“Michael?” Calum whispers after a few minutes. For a moment he considers not answering, sure that anything Calum might think to say in the dark of the night will be something he doesn’t want to hear, but all he’s been asking for the past few weeks is his attention, and it seems vindictive to reject it now.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

Michael should ask for clarification on what, exactly, Calum is apologizing about. He’s opened the door to this conversation, and Michael should take the opportunity to finally walk through and get their wires straightened out, but he can’t bring himself to do any of that, not like this. Not when Michael is breathing him in and stealing his warmth and there’s absolutely nothing between them to act as a buffer.

In the dark cuddled up together, Michael can keep pretending that Calum isn’t about to crush him. As long as he doesn’t ask for clarification, it’s like Schrodinger’s heartbreak: Michael can be both loved and lonely at the same time.

“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” he asks. “We need to talk about it, but I’m tired. And cold. Not tonight.”

“Okay,” Calum says. Michael waits to see if there’s anything else, but Calum just resumes tracing his secret design on Michael’s back.

Michael closes his eyes and hopes they don’t freeze to death in the night, twin skeletons found tangled together by some unsuspecting third party when the thaw comes. He’s not sure when he falls asleep and begins to dream, but in his mind Calum presses a kiss to his hair and Michael tries not to let such a simple action break him.

-/-

When he wakes up the bed is cold and empty again. It shouldn’t be surprising, certainly not after last time. There was less expectation to stay here, but everything is ugly in the cold light, shattering the fragile balance of the night before. Michael feels a pit in his stomach, but also a hot flare of anger.

Calum is the one who came begging for his company yesterday after completely ignoring him for weeks. Calum is the one who left without a trace after Michael showed him he loves him the best way he knows how. Calum is the one who keeps running away from this, but Michael is the one who keeps getting hurt and that’s not fair.

It’s a little warmer in the building now, the heaters likely getting sorted while they were sleeping, but Michael still grabs a blanket. No one answers Calum’s door and the bathroom seems to be empty. He heads downstairs to see if he has set himself up in the lounge again and knows he’s on the right track when he starts to hear piano music drifting softly towards him the more he descends the stairs.

Calum is one of the only people who ever uses the grand piano in the lounge. It’s slightly out of tune, just enough for Michael himself to notice but for Calum to complain about a lot. Michael has spent a lot of later nights in the lounge listening to him play, whether he was practicing back when he used to be a music major and take lessons or just playing for fun. Calum curses a lot when he practices, but Michael has also caught him with his eyes closed and a content smile on his face, letting the music take him away. Watching him like that, Michael sometimes wonders why Calum switched from music to science, but the rarity of the moments makes them all the more special.

He’s playing a piece that he’s been working on for a while. Michael tries not to disturb him, walking slowly towards the chess set where another piece has been moved in a continuation of the game. Calum must have pulled the curtains by the windows up, deep drifts of snow piled against them and sunlight reflecting off the white to set the entire room aglow. In this setting and with this soundtrack, the morning feels less frosty.

The last note hangs suspended in the air and Michael holds his breath until it dissipates. Calum sighs, breaking his posture to slump down, and turns to face Michael.

“You’ve gotten better at that one,” Michael says.

“Easier to practice when I don’t have to go to the music hall and no one’s here to use the piano.”

Michael studies him, taking in his rumpled appearance. He doesn’t look like he’s been up that long, still in the same pants he went to bed in and already folding the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands to keep them warm.

The sweatshirt he’s wearing is one of Michael’s. His heart flip-flops.

“Did you want to talk now?” Calum asks.

“Yeah,” Michael sighs. Calum nods once. He scoots over on the piano bench, making room, and Michael gingerly sits next to him. After a moment’s hesitation, he offers part of his blanket, nearly sighing in relief when Calum accepts it.

“I’m sorry for how I left, and for not replying to any of your messages,” Calum begins. “That was a jerk move.”

“It was,” Michael says. “You’re my best friend, Calum. If I had known that’s how you’d react, I wouldn’t have--” He stops, because he doesn’t want to say he regrets sleeping with Calum unless he has to. It would be a lie. He’d rather have Calum as a friend than nothing, but the will-we-won’t-we would’ve killed him eventually, and the night itself was amazing right up until Calum left.

“I don’t want to jeopardize that,” he says instead. “You mean a lot to me.”

Calum presses his lips together.

“Why did you leave?” Michael asks. “I thought we were on the same page. I mean… you wanted it, right? You said you did. I thought you did. I didn’t--”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Calum interrupts. “I did want it. I really wanted it. Too much, probably.”

“What does that mean?”

Calum sighs, looking down at his lap and fidgeting with his sleeves again. Michael wants to know why he’s so nervous. He wants to grab his hands and hold him steady the way that Calum does for him when he’s freaking out, but that wouldn’t be welcome right now.

“Michael, I can’t do something casual with you. You’ve said before that you’re not looking for anything serious, but I can’t be friends with benefits, not with you. Not when I’m in love with you. It’d tear me apart.”

“What made you think I wanted something casual?” Michael asks. “Apparently you couldn’t tell, but that night was kind of a big deal for me. I’m not exactly known for sleeping around.”

“Michael--”

“I’ve been crushing on you since we met, okay?” Michael says, turning to face him more fully. “I wasn’t looking for something serious with anyone else because I’ve been hung up on you. That night was one of the best nights of my life, and then you weren’t there in the morning. I thought I had fucked up. I thought I had ruined one of the most important relationships in my life.”

