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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 16 days

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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.

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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 in middle school. 13 and 11.”

“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 chest nearly. Just a few weeks ago he was maybe at your waist. But now you feel it in your bones. In the next year, 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. Just a little, hardly enough for you to think it’s real. But you swear you can catch it.

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.

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 2 months

Text

Sweet Dreams--Part 9

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.

CW: Smut (dry humping) in this part. Mentions of using sex to numb feelings. Please read with caution and skip if need be.

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Complete Masterlist

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There are certain messages Calum’s used to seeing--ones about meetings that have gotten pushed back, good morning texts from you, one from his parents about some sort of article they came across and wanted to send to him, thinking it would be good for him. There’s the texts from Michael or Luke or Ashton about bullshit--videos, memes, a bad selfie in their thread. There’s the text messages about a cute dog or cat that someone’s spotted in public. Then there are text messages that Calum is not prepared for. Ones that he hopes he never gets accustomed to receiving, that are bearing the bad news.

However, seeing, If I asked to borrow the back garden or some kind of back yard area to tie dye socks, would that be an immediate no? is the type of text that Calum thinks he would never want to brace himself for. There would be no fun in being prepared for spontaneity. Calum laughs, dragging the towel over his face to wipe away some of the sweat pouring from his hairline. Even with the heat of the summer fading, the long hours on the weekend with the shed still causes a sweat to break out.

Yes, you could use whatever you needed, baby.

Excellent, because I may already be here. Are you working on the shed?

Calum taps the icon for a call. It rings, once then twice against his ear. “Hi, love,” you answer. The pet name never fails to send a jolt of desire down his spine. You always say it so softly, like you’re trying to savor the taste of every syllable on your tongue. Sometimes, Calum’s tempted to ask what it tastes like. Does it taste sweet like cotton candy when he calls you baby?

“Hi, baby. Now what is this about needing to dye some socks?

“Charlie wants tie dye socks. The ones in the store don’t have color combinations that he likes. I’ve got some dye from when I had to recolor some shirts that were starting to fade and helping roommates out with stuff. The apartment’s been overtaken because Josie’s invited friends over, which I knew would be happening so it’s not a problem. But I know I have free time and can’t sit still to save my life. You don’t have to say it. Hence why I’m asking to borrow space for a little bit.”

“There’s always space here. Do you need help setting up somewhere? Put you closer to the laundry room--wouldn’t you need that for dying?”

“Yes, I should say, the socks would have to stay there for at least today and then if I could stay the night, I’d rinse them in the morning and take them with me.”

Calum nods, though you can’t see it. “Yeah, that’s okay. Whatever you need.”

Faintly in the background, voices arise from your side of the phone. “You’re supposed to be gone. You can’t tease us like this,” someone hollers.

Calum just makes out the words but catches your laughter as you respond, “I am a ghost. You do not see me.”

“That’s it, I’m dead. Dead,” the person laughs.

“Are you still using the service entrance? I have let the guards at the main entrances know about you. You literally can just walk into the front door,” Calum states through his laughter.

“If I’m honest, my brain just went on autopilot mode and hadn’t realized I’d missed the turn for the main entrance until I was already past it.”

“Habit, huh?”

“You know they say they die hard.”

“It’s alright. Next time, you’ll get it. I’m shocked the codes are still the same for you.”

“I don’t think it’s been deactivated yet. Part of me wonders if Janet’s ever going to deactivate it.”

“She may not.” It shouldn’t shock Calum if Janet decided not too. Though, he does think it might be a tough sale to security. They could win the battle if need be, but Calum worries about that for another day--should it ever come up. “But what do you need for this tie dying venture? A table or something, I’m sure.”

“I can get all that, don’t worry.”

“You sure? At least let me get you a table out from storage, baby.” Calum figures that it might be a mute point, that you might already have the table, but he’s still going to offer. The last thing he’ll do is not attempt to help. After throwing a quick warning back over his shoulder to the guys assisting him, he starts towards the doors. He doubts he can beat you to wherever you’re headed if it’s not directly outside.

“You’d have to come all the way through the back when I’m already inside to grab it,” you counter.

You are right. The curse to the size of the castle and its grounds is that sometimes it’s much too big for its own good. Getting anywhere in the residential wing is a bit of a chore--long hallways, limited number of doors. Calum’s sure it’s all due to safety, someone somewhere had a reason for the pain, but that’s not going to stop Calum from trying. Not when he knows it’s for your brother. The last thing he wants to do is get in the way of that relationship.

“I can at least try,” Calum quips back. He’s never considered himself a track star, but he’s glad for the years he did football.

“Don’t wind yourself out, love.”

“Is that a challenge I hear?”

Your laughter echoes, skips for just a moment but then your voice filters back in through the speakers. “I wouldn’t dare dream of such a thing. But seriously, I’ve already got a table. You better turn yourself back around.”

Calum continues on, just as he gets to the door, a bit more huffy than he would ever like to admit, he spies you rounding the corner from the hallway storage is on. “Hi baby,” he calls out once you make it closer to him.

“You’re hardheaded, you know?”

“Only….everyday though.”

You pause in the doorway, table in your grip--it’s a smaller one, but taller so you don’t have to bend down so much with it. “Yet, somehow, I still find myself attracted to it.”

“It’s the boyish charm. Need anything else?”

“Boyish charm,” you laugh, leaning into him a little. “We can call it that.”

Calum meets you, a quick kiss before you continue on through the door he’s holding open. It’s a silly thought, Calum tells himself, as he watches you carry on through the garden. You’re careful as you go, keeping the table a good six inches away from the ground as you go. But something does feel a little different. Your smiles at him melt a little bit more, feel a little bit warmer than before. To see you comfortable enough to ask for a kiss--even a peck as it was--in public made his stomach flutter yesterday.

The party was about you, so Calum withheld any conversation about it. The thing his parents did teach him was to be mindful of the time and place in addressing certain conversations. But for you to think, well before asking, that the castle would be free to you feels like further confirmation. You are changing, or maybe it’s a bit more like you’re unraveling. Though you and Calum walked in the early stages, you’d never mentioned your siblings. Now with that bit of information revealed Calum seems just how much you care about them--enough to dye socks so they have what they want.

He can’t say much about your dating life prior. He assumes you might’ve had some experience prior. Calum can say for certainty that building the relationship with him has been slow with you. Worry and concern are the biggest culprits for that. But that seems to be falling slowly to the wayside. Calum won’t take any credit for this. He just watches, carries with him the tiny pieces of how you’d opened up. He does not consider himself a poet; he’s much too meticulous with when and how he shares anything. But if love is watching someone blossom into something more magnificent than they’d ever been before, then he thinks he’d ought to give it a shot to capture the feeling of being witness to it. It’s pride without arrogance, awe without jealousy. An emotion sure pure he’s sure he’s never felt it once since he left his childhood. But he feels it now, watching you pause at tomato plants.