“You didn’t,” Calum says, grabbing his hand. “I should have talked to you instead of running away. That’s on me.”

“Yeah it is,” Michael sulks. “Why didn’t you? Why’d you just assume what I wanted instead of bothering to ask me? That hurt, Cal.”

“I know.” Calum grimaces, then shrugs. “I don’t know. I thought I knew what you wanted. Or didn’t want, I guess. I didn’t consider that you could like me until you kissed me, and you’ve never shown interest in an actual relationship. I wasn’t ready for you to reject me.”

“But I wasn’t going to,” Michael says. “You’re you. You’re the exception.”

“I didn’t know that, though. We didn’t exactly sit down for a conversation. Our mouths were otherwise occupied that night, if I remember correctly.” Michael opens his mouth to protest, then snaps it shut.

He doesn’t remember exactly what he said in the heat of it, but he remembers biting back I love you, knowing it was too early to be throwing that phrase around, no matter how true it was. Maybe he ended up hiding the sentiment a bit more than he anticipated.

“You still should’ve talked to me,” he says.

“I know,” Calum replies, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better with that.”

Michael squeezes his hand back.

“So,” he says, “you like me?”

“Yeah,” Calum says. “A lot.”

“You got that I like you, too, right? I said that. I’ve had it bad for you since we met.” Calum frowns.

“You took a while to warm up to me. I thought you were still holding a grudge because I spilled your smoothie.”

“No, you had me tongue-tied,” Michael says. “I had to figure out how to function around you. You’re really hot and it made me flustered.”

“Shut up,” Calum says. He’s blushing, crimson staining his cheeks enough for Michael to see, sending a strong thrill of satisfaction through him.

“I’m serious,” he needles. “You’re ridiculously attractive, dude. You’re not going to hear the end of it from me now. I’ve said it once and now there’s nothing to stop me from saying it five times a day.”

Calum laughs and tucks his face into Michael’s shoulder. Michael feels his own happiness bubble up inside him, threatening to burst. He brings Calum’s hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it in an attempt to release some of the pressure.

“Are we boyfriends now?” Calum asks.

“Fuck yeah,” Michael says. “Unless you don’t want to be, but that’d be lame.”

“I want to be,” Calum says quickly.

“Good,” Michael says. “Then we are.”

“Good.”

They sit for a while, and this silence feels comfortable again, like their old ones. Michal could stay suspended in this moment like the final note of Calum’s piano song and feel content with it rather than uncomfortable. That more than anything lets him know they’ll be okay.

“I’m cold,” Calum says eventually.

“We should move by the fire.”

“We should eat breakfast,” Calum counters. Michael hums and gives Calum’s neck an exaggerated sniff, making him squirm and giggle again.

“You should shower,” he says.

“Fuck you. That’s rude.”

“I could join you?” Michael offers.

“These showers are not big enough for two people,” Calum says. “Nice try, though.”

He stands and kisses Michael on the forehead, tucking the blanket back around him.

“Can I kiss you properly?” Michael asks. Calum nods and leans down again, the gentle press of his lips both familiar and thrilling, sweeter in the morning light.

“Breakfast, then I’m going to shower alone, then I think we have a chess game to finish.”

“Or we could make out all day while we have the lounge to ourselves.” Calum considers him, tilting his head and giving a wry smile.

“We can do that if you win the chess match.”

“Deal,” Michael says. It’s an easy bargain, because Michael is better at chess than Calum is, and with that prize on the line nothing’s going to distract him.

“Breakfast,” Calum repeats, tugging on his hands until he’s standing, too. Michael leans forward and kisses him again, just because he can now. Calum beams and leads him to the stairs, Michael tripping over his blanket and Calum’s laugh filling the room.

It could just be the heating kicking in more, but Michael isn’t sure he needs the blanket right now, not when Calum is here warming him from the inside out.

#my writing #5sos fanfiction #malum #michaelownsmyheart #lads. I cannot describe to you the difficulty I had in picking a summary for this bad boy #I'm sorry it's vague but you just gotta trust me when I say the fic isn't bad #I personally think it has some great lines in there #anyway I made the moodboard before I wrote most of the fic what's up with that #just felt Creative I guess #in the wrong medium because I'm really skimming my personal deadline here #anyway! hope y'all enjoy

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burstingsunrise · 3 years

Note

hi molly! if it's not too late for the prompts how about “I…I can’t do this without you.” for malum? xx

hi taylor! 💜 can you believe this is the only non-cake/muke prompt i got? (you probably can; given your brand as leader of the rights-for-malum squad and my brand as cake/muke trash.) in any case, i had fun doing something a little different; hope you like it!

words: 1880 tw: none

on ao3 here.

Michael has always loved bubble wrap. He likes the satisfying snap of popping one bubble at a time between his fingers, and the staccato crack of stomping on it full-force with his foot. He’s not sure he’ll be able to appreciate bubble wrap the same way ever again after today.

All of Calum’s things are covered in it. His coffee mugs, including the personalized Spider-Man mug Michael had given him all the way back in middle school. His picture frames, including the one with the photo of Calum and Michael with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders in front of the air hockey table at the arcade where they held their joint high school graduation party.

And now, his television, which isn’t inherently nostalgic, but as Michael winds another layer of bubble wrap around it, he can’t help but think about all the weekend afternoons they spent playing videogames or watching Netflix on this television, sharing snacks and laughter and sometimes just companionable silence.

No one will ever get Michael quite like Calum does, and now Calum is leaving.