If all Calum gets to do is watch you grow and evolve, then it will still be a life well lived.

“You’ll let flies in, Your Highness,” Janet teases passing back the doors.

“Just put me on fly duty,” Calum laughs, but does move to let the door close behind him. There’s no embarrassment as Calum catches up behind you at being caught staring. “See anything else ready to be picked?”

“Oh, that’s still well beyond my wheelhouse. But I don’t think so.”

“You know more than me.” Calum means it sincerely. That you do know more about the garden than he does. But he thinks too that there’s a kind of life that you’ve lived that Calum had only once thought would be his. It’s a great honor to serve, take on his duty as expected. But there’s a little bit of life, a certain kind of living that he’d never really do. There’s a certain kind of wisdom he didn’t have. Not that Calum would ever want to romanticize your struggle and your suffering. But he knows that your experience gives you a perspective different than his--a perspective that Calum’s glad you’re willing to share with him.

“I’m sure your mother could teach both of us a thing or two about gardening. How’s the shed coming along?”

The new one fades out of view, leaving the current restoration project bare in front of the two of you as you walk closer to it. “It’s going,” Calum returns. “There’s some shelving we’re working on now and the bench. A little behind schedule, but we anticipated that much from the start.”

“Looks good though. A fresh coat of paint?”

It’s the same blue as before, just not chipping anymore. “Yeah, a little birdie suggested it.”

“One smart bird.”

Calum helps you get set up--from getting the table stable to getting the dye into the more appropriate squeezable bottles, and once you’ve sworn up and down at least three times that you’ve got it from there, he ventures back over to the shed. The group doesn’t say much, but the smiles passed around them tell Calum everything he needs to do. He’ll never live this down.

“It’s not a crime to be in love,” he laughs.

“No one said it was. But to think, the same man just a year ago was swearing off love now following his partner like a puppy--it’s quite the sight,” Vance returns, looking up from his measuring where he works on the last few pieces of the built-in bench before they’ll start installing it. Getting power to the shed set them back longer than anticipated and when Vance’s gout flared, there were a few days that a lot of the light work went into place--like the painting and verifying the shelving design. This weekend is hopefully one of the last two big pushes to get the main structures in place. From there Calum will work on getting the table ordered, chairs, and the final furnishings.

“I guess a lot changes in a year,” Calum answers.

“I guess it does. Now c’mon lover boy, you’ve got a bench to install.”

It’s easy to get lost in the pop of the staple gun, in the measuring and re-measuring. Calum finds himself waiting for the click of each piece slotting in together; it’s a satisfying sound. It doesn’t take too long with Vance’s help to get the skeleton of the bench installed. Though it does take a little bit of finesse to get the paneling up over the skeleton. By the time the sun starts to dip just a hair down in the sky, but not quite touching the horizon, the bench is fully nearly assembled. The top isn’t bolted in yet and won’t be until the cushion is fashioned to the top, so the lid is resting on the structure for the time being.

“Give it a test,” Vance suggests. “Make sure it’s up there sturdy.”

Calum’s weight seems to make no difference to the unit. There’s no creaks, no sagging. With a bit more courage, Calum swings his legs up and stretches out over the item. His feet hang off just a little, but that’s little to be concerned about. Given the space of the shed in total square feet, there was no way to make the bench as tall as him. But it’s solid beneath them.

“It’s good,” Calum states, pushing up from the bench.

“You’ll need these for tomorrow,” Vance calls out, pulling out a bag of metal hardware from his belt. Calum catches it with ease and notices the black hinges and screws assembled into the bag. Tomorrow Tamara comes by to help get the bench upholstered, though Calum suspects she’s always going to want to get Calum to finish buying the furnishings tomorrow too. Vance is taking the day to spend with his wife for their anniversary so it’s nice to be able to switch off to other aspects in the meantime.

“Have fun tomorrow.” The guys laugh just a little at Calum’s statement. Even though Vance called Calum out about Calum’s own behavior, Vance was just as guilty. Every chirp of Vance’s phone made him pause to see if it was his wife. Albeit, Calum suspects there’s more going on at home over the last few weeks. Vance was talking more and more now about wanting to be a dad. It’s not his place to put out information that wasn’t ready, but Calum holds the suspicion close to his chest.

Vance flips them off but his own laughter bubbles. “Your minds are absolutely in the fucking gutter, man.

“Might be, but we already know exactly what’s going to happen tonight,” Parker pipes in from the opened door of the shed.

“And you can’t even get your dick wet, so I don’t want to hear it,” Vance huffs.

Parker was behind Calum in age by about a year and a half, but the two of them shared more in common than initially suspected. Parker’s highschool sweetheart hadn’t called it off before leaving for college. It left Parker behind, his family unable to afford the costs. Parker had taken courses with the community college before moving to vocational school to learn welding and HVAC. According to Parker, he’d gone for a trade so that he could have money saved up for a wedding when his love returned. Yet, Parker was left heartbroken instead. Parker’s partner returned for spring break of his sophomore year and called it off, admitting to emotional cheating. Not necessarily out of a desire to hurt Parker but out of loneliness, being on campus by himself and having a hard time in the first semester making friends because he was so homesick. It happened slowly--just as a friendship, someone to confide in about loneliness, hangout on the weekends and show him around the strange new town. But it was becoming clearer more and more as time went that there was someone else to Parker. Calum, over a few beers, had gotten the story in the initial days of renovations.

That was five years ago, but Parker hadn’t found anyone else. Not for the lack of trying. Parker always seemed to have a string of dates, stories to tell about who he was seeing, but they rotated out nearly weekly. Each weekend meeting for the renovations started with a hot gossip hour--Parker’s latest string of dates, Vance’s home life about his wife and two dogs, Tamara occasionally joining with stories of her dating life, Logan chimed in with updates about his new partner too, and Calum always carried up the rear in their circle. But Parker is the one that Calum worries about sometimes--the way he laughs at the jokes the other cracks but it sounds a little bit like it’s being forced.

“Hey, at least he’s trying,” Calum interjects between the laughter.

Parker is a decent guy, but possibly still too scorned from his first love to really let anyone in. Calum can’t say he doesn't get it. It’s a shitty box to be in, to know that you have so much love to give but someone hurting you so deeply that it makes you want to hide that love away. Whether or not the pain was caused intentionally never really undoes the fact that it cuts so deeply.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve got the stories to back up his efforts,” Vance agrees easily. “Soon, he’ll settle down with a good guy. I know he will. But I think we’re at a good stopping point for today, yeah?”

The lot agrees. Calum takes survey of the progress--Logan and Paul have been working on the shelves while Calum and Vance focused on the bench. Only the foundations and arches of the unit exist based on the work done today. But it did take a little trial and error to get the arches to match. It’s clear though the shape it’s taking on. Once all the shelves are in and attached, they’ll paint it. Thankfully the paneling for the bench is a dark brown and matches the color for the rest of the furniture so there’s little to do in terms of staining the unit.