“Two layers enough, you think, or should I do another?” he asks, looking across the room at Calum, who’s screwing the feet off his battered blue ottoman.

“One more,” Calum advises. “It’s got a long journey.”

As if Michael needs the reminder. Calum’s not just leaving. He’s going across the fucking country. It’s temporary, in theory. A couple of years for grad school, and then he could come back. But Michael knows deep down that he probably won’t.

He’ll go where life takes him, and chances are that life will be much bigger than anything Michael could ever be a part of. Calum is smart and driven, destined for greatness. Michael is content to settle for what life gives him, because he doesn’t know if he can handle the disappointment of trying for something more and failing. Which is exactly why he’s never told Calum he’s in love with him.

Looping another layer of bubble wrap around the television, Michael wonders if maybe Calum leaving will be good for him. It’s hard to get over someone when they’re always there, when Michael can’t help but compare every potential first date to Calum, and none of them have a chance to measure up.

Calum laughs quietly and Michael looks up from the television, temporarily entranced by the sight of Calum kneeling on the floor next to a box, picture frame in hand, smiling in that fond way that makes his cheeks look extra pinchable. He doesn’t know he’s being watched, and Michael is irrationally upset that someone can look so beautiful when they’re just existing. The goodness that’s inside Calum shows on his face, in the lines of his smile and the gleam in his eyes.

Overcome with curiosity about what’s making Calum smile like that, Michael asks, “What’s funny?”

Smiling widening conspiratorially, Calum holds up the picture, and Michael leans forward, squinting to see it from across the room. “Is that prom?” “Yeah,” Calum says, shaking his head as he wipes a layer of dust off the frame. “I was just thinking how I don’t have any photos with my actual prom date, but somehow I have a professional photo of the two of us.” He laughs again, setting the frame off to the side in the pile of things for Michael to wrap. “Probably should’ve just asked you to prom instead.”

“You really should have,” Michael agrees, stretching out across the floor to grab the photo. “I would have been so much more fun than Rachel Ellis.”

“Technically you were much more fun than Rachel Ellis. The whole reason I have this photo is because she disappeared with her friends the second we got to the dance.”

“That’s right!” Michael says, the details of a night he hadn’t thought about in years rushing back to him all at once. “Your mom had already paid for the photo and you didn’t want to take one by yourself.”

He studies the photo, Calum in his showy emerald green tux, arm tentatively placed at Michael’s waist, and Michael sidled up next to Calum with his hand hovering a centimeter over Calum’s chest. They’d been aiming for a cliche awkward prom photo, and they’d really nailed it. Even their facial expressions are perfect, dead-eyed smiles that edge on uncanny.

“You saved me, like always,” Calum says, sliding another framed photo across the floor. It skitters and scratches against the laminate flooring and Calum cringes, probably envisioning his security deposit dwindling away in his mind.

Michael scoffs, taking extra care as he covers the prom photo in bubble wrap. “You never need saving. It was the other way around.” He secures the bubble wrap with a piece of tape and runs his thumbnail over the top. The moment is dangerously earnest, and Michael doesn’t like that. “I would’ve spent prom alone if your date hadn’t ditched you.” He smiles slyly at Calum, who rolls his eyes in response.

“Whatever,” Calum replies skeptically. “You were the life of the party. I was just lucky to be along for the ride.”

So strange, how two people can share the same experience and have an entirely different interpretation of it. Michael remembers prom as Calum’s night to shine, tearing up the dance floor to Pitbull and accepting hugs and high fives from dozens of their classmates, many of whom probably didn’t even know Michael’s name. Calum was the confident social butterfly. Michael was the sidekick.

Michael’s not surprised Calum doesn’t see it that way, though. He’s always been humble, unassuming. Too nice for his own good. He genuinely doesn’t realize what a special person he is, and it’s really fucking annoying, because it just makes Michael love him more.

“We had a good time,” Michael says, knowing better than to try to convince Calum he’s wrong. It’s a battle he’s fought many times before, and he never wins. “I’m glad Rachel Ellis ended up being a dud.”

Michael gently places the bubble-wrapped photo in a small moving box. He’s almost tempted to squirrel it away to keep for himself, but in the end he’d rather Calum have the reminder of their good times together. Michael knows there’s no possible way he’ll forget, with or without a photo.

“Me too,” Calum replies, smiling softly at Michael. “I wouldn’t have had as much fun with her.”

Times like these, Michael hates how pale he is, because he can feel the blush on his cheeks, and he knows Calum can probably see it. Friends should be able to say things like that to each other without one of them blushing like a fool. It’s been happening more and more lately; every time Calum says something nice or compliments him.

He used to be able to hide it, but these past few months it’s like he’s used up all his defenses and now he’s fully depleted. His mind and body are tired and worn down from years of pretending not to be in love with Calum, and they’ve just given up. Thoughts of Calum that he used to be able to push away now linger in the front of his mind, and the physical reactions he used to be able to carefully manage now happen before he even has a chance to fight them.

Michael reaches for the other photo to wrap, keeping his eyes cast down so he can avoid looking at Calum. It’s just easier that way.

It’s quiet for a while, both of them working in silence, only interrupted by the rustle of bubble wrap and the scrape of the tape dispenser.

“I—” Calum’s voice cuts through the silence, one abrupt syllable, and then silence again.

Michael looks at him curiously, and Calum’s inspecting another photo, running his thumbs along the edges of the frame. He slowly lifts his eyes, and they widen when he realizes Michael is staring back at him. He takes a deep breath through his nose, and Michael watches his chest expand and contract, nearly (but not quite) missing the way Calum closes his eyes when he says, “I can’t do this without you.”

Michael’s afraid to breathe, unsure what spell he might be breaking if he does. He doesn’t exactly know what Calum means, but it feels important. Something Michael shouldn’t brush off as a joke, which is what he wants to do, what he’s so used to doing every time either one of them gets too close to exposing him.

“What do you mean?” he asks, trying to keep his voice light. “Move?”

“Yes,” Calum says, then his face scrunches in frustration. “And no.” He crawls over toward Michael, closing the space in between them until he’s sitting cross-legged in front of him, one single slat of laminate flooring visible between their knees.

“I don’t think I can leave without you.”

Michael bites down on his tongue as hard as he can. What the fuck does that mean? “I don’t understand,” he says, eyes tracking the movement of Calum’s hands as they clench and unclench over his own knees.

“Everything is all packed up,” Calum says, gesturing around the room at the full boxes and empty walls, “but I still have this feeling like I’m missing something.”

“Oh,” Michael says dumbly. He’s beginning to feel foolishly hopeful, can already feel the dangerous drug prickling his skin and warming his blood. He can’t look Calum in the eye, so he watches his lips instead.

Bad idea. Michael will never be able to forget the shape of Calum’s lips saying, “It’s you.” There’s weight to those words that Michael can’t quite interpret, but he can feel it there, settling heavy in the air around them like a humid summer morning.

“You’re the one leaving.”

“You could come.”

If he’s being honest, those three words are what Michael has been waiting to hear for the past five months, ever since Calum got his acceptance letter and started making plans for his cross-country move. Michael doesn’t have anything tying him down, no reason to stay where he is. He’d happily drop everything and follow Calum anywhere. But he couldn’t do it if Calum didn’t ask; couldn’t do it if it meant he’d just be pining after Calum with no hope of anything ever happening.

But those three words, hanging alongside it’s you in the heavy, hopeful air do something to take the edge off the Calum craving Michael has been feeling nonstop for years. The gnawing feeling inside him is relieved, just slightly. A taste of potential, a sign that maybe he’s not wrong to hope.

He finally meets Calum’s eyes, and he grins. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Calum’s trying to hide it, but everything he feels shows on his face; it always has. Michael can see the hope reflected back at him in Calum’s eyes, and it makes his heart stutter in his chest.

“Yeah, why not?” he says, shrugging like this decision is as easy as choosing what pizza toppings to order, or what shirt he wants to wear. Because it is. Easier, even. They can figure out the details.

“Okay,” Calum says, nodding with barely-restrained enthusiasm. “You can use my leftover bubble wrap for your things.”

Maybe Michael can still love bubble wrap after all.

#ask #prompt #5sos fic #malum fic #taylor #michaelownsmyheart #i feel like i should also tag this #sucking chalk #this is a thing i did

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clumsyclifford · 3 years

Note

hm hi maybe i will officially ask you if you want to hurt me and write a therapy fic. i vote malum but. you do as— no you know what i'm me this is a malum prompt i'm sending you okay love you bye

hiya taylor i hope you realized when you asked for this that it would be angsty as fuck, so i really can’t apologize for uhh writing something angsty as fuck!! BUT with a hopeful ending because we know how i am

tw for suicide ideation, suicidal thoughts, depression

read it here on ao3

Michael is winded from the moment they walk onstage.

He’s been all smiles all day. Somewhere he’d heard that smiling was supposed to trigger some kind of happy brain chemical, a creepy fake-it-’til-you-make-it strategy. It has not worked. Michael is exhausted from the effort he’s put into looking like he’s okay. The smile has become a grimace, and he doesn’t have the energy to make it look more realistic. Cameras capture upturned lips and that’s enough to convince them he’s happy, which is the important thing.

He doesn’t intend to watch those videos when they’re edited together. He can’t even bear to look in the mirror these days. The travesty of him that stares back out with dead eyes only makes him feel worse. At this point he’d doubted whether or not he could actually feel worse.

Standing in front of almost thirty thousand people, it turns out he can. Or at the very least he can feel equally bad in a different way. He’d been drowning before, but he’s choking now. Dying either way.

If he died onstage, slain where he stood, what would his band do? What would the thousands of fans do? Maybe it would be a mercy. Michael’s a liability right now. He’s frozen in front of thousands of people at the fucking O2 Arena, for fuck’s sake. The band is supposed to be skyrocketing and Michael is a faulty engine, fuel that’s caught fire. If they keep him around they’ll catch fire too, and then they’ll all be free-falling, instead of just him.

They’d hate him if he died onstage, though. Michael would hate himself too. At the O2, of all places, really? How much more of an attention whore can you be? Couldn’t have waited for a smaller venue to have a heart attack? Or maybe a hotel room? Someplace you could be alone?

Shit. Fuck. The loud cheering has wavered, and all three of his bandmates are giving him concerned looks. Michael fights for breath and finally — for better or for worse — manages to take in the oxygen he’d been missing. And then he forces yet another smile, for his bandmates — but he can’t look at them, can’t see the looks on their faces, not right now — and for the stadium. The sound of screaming doubles in intensity. Michael is already so tired, and they’ve only just started the show.

Luke yells something lead-singer-y and Michael’s hand shakes against the strings of his guitar until he starts playing, closing his eyes for a moment so muscle memory can take over.

It’s too loud. One way or another, he’ll drown; his lungs aren’t working the way lungs are supposed to, and if they’re not filling with air they might as well fill with water.