The wood and tools are all moved inside. Though Calum’s positive there’s no rain in the forecast, he knows that could change on a dime. Rather than trying to replace expensive equipment, he houses it inside of the shed now that the roof is fixed. The guys give their goodbyes as Calum turns the key on the bolt to lock the doors. Everyone on the project has a key should any one of them get here before the others, but Calum’s most often the first one there and the last one to leave.

“Thanks for that,” Parker states. Calum looks to his left, a little startled that Parker was still around. “For sticking up to Vance like that. I know he doesn’t mean any harm with those jokes, but they do get a little old. So I just wanted to say I appreciate you saying something.”

“Of course, man. Anytime,” Calum returns. “I get it. You know that.”

Parker’s nod is soft. “Yeah, I do. But still, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow for a couple hours at least. I don’t think we’ve got much left to do now.”

“No, it is shaping up nicely. I still appreciate your help with all this. Even though this is pretty far from HVAC.”

Parker laughs. “Yeah, yeah, it’s not exactly the ports on an AC unit, but I’ve got a few more skills than that too. Have a great night.”

“You too,” Calum calls out as Parker heads back for the doors.

Calum’s not sure why he expects that you’re still working on the socks. But all he finds instead is the empty spot that you once had a station up at. There’s not even indentations in the grace to show where you stood.

“Done already?”

Calum spins to see you walking out from where the new shed stands. “I was wondering where you’d gone,” he laughs, though his heart is still thundering in his chest.

“Joy asked for a spare hand.” Looking down, Calum can see the patch on your knees from the grass. Maybe not quite a full on stain, but it’s clear where you’d been working with the dirt too with the dark brown spots.

“You want to borrow something of mine and I do need to do laundry once we get back from drinks, I can throw everything in at once.”

“A shirt at the least. I think I have some spare pants in your room and I do have an overnight bag too.”

Calum nods, reaching out for your hand. He tries to remember if you do. He knows you took most of the stuff out a couple weeks ago, but he can’t recall if you came back with anything more. You could’ve and the time’s just slipped from his memory. But the trek back instead passes in an exchange about the work done--there’s a pause at the laundry on the first floor for Calum to take in the sight of the socks still contained away to allow the dye to set and settle into the fibers.

“They look good,” Calum compliments with a squeeze to your hand.

“Thanks, tomorrow’s the true test to see how the colors did.”

“I’m sure they’ll turn out well.” The two of you continue on up to Calum’s room. The squeak of your shoes as you two climb the stairs. Though the elevators are a faster way up, you head for the stairs and Calum follows behind. But it is a relief to hit the residential hallways. The work from earlier and Calum’s earlier work out are catching up with the burn of the stairs. The echo of slightly labored breathing softens as the two of you push closer and closer to his room.

“We’re never taking those stairs again,” Calum huffs, pushing his door open for you to enter through.

“You might not, but I think I’ll take them again.” Your own retort is stuttered as your breath comes and goes with big inhales and exhales.

“Yeah, right,” Calum laughs, shuffling past you as you paused at his drawers. On your side of the bed, resting on the floor, is the bag you mentioned earlier. It’s a silent shuffle in the room, the opening and closing of drawers, the zipper being opened to your bag.

“Do you want to shower first?” Calum offers. He’s still contemplating what to wear but given your ease to pull his yellow button down out from the closet and your fresh jeans from the drawer, you seem to have him beat. Though time’s not really an issue, Calum isn’t fond of being late when not necessary.

“Do you want help and we can shower together? You know, saving water and what not?” you laugh, slipping behind him.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re suggesting something there,” he teases.

“Do you trust me?” It’s a soft question.

“I do.” It’s an easy answer to an easy question.

“Then trust it’s nothing more than that. I just wanted to be close to you is all.”

That--that’s the kind of confession that makes Calum’s toes curl. “Then please help before we are half an hour late because I can’t decide.”

You press a kiss to his shoulder, though Calum’s sure he’s covered in sawdust and sweat--the conway studio’s T-shirt he’d gotten from Michael as a gift when Michael worked there for an artist on their debut album is a little unforgiving in some areas with the sweatstains that show up. “Of course. Where’s your casual meter? How do you normally meet the boys?”

“It never matters that much, if I’m honest,” Calum returns. Your arms wind around his midsection and Calum’s hold on the hangers slackens so that he can trace over the skin of your forearm with the tips of his fingers.

Your hum vibrates your shoulder but you tap his stomach before pulling away. Calum watches you shuffle back over to his drawers. You browse through the drawer only for a moment or two before unearthing a t-shirt, white with red trim at the neck and sleeves. His taste tester t-shirt. “We can start here,” you offer.

It doesn’t sound like a full on question, but there’s just enough lilt in the tone that Calum reassures you with a nod. He pushes his shirts off to one side of the closet before focusing on his bottoms. There’s some comfort when you’re next to him, watching over his shoulder at the selections. It’s less about the clothes and more about the fact that Calum wants you to know he needs you, cares about having you there for even the little things. Passing on his black jeans, Calum settles for some black trousers. You pick a black belt with a big silver Western buckle to top it off.

“Looks good to me,” Calum affirms.

“Well, let’s giddy up cowboy.” It falls with a teasing laugh, but Calum wouldn’t take it any other way.

The water is warm, hitting nearly like mist over Calum’s shoulder until he gets just enough water to get the pressure right. Once the shower roars, he lets you into the stream first. You only take a moment to get your face wet before you’re moving for his shampoo.

“Is there something in my hair?” he asks. There wasn’t any checking in the mirror before getting into the shower, which might’ve been his first mistake.

“Yeah, there’s some dust.”

“I can do it,” Calum comments, reaching out for the bottle, but you tuck it behind your back. This shower though it comfortably fits the two of you is not the best place to attempt to out muscle someone. Calum soaks his hair and turns as you direct him. The friction of your fingertips over Calum’s scalp is firm but not overbearing. It’s enough to make his eyes flutter close as you work. The kind of tenderness and care that makes his innards melt. So lost in the sensation, Calum nearly misses your directive for him to rinse the shampoo. Your work is swift to comb the conditioner through.

Calum goes to rinse it when you’re done, but you catch him by his elbow. “Not so fast,” you laugh. “Let it sit for another minute. Scooch to where I am.”

“I’ve never let my conditioner sit this long before,” Calum returns, but lets you stand in front of the stream from the shower head.

“And you’ll thank me later when you see the difference another minute or two makes,” you laugh. Calum can only watch. The water dripping down over your skin traces every line, every divot. Calum is no artist but he’d carve you into stone like the water is doing--highlight tautness of your muscles as you flex them, carrying over the curve of your butt. You are art work in a way that Calum thinks he understands finally the need to capture it in something so permanent. He knows he’d like to take his time to get every detail right. His memory is fallible. It’ll fail him eventually, but if he carved you into marble he’d always be able to remember the scars, the mole; every cell would hold to eternity in the rock.