Holy shit, he thinks, because he knows enough to know that these are Dangerous Thoughts. But he can’t deal with that right now because they have a show, and after the show he’s fully booked with Pretending He’s Fine from now until forever.

On the opposite side of the stage, Calum catches his eye, and Michael tries to infuse his hollow smile with warmth, sincerity, anything to make that worried expression melt away, but he’s not stupid enough to think it’s worked, even when Calum turns away. Although Calum does turn away, so maybe it means he knows Michael’s lying and just doesn’t care.

You’re in the middle of a show, you fucking idiot, says Michael’s evil subconscious. They’re not going to stop the show in the middle just because you look like you’re seconds from death. You always look like that.

Right. Right. Michael’s done this to himself. Calum’s not crippled with concern, and he shouldn’t be; he’s Michael’s best friend, not his fucking therapist. Not that Michael has a therapist. Nor does he want one. No random stranger would give a fuck about his bullshit problems, and neither would a random stranger with a PhD.

Fuck. The crowd is getting louder. Is it possible for them to get louder? Or is that all in Michael’s head? Or is everything all in Michael’s head? Are the in-ears keeping the fans’ screams out, or Michael’s screams in? Fuck. Shit. Oxygen is being awfully unreliable today. It’s so loud. Michael closes his eyes again. He knows this song. He’s played this stupid fucking song a thousand times. He could play it in his sleep. He could play it in his casket. That might be what he’s doing right now.

Fuck.

Michael is in a constant game with himself, pushing his own limits just to see where he’ll snap. The way he sees it, it’s like exercising a muscle; wherever he breaks, he grows back stronger so he won’t break there again. At this point his threshold is high enough that when he’s feeling particularly masochistic — although when isn’t he — he really has to work for the breakdown.

It’s a blessing and a curse to be able to handle this much. It means that even when everything is wrong, Michael doesn’t collapse. Which means that he can still play an entire concert at the O2 Arena without having a meltdown, but also that by the time he actually does break, his insides are charred from all the damage control that hasn’t quite succeeded in containing it.

At least a hotel room is a better place for it than an arena stage.

He can feel it creeping up on him, and he knows it’ll be soon. It won’t take much. There’s already enough wrong as it is. The hotel room is too cold. It’d been nice for a little bit, immediately after the show when he’d been sweaty from the performance, but now it’s making him shiver.

He has sweatshirts, hoodies, blankets. But that would be cheating. Michael stays where he is, sitting at the chair by the window in the tank top he’d played in, staring outside at the sprawling mass of London with all its flickering lights. Sitting by the window is also definitely not helping the temperature situation, but Michael isn’t shying from the crash; he’s trying to induce it.

Just then, Calum comes out of the bathroom, still towel-drying his hair, and Michael knows what’s next.

Sure enough: “Hey,” the same way one might talk to a baby animal, like if Calum talks too loud he’ll startle it. “You okay?”

Guess, Michael thinks, swallowing. Take a guess. What do you think? “Fine,” he says, because that’s his line. Calum won’t believe it, as well he shouldn’t, since Michael is lying.

“You don’t seem fine,” says Calum. His voice moves around behind Michael as he gets dressed in joggers and a hoodie. “I saw you when we went on to play tonight. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.” There’s a pause. “Like you were a ghost.”

Michael swallows again, and it’s more difficult this time. His eyes sting; his fingers twist anxiously around the hem of his shirt. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Well, you didn’t see yourself,” Calum says.

“Was probably the lights.”

“Don’t be like that, Michael. It’s not like I think you’re okay. I know you’re pretending for the rest of the world, but you don’t have to pretend for me.”

Fuck.

This conversation is not going to be your breaking point, Michael thinks fiercely to himself. Calm down. He inhales raggedly, although it does nothing for his composure. He’s breathing around thorns only by telling himself that they’re roses, and all the while they shred the walls of his lungs, making it more difficult to cling to oxygen when he takes it in.

I’m not pretending, he wants to tell Calum, but he can’t. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me,” he returns. Fuck. His voice sounds shaky and the lights of London are swimming in his vision.

“I don’t worry because I have to,” Calum says. His voice is closer, but before Michael can figure out what he’s doing, he’s taken the seat across from Michael at the window, dropping a flannel into Michael’s lap. “I worry because I love you. You’re shivering.”

Is he? Michael hadn’t noticed. He looks down but he can’t see anything, but if he blinks then the tears will fall and Calum will notice and Michael will have to admit that maybe this is his breaking point and he doesn’t want it to be but he is cold and when he blinks even his eyes feel cold and he quickly looks back at the window and moves his hands on top of the flannel and Calum says, “At least put it on, it’s cold enough in here without wearing a tank top,” and Michael’s throat closes up because however much he can control himself around cameras and crew members and friends and fans, something about Calum makes him completely unravel.

Maybe it’s not that this is his breaking point. Maybe it’s just that this is a safe place to break.

(Maybe it’s a little bit of both.)

So he picks up the flannel and pulls it around his shoulders without putting his arms through the sleeves, and he sniffles and says, “Thanks,” voice all fucked up and wobbly.

“Yeah,” Calum says softly. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m tired,” Michael whines, and that’s the last he manages before he’s crying like a little kid, tears streaming — it’s been so long since Michael’s cried and he’d forgotten that tears were this relentless, fresh new ones falling now matter how many times Michael tries to squeeze them away — and Calum moves like he’d just been waiting and pulls Michael into a hug, where Michael hides his face and tries to hold his breath because he’s going to die eventually and it will probably happen soon and Michael would at least like to die in Calum’s arms, while he has the chance. But the sobs wracking his body force him to inhale so that plan falls through almost immediately. Because Michael can’t even die right. Fuck.