“You can rinse now,” you direct after letting the water wash away the soap from your legs after your final scrub down of them.

Calum rubs his styling pomade over his palms--post shower and dressed, the only final touches are his hair. The extra time with the conditioner did soften it a little bit more than he’s used to this being. But that was information he was willing to give out easily. Though as he slips his fingers through his hair to hold the work of the blow dryer down, he is impressed. You watch from behind, fastening the button on your jeans into place.

“You don’t have to admit it, but your face says it all,” you laugh.

“Shut up. You don’t get to be right all the time,” Calum huffs. He wants to keep it together, be able to deliver the sarcasm with a straight face, but he ultimately cracks. His smile lifts his cheeks and he giggles when you shake your head at the antic.

“I’m only right some of the time,” you answer.

“Some, all, it’s all the same difference. Is Teagan okay by the way? You mentioned yesterday being worried about her.”

“I hope so. I really hope so. I don’t--I don’t want to assume anything right now, so it might be just a one off thing.”

“Well, I’m here for you and her. When you’re ready to say more just let me know. If there’s anything I can do in the meantime, just let me know too.” It’s clear the way you waltz around what happened that you don’t really want to say too much about it. Though it does make a small batch of worry stir in Calum’s stomach, he’s not going to force you to discuss something you’re not ready to discuss. He hopes it’s nothing. Hopes that maybe this is extra fret for ultimately nothing. But in the event that’s it’s more, he knows he’ll do whatever he needs to help you out.

“Thanks, love. I appreciate it.” Your arms slip under his and you smooth a small fly away. “Ready?”

“Born ready.”

Calum’s quick to direct you to the elevators on the way down to his car. He can still feel the slight quake in his thighs from the effort earlier when he squats down to get into the driver seat. It doesn’t help that just a couple days ago it was leg day in his gym routine. Yet, each time he forgets how long the recovery is from the torturous routine. The radio turns out immediately from the last time he was in the car, but Calum lowers the volume just a smidge.

“Is there anything I should know before meeting your friends? Any subjects off limits?” you ask after a few minutes of being on the road.

“You already know that Michael’s a producer. Luke’s got his hand in music, solo work. Ashton’s got jobs on jobs. Between his work to start a wellness app, he’s got a candle company. He’s working with Luke I think on some instrumental music. But they’re a cool group. Micheal’s married. Luke’s engaged. Ashton’s newly single so that might be a little bit of a tough spot, but if I’m honest, Violet wasn’t good for him so none of the guys are that torn up about her. We’re there for Ashton of course.”

“So a politician, a producer, a singer, and a hippie walk into a bar,” you start and Calum snorts. “And one of them says to the bartender, I need a drink that’ll help me through the day I’ve just had, with no major side effects and if I saw purple elephant at the end of the cup I wouldn’t be that made either, can you guess who ordered?”

“It was a group order,” Calum returns.

“Correct.”

“And I wouldn’t say Ashton’s a hippie. He’d gotten into school on some scholarships, dude’s practically a whizz, but definitely tends to lean more spiritual and philosophical than not.”

“I’ll give him a fair shake, promise. It’s just--wellness app? Do you know the focus of it?”

Calum hadn’t gotten all the specifics. Ashton mentioned it during one of their last hangouts and by the time that it really sunk in what Ashton was doing, the conversation gravitated to something else--there were jokes, teases, and before Calum could digest in his slight alcoholic haze the idea, the topic was long lost.

“We’ll find out more today I’m pretty sure though. He can go a mile a minute if you let him.”

“I’m excited to meet them then. See what kind of mischief you get up to.” Though Calum wouldn’t call it mischief himself, he’s excited too.

____________________________________

The thing about first impressions is that you’ll never know if you’re landing them well. There are no do overs. Only ever grace and more grace. But as you follow the half step behind Calum into the bar, you’re hoping you won’t need too much grace. It’s not packed for a Saturday, not yet anyway. Though you think that it might be too early to make such judgment at only 8 in the evening. The night is still young and you’re sure that as the hours crept by more and more people would crop up.

“Calum!”

You hear the voice before you spot two men waving with grins on their face. They sit next to each other at the table for what appears to be situated for six. One has blond hair that faintly curls at the top. The other man has a shaggier cut with pink dyed ends underneath a beanie. Calum laughs as he greets them, hugs and pats on the back. They reach out for you too, unphased by your addition to the outing. The man with the beanie introduces himself as Michael and faintly curly haired blond introduces himself as Luke.

Calum doubles down on such introductions, clearly missing the quiet exchanges but no one corrects him before you two settle down opposite of Michael and Luke. Calum pulls out your chair and you cut your eyes up with a soft smile. “Don’t,” Calum commands with a laugh. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Are you telling me he’s not pulling your chair out all the time? I raised you better than this,” Michael jokes.

“I am a gentleman,” Calum counters, “at all times.”

Luke joins in on the ragging with a tsk falling into the air from the suck of his teeth. “Then tell me why I don’t believe you, son. Just doesn’t seem right over here.”

The banter falls between them easily. You know it’s the years, all the time they spent together. And just as quickly as it starts, it stops even though Calum squawks to your left that he is the picture perfect partner to you. “Yeah, but we’ve learned not to trust you.” Michael turns to you at the end of the sentence. “So, let’s hear your thoughts. On a scale of zero to ten where is Calum falling on being a gentleman? Pretend he isn’t here. Which I know is hard since he’s so loud right now,” Michael cuts in over Calum’s muttered huffs.

You ponder the question, even as Calum slips his hand into yours, sliding a menu left behind closer to you, though one’s right in front of you. “Eight and a half. But he’s closing in on the 9.”

“I’d ask when I haven’t been a gentleman, but I fear the answer,” he snorts.

“I have to give you room to grow. Don’t want you to get too comfortable,” you tease.

Michael’s laughter echoes, even in the thump of the bass overhead. You hear his crackle. “I like you already. I’ve heard through the grapevine though that you’re starting a new job Monday?”

“Would the grapevine be about 6’2?” you ask. “But yes, Monday is my first day.”

“Are you nervous at all?” Luke questions.

You shrug, playing at the corner of the menu Calum slid your way. “A job’s a job. The people seem nice so far, so not terribly nervous. I’m a bit more used to first days at new jobs though,” you answer. From what you gathered, there’s a strong likelihood that they don’t share a background like yours. You could be wrong of course. But given what they’re doing now, you’re not sure what kind of background they could have.

“Sorry I’m late,” a scruffier voice calls out. “Sup, Cal.” They laugh and you look up over your shoulder to a man with almost shoulder length hair. There’s a slight wave to the warm brown strands. He smiles at you big and bright, the action making the sunglasses bounce just a little on his face. “I’m Ashton,” he greets, holding out a hand.

You shake it in return, offering your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same, same. Again, apologies for my tardiness. Not the kind of first impression I want to give.”