“Oh, babe,” Calum murmurs. His arms are tight around Michael. “I’m sorry, love, honestly, I’m so sorry.”

Michael can’t stop crying or else he’d say why are you sorry? even though he knows this is more of a sympathetic platitude than anything. Calum does sound sorry but surely he knows it’s not his fault — that this is Michael, all Michael, Michael’s fucked up brain and fucked up self and total inability to get his shit together like everyone else. The more successful the band gets, the worse he feels, and he knows that’s not what’s supposed to happen and he feels even shittier that he’s not being fucking grateful for everything the band is giving him and all the opportunities he has thanks to this, and instead is so stuck in his own fucking head that he’s tallying the passing days like an apocalypse survivor, counting each one he lives through. Or possibly counting down until his death.

The wrenching sobs slow to nothing. Calum doesn’t try to get Michael to talk, and that itself gets Michael to talk. The silence is worse, and Calum is here, and Calum is safe, and Calum loves Michael.

“I am not okay,” he mumbles into Calum’s shoulder, which should be a given at this stage, but Calum only squeezes him a little tighter and doesn’t interrupt. “I know that’s a shock.” Calum hums. “I can’t explain why. I don’t know. I just know that this…isn’t how okay people feel.”

“Yeah,” Calum says quietly.

“I don’t know what to do,” Michael says helplessly. “I don’t — I don’t know. But I keep — like — the things I think, you don’t even…you don’t want to know. If you’re worried now, you definitely don’t want to know.”

“I am worried,” Calum says. “But you can tell me if it’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t want to. It’s not your job to be my therapist.”

“I’m not trying to be your therapist, I’m trying to be your friend.”

“It won’t make me feel better. I’m not going to tell you,” Michael says, though that just means Calum will draw his own conclusions, which might be worse. Not that anything is worse than Michael’s actual thoughts. He adjusts his grip on Calum, tightening his hold. The flannel is falling from around his shoulders, but he doesn’t want to move to pull it up.

“That’s okay.”

“I hate this,” Michael whimpers. It hits him like a hurricane how true that is. “I don’t like this. I don’t want to not be okay. It’s not worth the effort.”

“I know,” Calum says, rubbing circles on Michael’s back.

None of them are okay, truthfully. That’s why Michael can cry on Calum’s shoulder; he knows Calum would cry on his. It’s possible he’s a little worse than the rest of them, but he’s not alone. There’s a twisted comfort in knowing that he doesn’t really have to explain himself to Calum.

“I’m sorry,” he says mournfully.

“Don’t be sorry, you’ve got no reason to be sorry.”

Michael nods, though he’s still sorry. But they won’t get anywhere if Michael’s always apologising. It’ll only serve to annoy Calum, and right now Calum is all Michael has. If the world got any bigger it would crush him, so he keeps it close; it’s only him and Calum and the chill emanating off the window and the flannel dragging against Michael’s back.

Later, when the world expands again, when Michael can bear it, when he’s expelled all the water out of his lungs and stuck plasters over the cracks in his facade to hold himself together, Calum will sit with him on the bed with his laptop open before them and type up a search for virtual therapy despite Michael’s half-hearted protests. Later, Michael will sort himself out a little, Calum by his side to pull him over gaps when Michael’s too much of a coward to step across. Later, much later, a Michael of the future will write about the Michael of the present like he’s a distant memory, using past-tense verbs to make the most tragic sentences into a success story. That Michael is okay, or at least more okay.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I really think you’re going to be okay,” Calum whispers into his ear now, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of his jaw.

Which doesn’t make anything better in the long run, but certainly doesn’t hurt to hear right now.

“Thank you,” this Michael sighs, as Calum tugs the flannel back up over Michael’s shoulders.

“Of course,” Calum says lightly. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Present Michael can’t see past this moment, but as he takes his first deep breath in days, inhaling the familiar scent of Calum and warm from Calum’s embrace, he thinks that if the future were to hold more moments like this one, it might just be worth living through.

#michael clifford #calum hood #malum #malum fic #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #suicide mention #sorry taylor #but like i really am not sorry #you literally asked me for this #you SAID 'hurt me' idk wtf you were expecting #i hope it was something like this #there is just something about hotel rooms man #anyway. my lungs gave out as i faced the crowd blah blah blah #michaelownsmyheart #ask #answered

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redrattlers · 3 years

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heyyyyy i would like to know 4, 43, 51, 58, 74 <3

hiii🥰🥰

4. favourite livesos song?

everything I didn’t say, i think? calum’s bass intro is everything to me <3

43. a song you love but most people don’t?

i really had to think about this one (suddenly it’s as if i’ve forgotten their whole discography lol) but one song that’s a bit controversial in the sense that people either love or hate it i think is monster among men and I LOVE that song!!

51. a song you think is is underrated?

close as strangers!! michael in this song!! the bridge!! are we wasting time talking on a broken line??? a VERY good and underrated song!!!

58. a song you can relate to?

first one that came to mind was beside you! these days it makes me think of my online friendships and how much I value and love you guys. so close but so far away and i wish i was beside you hit very close to home in this context🥺

74. who was your favorite member when you first joined the fandom?

i’m a very simple person, it’s always been luke <3

5sos asks?

#ask #music #michaelownsmyheart #taylor #💛💛

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httpsgfg · 3 years

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i can always count on your blog to give me what i need. which is michael. a lot of michael. so. thank you for your service (ily<3)

happy to be of service 😎 i love you<3

#pls i gotchu #even tho your queue ends up bringing back the posts weeks later on my dash and i have to suffer through them all over again 😩#ily #michaelownsmyheart #answered

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calumthoodshands · 3 years

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uh hi that last tswift gifset you reblogged sort of killed me and i would LIKE to blame taylor to her face for this because really it's all her doing but i can't so i will blame you instead just because someone should know they're the cause of my death. have a nice day >:((

Ngl it keeps getting harder and harder not to reblog swift content and it’s becoming kind of a problem for me so I totally understand you blaming me for your pain have a nice day as well 😔🧡

#ask #michaelownsmyheart #i’ve been trying to avoid falling for her tbh #it... gets harder #aria answers

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calumsclifford · 3 years

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no but seeing you post a fic and then the ship song recs.... somehow i feel nostalgic for last summer now please this is all wonderful to see you back on here

asdfghjkhgfsdaldk you’re wonderful omg... honestly is it weird that i am also nostalgic posting ship songs and fic??? perhaps, it feels so so nice though i have missed it so much

#i feel so alive #i feel like i felt last april getting into this community and getting to know everyone #and just feeling so loved and accepted #and i am just so genuinely happy #asks #michaelownsmyheart

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kaleidoscopeminds · 3 years

Photo

meg’s 1k celebration

@michaelownsmyheart || soft ace husbands malum

#michaelownsmyheart #moodboard*#*#malum #not gonna lie i feel like i did something here... these vibes #meg1k

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wheniminouterspace · 3 years

Text

@michaelownsmyheart loves me i think. anyway, muke!!!!!!

#they r obnoxious. I cannot stand it #godddd #muke <3 #lsbdkanz just to be clear guys. she made it. I just decided u should suffer w me 😌#ok bye #hi taylor 🥰#ily 😌

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allsassnoclass · 3 years

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hello how about 5, 12, 17, 43, 47, 51, 62 :) xx

hello Taylor <3

5. What’s your favorite sgfg song? outer space hands down. I love that song so much and I have for years.

12. Favorite tattoo of Ashton? I really, really love the heart on his wrist. that one is probably my favorite, but I also really like his condor. I could never do a neck tattoo but his does look really cool

17. Favorite lyric? “Guess I was running from something/I was running back to you” I don’t know why that one hits me so hard but it does. Half of outer space and disconnected could go here though. also, “thinking ‘bout you lots lately/have you been eating breakfast alone like me” is very evocative to me. like those two lines tell a whole story

43. A 5sos song that you love but most people don’t? BETTER MAN. everyone dislikes better man unless it’s the live version but guess what???? STUDIO BETTER MAN is one of my favorite 5sos songs. I like it live less. the swearing adds nothing.

47. A 5sos song that will always have that special place in your heart? how many times can I mention os/co in one ask???? otherwise Babylon and voodoo doll

51. A 5sos song that you think is underrated? hmmm y’all really want to know my perspective on underrated songs huh. I think high could get more credit

62. What were you thoughts when you first heard/saw 5sos? okay so I don’t remember what my initial contact was, probably she looks so perfect on the radio, but when I watched the she’s kinda hot music video I thought the song was catchy and that Ashton and Michael were cute in two completely different ways. did not impact me greatly since it took a few years and the release of Youngblood for me to actually get into the band but that’s what I can remember of my first 5sos thoughts.

thank you for asking my dear!

ask me 5sos questions

#ask #taylor #michaelownsmyheart

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burstingsunrise · 3 years

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hi molly!! how about “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” for malum? :) <3

another challenge! some malum for you! 💜i realize this was supposed to be fluffy love prompts but something about this one just SPOKE to me and i went a slightly more chaotic route. this technically takes place within the bake off au but it stands on its own. words: 1466 tw: none on ao3 here. It’s not that Michael missed Luke when he was off filming for Bake Off . He definitely didn’t. He just missed Luke’s delicious treats. The only reason he even agreed to go over to Luke’s flat the first day after his two week post-Bake Off quarantine is because he’s been craving lemon bars and Luke promised to make a batch of his really fucking amazing lemon bars. Not too sweet, not too tangy.

It’s also Michael’s first opportunity to formally meet Ashton, and he’s hoping to make a better impression than he did the first time around. He doesn’t want Luke’s new boyfriend to only know him as the guy who asks strangers if they have any marriageable friends.

Michael’s multitasking as he steps onto the tube, texting Luke that he’s on his way as he swings into the seat just inside the door of the empty tube car. Except the seat hits his arse sooner than he expects, and it’s strangely lumpy. And it’s moving.

“What the fuck, man?”

Michael springs to his feet when he hears the words in his ear and looks down, red-faced, at the person who he just inadvertently sat on.

It’s a guy about his age with dark, wavy hair and expressive brown eyes that are staring at Michael, a vaguely menacing frown on his perfect face. It’s a shame Michael had to have sat on him under these particular circumstances, because in pretty much any other scenario he’d be more than happy to sit on this guy’s lap. The first thing he’d do is run his fingers through that beautiful hair. Maybe undo a couple of the buttons on his white shirt. See where it goes from there.

The guy clears his throat and Michael realizes that silently undressing this stranger with his eyes is probably not helping the situation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he sputters. “I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.” He looks down at the floor and starts backing away from the stranger, figuring this guy would probably prefer if the weirdo who sat on him kept his distance.