But grace, but grace, but grace. “Consider the tardiness excused. Better late than never.”

His laughter is soft as he nods. “Right, right on.”

“I was about another ten minutes from putting together a search party,” Michael relays to Ashton as he settles to your right.

“Nah, you can put the dogs back and let them free in the backyard. Though I don’t think South would dare get his paws dirty.”

“You have dogs?” you ask Michael.

He nods. “Two. South and Moose.” Before you can even ask to see pictures, he’s pulling out his phone. There on the table, the screen lights up your face as you swipe through the gallery Michael pulled up. “South has the golden coat--very much a diva.”

“Last time I petsit him, he acted like he didn’t even know me,” Calum huffs. “Until it was time for him to go and then he didn’t want to go.”

“A diva,” Michael concludes.

“They’re precious,” you coo, handing the device back after two more swipes.

“Do you have any pets by chance?” Luke tacks on.

“No, but I’m open to the idea. Just wasn’t feasible for a while.” There’s a nod of understanding but it leads down a tangent about Luke and his dog Petunia. It’s nice for the conversation to flow naturally. By the time you order your first round of drinks and some appetizers for the table, you learn about Luke’s older brothers, Ashton’s younger siblings, the way Michael, Luke, and Calum found each other in middle school thanks to band class. Luke’s mother used to teach Ashton as he is older than the rest of the group, resting right in the same age bracket as you. But even still, he’d been reached out by Michael in a string of bizarre fated events to guest drum for a gig they’d landed.

Though the band didn’t live long, given Calum’s trip off to football camp in Brazil and an unfortunately timed injury to Ashton’s wrist, they still kept close. It floors you for a minute to learn that in addition to school Ashton had taken a job at a KFC. He’d been doing it to bring in extra cash for his family and thankfully through the gigs, he’d managed to worm his way into the music world. He didn’t let the job go fully until he was met with a do or die moment. To say Ashton did is an understatement, but there’s something still modest in the well worn leather jacket and faded t-shirt. You’re sure if you saw the brand’s name etched into either one of the items, it still might give you a heart attack, but something in the ensemble lets you know that Ashton is not overly frivolous. The items stay in rotation until they’re unable to be saved.

“I’ll be right back,” Calum announces, pushing in a little closer to you. His lips press gingerly to your cheek before he stands. “No one scare them off while I’m gone.”

“Oh, we’ll behave,” Ashton giggled from behind his bottle. For a man who was newly single according to Calum, he was keeping his wits about him. He asked you questions, cracked jokes with Michael and Luke. Now without the sunglasses on his face, you spot the bright eyes to match his bright smile.

“Calum tells us you paint,” Luke offers up before sucking the ranch off his fingers. “Working on anything new?”

“Oh, I’m almost finished with this painting for him. So, nothing new really. I should’ve been done ages ago, but something about it doesn’t feel finished just yet. We’ll see if it ever jumps out at me.”

“I’m sure it will soon,” Luke smiles.

“Would you ever consider doing art full time?” Michael questions. He goes in for another sip of his cocktail.

“I much prefer it as a hobby, if I’m honest. I think I could see myself maybe taking it more seriously in the future, but I don’t know if it’s my next career move or not.”

“So you enjoy the restaurant life?” Ashton asks. “Or is that just where you prefer to stay in as your career?”

“A little bit of both, I guess,” you contemplate. “The industry is deadly and I don’t want to be a linecook forever, but I think for right now, I prefer to say that this industry is where I make my money. When I leave work, I leave it--none of it comes back home with me.”

“Except for Calum,” Luke snorts.

“I mean it’s not smart to shit where you eat, but so far it’s yet to blow up in my face so I’m hoping it never does. And technically, Calum’s not been to my place yet, so work has never actually come home with me. Can’t say the same for him.”

The boys cackle at your correction. “Fair,” Luke snickers. “I’m just happy to see him doing well again after everything that happened.”

The air feels sucked out of the room. Ashton and Michael’s smiles fall like bricks from their faces, clattering to the table beneath you all. You’re not aware of anything before, but now that it’s out there it sits on the table within arm’s reach like the wings and fries in front of you. Yet you don’t know if you should touch it. Don’t know if you should follow up on Luke’s line of conversation or pocket it for later.

You reach for a fry instead, dipping into your side bowl of ketchup. “You sure know how to drop a bomb Luke. How’s the music going though?”

You’re curious. What had happened to Calum before? As far as you were aware, he’d not been dating anymore, not seriously before you. Well, not that you knew of while you worked in the kitchen of course. The almost two years had been pretty quiet on the gossip train about Calum until you two got involved. But there’s plenty of time prior to that that you couldn’t account for.

“So, you-you don’t know?” Michael questions. It cuts right under the question you asked to Luke.

“No, no I don’t know.” It’s a simple sentence. Because you don’t. And you’re too tired to panic about what you don’t know. The worry of Teagan and Charlie outweighs whatever information you haven’t been given from Calum.

“It’s a good thing,” Michael clarifies. “There’s been a really good change in Calum because of you. It’s not my place to tell you. But I do want you to know it isn’t bad.”

Luke sets his bottle down and pushes it with the tips of his fingers a couple more inches from his reach. “I’m sorry. Definitely should’ve been more careful about that kind of stuff. But it is good, like Michael says.”

Ashton scoots the bottle Luke pushed away closer to him. “Yeah, buddy, let me just hold onto that for you.”

It’s not fun to know that Calum’s withheld information. But you know that people will always play certain things close to their chest. You kept Teagan and Charlie close for so long. You kept your family drama close. Though it is a jolt, a shock to your system, you think it’s only fair that Calum has the things he wants to keep close too. Everyone has their demons. Perhaps the signs were always there. But there is always a reason.

“So, everyone here is in music somehow. Who wants to go first about their current project? And please one at a time, or I will have to break out the talking stick, or rather talking bottle,” you tease.

“Talking bottle?” Michael laughs.

“Well, it’s a talking stick originally. Whomever has the stick speaks. Everyone else stays quiet and then it goes around person to person and back and forth between people if need be.” Your empty bottle of beer stares back at you and you lift a few inches off from the table. “But when in a bar, you improvise.”

“Are you saying we talk over each other?” Luke laughs with a bit of a squeal to his voice at the same time Ashton states, “I don’t really think we need to go that far.”

“If the boot fits,” you laugh. The fries have gone cold due to the time you’ve all spent talking, less focused on the actual drinks and food. But you reach for another couple as the boys bicker for a moment. They’re more like brothers than they are friends, as you watch them, reminding you of the way Teagan and Charlie interact with each other. It’s a playful banter, a quip always at the ready with them.

“You okay?”

You turn to the question, though you don’t need to. Calum’s scooted in a little closer to you. You can feel his warmth seeping into your back through his shirt on your body. “I’m okay. I like your friends.”

Calum’s lips are soft on your cheek. “Good. I think they like you too.”