But the guy grins at him, and in half a second he goes from hot and mildly threatening to sweet and adorable. Michael realizes he’s grinning back at him despite never actually deciding to do it.

“Don’t worry about it. Most action I’ve had in six weeks,” the guy says with a chuckle, eyes roaming up and down Michael’s body in a way that makes Michael stand a little taller and throw his shoulders back. The guy turns his attention to his phone and Michael drops into a seat at the other end of the car.

They both get off at the same stop, and Michael’s forced to follow Tube Guy up the steps and out onto the sidewalk. It’s a little awkward, but Michael is pretty sure the guy hasn’t noticed him trailing behind, so he just tries to continue keeping a safe distance between them. Once they’re out of the station, Tube Guy turns in the same direction as Luke’s flat, and Michael sighs quietly. All he can do is keep following. He sends a quick text to Luke.

Michael: might be arrested for stalking soon pls answer your phone if police station calls.

Luke immediately responds with a peace sign emoji and Michael rolls his eyes. Things start to get tricky when Tube Guy suddenly slows his pace, head bent over his phone, and Michael quickly gains ground on him.

Tube Guy must hear Michael’s footsteps behind him, because he shifts to the edge of the sidewalk to make way and glances over his shoulder. He does a double take when he sees Michael behind him. He smiles nervously and gives Michael a little wave, which he seems to immediately regret and tries to cover by moving his hand to scratch his head.

Michael stifles a laugh. “I swear I’m not following you.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you were.” Tube Guy shrugs and, to Michael’s surprise, falls into step next to him.

“Did you just get out of prison or something?” Michael asks. Tube Guy looks at him, perplexed. “You said you hadn’’t gotten any action in six weeks,” Michael clarifies. “Thought maybe you just got sprung.”

“Close,” the guy says, with a chuckle. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you though.” He goes back to watching his phone carefully as he walks, and Michael doesn’t want to accidentally stumble into awkward territory, so he leaves it be. He’s almost to Luke’s anyway.

“Well, mysterious Tube Guy, this is where I leave you,” he says, peeling off to climb the stoop to Luke’s front door and pressing the buzzer. “Was nice sitting on you.”

Tube Guy chuckles and opens his mouth to respond, then he skids to a halt, studying his phone with a frown. He looks up at Michael, squinting in confusion, then his face breaks into a mischievous grin and he climbs the two cobblestone stairs to stand next to Michael.

Michael stares at him, suddenly realizing maybe he’s the one in danger. Maybe all this time he spent worrying that Tube Guy was going to think he was a stalker would have been better spent worrying about whether Tube Guy was going to kill him. And now he’s brought a murderer right to Luke’s front door! Luke’s never going to forgive him if he ends up dead because Michael sat on a murderer’s lap on the tube and then led said murderer to Luke’s doorstep.

The door opens, and the second he sees Luke peering at him, Michael tries to silently communicate that Luke should really shut the door and call 999 while he’s still got time. At least one of them needs to make it out alive.

Unfortunately, that’s a really hard thing to say with just your eyes and a few manic facial expressions, and Luke is utterly clueless as usual. He just grins at Michael and gestures for Michael and the murderer to come inside. This is a new level of clueless, even for Luke.

Michael quickly jumps in front of the murderer and crosses into Luke’s flat, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Why did you just slam the door in Calum’s face?” Luke whines, grabbing at Michael’s hand to try to open the door. Michael holds firm, but Luke is deceptively strong (must be all that mixing) and manages to dislodge Michael’s hand from the doorknob in short order. He pulls the door back open and the murderer is still standing there, an amused smile on his face.

Michael grabs Luke’s sleeve to drag him away from the door and starts to dial 999 on his phone when he registers what Luke had just said and pauses. Does Luke know the murderer? Calum? The name sounds familiar. The guy who was on Bake Off with Luke is a murderer?

“What the fuck, Michael?” Luke pulls his arm out of Michael’s grasp. “Come on in, Cal.”

The murderer - Calum - casually steps into the foyer. Suddenly he lunges at Michael and Michael screeches, crossing his arms protectively in front of his face. Calum and Luke both burst into laughter, and Michael lowers his arms slowly.

“What is your deal, man?” Luke asks, still giggling.

Michael’s face is bright red as his brain plays catch-up. He smiles sheepishly at Calum. “Sorry. I may have thought you were going to kill us there for a minute.”

“Why did you show up at my front door with him if you thought he was going to kill us?” Michael thinks that’s pretty rich coming from Luke, seeing as he literally threw himself in front of a potential murderer in an attempt to save them both.

“I didn’t think he was going to kill us until he followed me to your front door,” Michael replies defensively. “Before that he was just the guy I accidentally sat on and then imagined naked on the tube.”

“Is that what you were doing?” Calum asks. Michael shrugs, a yeah, and what about it? look on his face. Calum nods approvingly. “That’s what I was doing too.”

Michael had already kind of assumed - it’s not like Calum had been subtle about checking him out - but it’s nice to have the confirmation. He puffs his chest out a little and eyes Calum boldly.

Luke throws up his hands and walks toward the kitchen. “I don’t know what’s going on here but I don’t want any part of it. Go sit down and I’ll bring out the food.” He disappears around the corner, leaving Michael and Calum alone in the foyer.

“C’mon, Calum,” Michael says with a grin, grabbing Calum by the wrist and leading him into Luke’s living room. “You can sit on my lap this time.”

#ask #prompt #5sos fic #malum fic #michaelownsmyheart #this is a thing i did

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