“Try love them,” Michael corrects and no sooner than he makes the statement, he’s sucked back into Ashton’s claims that a band, you didn’t catch the name, is overrated. Ashton quickly reasserts he doesn’t mean it negatively.

“They’re just too derivative of a derivative and ultimately aren’t producing anything cutting,” Ashton further explains.

“We’re not talking about fucking algebra,” Michael quips. “We’re so far from the origins of the soundscapes for most genres. It’s all going to sound derivative, because it is. But it’s not about new, or shiny. It’s about saying it in a way that no one else has.”

It’s like Luke’s early faux pas didn’t even happen. Ashton and Michael verbally circle each other all the while Luke watches like one does a tennis match--Ashton then Michael. Michael then Ashton--back and forth for all it to end in a deuce. You wonder if either will ever get the two points to win. But the waitress comes by again and the collection take stalk of the table. There’s a few bottles scattered and you help her collect those, and order up on more drinks--some water, some sodas, a few more cocktails and alcoholic drinks thrown into the mix.

“Would you ever take commissions? Even on the side?” Luke ponders. “Like one off projects and such?”

“Possibily,” you answer with a shrug. The majority of your work went to to a couple local places--the local children’s hospital enjoyed having your work on display as the children loved it. You’d gifted Teagan and Charlie small paintings after they begged for them. “Again, don’t want to make it my career, but you know if someone wanted to pay me to do something for them, I’d entertain the thought.”

“An original painting could do wonders at the local charity circuit,” Ashton pipes in. The comment isn’t for you and you peer over your shoulder to Calum.

He stares wide eyed over his first beer that he’s yet to finish. “It could. But I-if it’s not your thing, you don’t have to do it.”

“Do what?” you question. There’s been no conversation about anything for charity in your presence.

“In December, I have-I have a charity banquet to attend. There’s stuff that people auction off to raise money for the connected charities. I mentioned the the guys that it’d be nice to auction off something more meaningful. But I wasn’t sure if it was even appropriate to ask you about it. You’d only have two months and some change to finish it. There’s a website that goes up in the last week of November, a week and a half before the event so people can see the options.”

“Which charities?” You’d heard of the event, watched clips of the auction with more curiosity than true interest to watch rich people flaunt their philanthropy.

“I think this year is focusing on women’s rights, especially the efforts on pushing law enforcement to investigate those missing. The deadline to submit proposals is in two weeks though. Which is like, not great planning on my end I know.”

“What do you normally auction off?”

“Volunteer time.”

“How comfortable are you with volunteer time?” You’d at least think about it. It might be more than you could handle, but you’d chew the thought over. Especially since you did still have questions about whatever Luke alluded to earlier.

“I like it; I don’t mind volunteering. It’s a nice change of pace honestly. Just--I think others should see your talents too.”

The blush that creeps up on his cheeks nearly melts you. Though your gut initially wants to dismiss it as the flush of alcohol, you know the truth. When Calum casts his gaze down and picks at his nails, you know that he’s a little shy in the confession. You take his hand gingerly on top of the table and the action is enough for him to look up. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

At the very end when the check hits the table, all four boys reach it, cards and cash in hand. Ashton ends up footing the bill but the rest of the boys hand over cash or tap at their screens to ensure Ashton’s paid for their portions. “How much do I owe Calum?” you ask, noticing the bill’s being split four ways instead of five.

He shakes his head. “I got you, baby. Don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

“More than sure.”

“I’ll pay next time.” It’s not fully a suggestion, but you still offer it softly.

Calum takes a squeeze at your hand after slipping his phone into his pocket. “Okay.” It’s easy, simple. He smiles at you and the group pushes up from the table. Michael, Luke, and Ashton all give you hugs as you leave.

“You’ll come next time too, right?” Luke asks. “We bring all the partners. Be a nice time, I think.”

“I’d be happy to see you all again,” you agree. The agreement leads to another round of hugs, the group spilling out into the outdoors. The night is darker, a little cooler than you first left it. Calum’s hold around your hand tightens for only a moment and you squeeze in return at the action.

You know there’s always a better time, a better place. The parking lot of this bar definitely does not feel like the right time. But you’re not sure when it will be. “Luke mentioned something when you stepped away to the restroom. And-and I’d like to ask you about it.”

The tension thickens. Calum’s shoulders become rigid under the t-shirt. “It doesn’t sound like a good thing.”

Not a shut down, only a phish for more information. One you’re happy to supply. “It is good in a way. The group seems to be really happy that you’re in a good relationship. But the way Luke said it, it made me think there’s definitely something, or someone before.”

“I don’t want anyone else if that’s what you’re wondering. That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I’m-I’m not worried about that. I’m not really worried about anything. I just--whenever you’re ready to talk about what happened before, I’d like to know.”

You think that’s going to be the end of the conversation. You wouldn’t fault it at all. Perhaps, you’d been all too blinded by Calum choosing you that you hadn’t fully wondered what was going on in his past. You didn’t think the stories of Calum’s childhood could be a smoke screen. They were real. They were all a part of what made Calum Calum. But Luke’s comment cracks open the possibility that you’d been blinded. As hungry as you were to have Calum to yourself the reality of it all is that he’s not to be consumed.

“I just--there’s stuff I haven’t asked you, you know? I want the bad stuff too. So I know how to be there for you. So I know how to love you.” The words fall, buzzing on your lips and tongue. You’d want to pick them up after they’ve fallen, but you know it's wasted energy. They’re out there now. You can’t do anything but watch Calum’s back. The tension has dropped. He doesn’t look ready to run.

“Part of it feels ridiculous,” Calum admits. He tugs your hand, closing the gap between the two of you. “There’s so much worse that’s happening to other people. And my hurt just starts to feel small.”

“It’s not a competition of pain. Your hurt isn’t smaller than someone else’s.” You’re slotted against Calum’s chest. There’s no brim of a hat, no glasses to hide him away. There’s just the fear--plain as day on his face. “If I ever made this feel like a competition, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you didn’t make it feel like a competition. I think,” he pauses with a sigh. “It’s totally different. I feel like I want to love again. With you. It wasn’t always like that.”

Your fingertips ache. You want to cup his jaw, ask him to explain to you from the top what it was like before. You don’t, thinking a camera lens could be pointed at you right now. Perhaps there would always be and now it’s less about them and more about Calum. With caution, you trace at his jaw, trailing up until your palm rests against his full cheek. “I’m glad it’s better now.”

Calum’s eyes shut, lashes nearly brushing the top of his cheeks. Like babies root to touch, Calum turns into your hold, lips pressing to your palm with a kiss. “But it was bad. And you should know.”

“Only when you’re ready,” you whisper. You’re glad there’s no breeze, lest your words have gotten swept up in it.

“Can I tell you on the drive?”

Your answer is only a nod. You want to do more, kiss him. Let him know you’re there. You think if it could be done, you’d crawl into his chest, whisper to his heart that you don’t have plans on breaking it. But this is not a fairytale. You know strife always comes. The only solace one can have is that they don’t cause too much of it.

It’s quiet at first, as Calum pulls out of the parking lot and onto the streets. You watch the signs for the highway, watch Calum take the entrance ramp, spending up so that he can merge. You’re not headed back to the palace. You’re actually going in the opposite direction. You don’t know what could be out there, what Calum has up his sleeve. But you don’t question it.

“Her name is Nora,” Calum starts.

You know of a Nora-- a princess fit to inherit within the next three years. Her particular people believed in a matriarch. Though Queens took husbands, they almost always never turned over power. “Like Princess Nora or the girl next door to the palace Nora?”

“The princess,” Calum answers, but he does grin for a brief moment taking a look at your face.

There are no girls next door--you know that. But somehow the truth still unsettles. You don’t remember murmurs about Nora from the kitchen. The kitchen staff passed time in gossip. You knew more about the royal family you worked for and others merely because the gossip seemingly made the seconds fly by. You’d never cared for it before and didn’t care for it when you worked there. You let the others do the talking.

“We dated back in college for two and half years.”

That’s well before you would’ve even been considering working for the palace. No wonder it hadn’t come up around you. “I’m guessing it wasn’t amicable.”

Calum shrugs. “I don’t know if amicable is remotely close. But it didn’t end badly. Just rough. When we broke up, I spent a year wallowing. I wanted to pretend I was okay, but she was my first love in a way. I’d dated before in high school, but they’d only lasted a few months. Not nearly enough time to mean anything in comparison.”

“I think your training in Brazil ruined you,” you tease, watching through the front windshield as the dark asphalt and street lights whizz around you.

“I know, I know. Not a competition. But the crushes in high school were just that--crushes. We dated, held hands, kissed, but Nora was my first serious relationship. I’d been looking at rings.”

Rings-- the word bites at your veins. Calum doesn’t say it with ease, his hands clutching the wheel so hard his knuckles are paling. They’d been deep into the relationship--enough so that marriage was potentially on the line. Your fingers twitch to soothe his, but you restrain yourself given his work at the wheel.

“Sounds like you never made the purchase?” you probe, hoping it’s as gentle as it can be. You are curious. You want Calum to know that you are listening too.

“Never had the opportunity, thankfully so, I guess. Nora graduated in December and I graduated in May. She’d taken some summer classes to help get ahead and done some work in high school to get a head start. Nora asked me at the start of winter break, right after she graduated, if I intended on marrying her. I was honest. I told her that I would like to, after we both had a couple years out from school. There would be a lot of logistics involved.”

“Politcs,” you point out. “She’s a part of a matriarch. You’re in a patriarchal system.” The quip about you being lower class, how much easier it is to date someone with no political ties, burns at your tongue. But you know Calum. It won’t go well at all; he’ll beg you to stop the self deprecation, tell you that he loves you for you. It’s all things you know.

Calum winces at the phrasing. “I mean that’s what it was. But at the time, I didn’t see it like that. I was idealistic about it, toxically optimistically probably. Not that I’m not the same now, but I hope not nearly as much.”

He risks a glance, like he poised a question. You only shrug at first, but then add on, "Optimistic, yes. Toxic, no. You know when you admit you’re wrong.”

“Improvement then, I guess, from then. Nora didn’t want to turn over her right to rule. I didn’t want to turn over my right to rule. And even if I told her she wouldn’t be, she didn’t see it that way. I thought she was being nitpicky. No one would care at the end of the day because her politics would still stand. I wouldn’t interfere with her work. But ultimately, it was--it was crumbling. The second I answered that we could rule separately but still be together and she looked at me with confusion--it was over. Rock meet glass house.”

You can imagine it--the strong brow on Nora furrowing as Calum spoke. The way she might’ve shaken her head and spoke firmly, black hair spilling over her shoulder as it always did in her press speeches. Nora is a force--fierce with seemingly little fear about the perception from others. Where Calum played a careful game, Nora played the explosive kind. She’s smart, by no means did her passion outshine her intelligence, but she was always speaking out first about things. She was one of the people rallying others. It’s easy to see how with Nora it became all or nothing

Calum continues on, signaling as he speaks to take an exit. “I tried to date, but my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t want to be dating if I’m honest. I’d told myself that I’d just be single. I’d take on the throne and settle into that- give it five, seven, ten years before I married. It really wouldn’t matter. Luke was trying to set me up on dates. But they never went anywhere. Didn’t even want sex if I’m honest. I refused it a couple times and both girls and guys thought I was crazy. Sometimes, I don’t know. Sometimes I did it anyway because it was a distraction. Nothing really numbed the pain though. There was just this constant ache I had. I’d envisioned myself a dad--playing sports in the back garden, or in ballet recitals for daddy and daughter dance classes. I’d always pictured myself on the throne, working in the Cabinet. Those weren’t things I’d want to give up, even for Nora. That’s what made it scary. She had her way of thinking. Her people rule the way they do and that’s fine. But I always knew I was going to be King. I knew even if I didn’t always want it that I wouldn’t give up on the responsibility.”

You can hear what’s between those words, what still causes Calum pain. “But it meant giving up Nora, right? If you were always going to take your throne and she was always going to take hers, then the only thing left is what happened.” It doesn’t shock you to hear how much Calum dreamed of his future. You don’t worry that he still wants it—those things could all be worked out eventually. But you know that Calum’s so caught up on making things work for the best possible outcome that he doesn’t always remember that life is not always about the best.

“Yeah,” Calum sighs. It’s heavy and comes deep from within his chest, “but I wanted it all. You know. I wanted her and I wanted to follow through on my duties. I wanted it fucking all and at the time, it felt like I’d lost everything. We knew after that conversation it wouldn’t be compatible. Nora and I’s relationship required sacrifices that we were too young and too driven to make. Nora deserves where she’s at. She deserves to rule. And I don’t think she could’ve been happy any other way.”

“Do you think you could’ve been happy any other way? As little as I actually know about her--and I reserve the right to absolutely be wrong about it--it was your relationship too.”

The roads are narrowing. You watch now as the dark asphalt lightens, there’s a few more bumps along the way. You round the bend and the ocean opens up in front of you. You know the beach is closed but it doesn’t seem to stop Calum as he pulls to a stop in the parking lot. The lights stuff off from the car, leaving you surrounded in the thick mass of the night. The sun’s long gone. The lights are off in the truck too. The engine knocks just a little as the vehicle settles.

“I might’ve been, but if I’m honest I didn’t spend 4 years in college and 4 years under my father’s immediate wings for nothing. I’d been putting time into my own aspirations and I don’t think long term that relationship would’ve been good for me,” Calum answers as he turns to you. The seatbelt clanks against the plastic interior. “I hope the beach is okay.”

“The beach is fine.” You undo your seatbelt as well, listening to the way it winds back up into place. “Making the right choices sometimes isn’t easy,” you admit. Like the right choice to change jobs. Like the right choice to stay for Teagan and Charlie. Like the right choice for Calum to let Nora go.

“Yeah,” Calum agrees. “Sometimes it’s not.”

You find Calum’s hand, threading your fingers through his. “I hope your choices next time are easier.”

“They’ve gotten easier,” he confesses. “Talking to you was easy. You always treated me like a person.”

“Because you are one.” It’s a simple answer, but you know it to be true. Calum’s just a person. Though he had politics about him, though he was in a world foreign to you at all times and even overwhelming, he was just a person like you. “You’re human like the rest of us.”

“Doesn’t always feel like it.”

You don’t want to imagine the pressure on Calum’s shoulder, a pressure so unsustainable. But the wheel must spin. The cruelty of it all is that someone has to win and someone has to lose.

“What’s the relationship like now with Nora? Is it still tense?”

“Not as much as before. It’s professional at this point, as much as it can be.”

“Two and a half years is a long time though. Makes sense.”

“We tried to make it work. Six months we kept trying to keep pushing and find a solution. But we only sort of grew to resent each other. We were always fighting. Nora called it off, ultimately. She was the one that saw we were crashing and burning. I didn’t want to admit it even if I noticed it too. So to say it was amicable, not quite. It was mutual though.”

You know Calum even in the dark. You know the squint of his eyes, the way his cheeks meld to your hold. You know the catch of his breath when you brush your fingers over the veins on his neck. His veins thump under your touch and then you drag the touch up to his jaw. “Thank you for telling me. That wasn’t easy for you, I can see.”

“I don’t particularly like thinking about it,” Calum admits. His throat seizes. You feel the small quake under your fingers. “I didn’t talk about it. Not even with the boys for a long time.”

“If there’s anyone that understands, it’s me. There’s nasty things in life sometimes. Stuff that we don’t want to talk about, don’t want to deal with. Thing’s we’d prefer to swallow down and never pull back up. I get it,” you assure.

Something warm hits your fingers. It’s only a few drops--tears you assume. Pushing up, you find his lips, a kiss soft and sweet. Calum’s quick to grapple you, encase you in his arms and tug. You’re pulled as far as you can over the console. And you let yourself go. It’s awkward, your back hurts just a little. But Calum exhales into your mouth, shaky as he breathes.

“Scoot the seat all back. You’re going to break my back,” you tease after the hug lasts longer than you anticipate.

“That’s now how I imagined doing it,” Calum teases, his breath ghosting over your lips. He reaches down to pull the lever and push the driver seat back.

Settled onto Calum’s lap, you pull him back into your chest. His fingers are buried--under the shirt--pressing into your flesh like his digits can burrow deeper into your, pass the muscle and fat, into the hollows of blood and organs. You don’t stop him, just press a kiss to his forehead as you cradle his head. His body tremors and there’s the occasional sniffle. The tears are hot on your thumbs, but you wipe them away, slow and steady.

“It’s okay, Calum. You can let it all out now,” you encourage. You know you can’t fix anything. You can’t change the past. But you let him release it. The thing about carrying things that are buried is that they tend to come back when you don’t want them too--like wild animals fed, the things that get buried only ever come back.

Your stroke along his neck, over his shoulders. Your words are soft. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay. You’re safe to let it out.”

The tremors cease after a long stretch of time, 10 or so minutes,--Calum’s crying reduced now to just the sniffles, just the remnant of tears that trail down his cheeks. With one deep inhale, Calum brings his face out of your hands and rests his head down on your shoulder. His lips brush at your neck, in what are nearly kisses. Your knees ache, you’re sure that when you finally sit your toes are going to tingle due to the lack of blood for the time being. But this is all temporary, not something you need to worry about when you can still hear the shuddery exhales of Calum.

“Haven’t had someone in a long time tell me I was safe,” he whispers against your skin. His voice is thick with the tears and emotion he’s split. His arms constrict again around your back, arms locked as if attempting to cage you in. You know better. You know it’s for comfort.

“Well you are; you’re safe with me.”

“Thank you.” The phrase is followed by a kiss this time to your neck. He follows the line to your throat with more gratitude on his tongue. He paints your skin with the phrase. You wonder when you shower again if the words will show up as tattoos on your throat. His forehead is firm in your sternum but you don’t mind the pressure when he falls back into the shelter of your body.

“You’re welcome,” you return to Calum.

His voice rumbles through your chest, you catch something that sounds like smell but you can’t fully place it. You thread your fingers around the back of his neck and squeeze. It’s not enough pressure to cause pain but it coaxes his head back. “I said you smell good,” he laughs.

“Thank you,” you laugh.

The dark doesn’t make it easy, but you imagine that his cheeks might be flushed, that there might be a little bit of pink to them. There’s some light due to the tall streetlights in the parking lot, but you two are far enough at the edge of the beacon of one and the end of the parking lot so it leaves the truck in the glow of a light and not fully lit. His eyes glisten though as he watches you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you huff, pressing at his shoulders.

“Look at you like what?”

“Like you can’t help but love me.”

“I do love you.”

It’s wrong to say what’s pressing at your teeth, do you love me enough for sacrifice. You know it given what Calum had just confessed. Maybe the two of you were still too young and too stubborn for the kind of love that required sacrifice. Perhaps it’s the kind of love that you had to mature into with each other. Calum wouldn’t have much to sacrifice, save for a few comments, a few sneers. You’d always have something to sacrifice.

“What’s going on? You can talk to me,” Calum coaxes, hands moving from your hips to your cheeks, thumbs swiping right under your eyes. There are no tears.

“It’s not a fair question,” you return. “It’s not the right time to ask it.”

“Will you ask it when it’s the right time?” Calum questions. It falls out quietly. You can hear it land into your lap, soft and fragile like the first snow. For a moment, you hope that this winter gives a fresh and deep dusting. The summer was warm and thick. You want winter to be cold.

“If the right time comes up.”

“No, no not if, when. When it’s the right time to ask, you’ll ask, right?”

It’s a promise that will make you a liar. You know it. “Do you want to make me a liar?”

“Just this once,” Calum answers.

“What if it’s never a fair question?” What if it’s just insecurity that you’re letting get the best of you?

“This,” Calum returns, a hand waving between the two of your bodies. “This is not a glass house we’re building. It doesn’t always have to be a fair question. Just as long as it can be made into an honest conversation.”

A conversation--a much more fair objective. You bring your forehead to his--the beer’s a faint ghost on his breath. All you can smell is Calum--the pomade in his hair, the cologne he sprayed on his throat and wrist that smells like expensive leather with a hint of sandalwood and something sweet like vanilla. You trace the veins in his neck, a steady thumping of his heart under your gentle press.

“I’m not sure of many things in my life,” you start. “I never had the chance to live with certainty. I always keep that voice in the back of my head fed, that tells me you’ll grow bored. You’ll want someone with less baggage. You’ll need something more suited for the life you have. Because you’re a fucking Prince. I’m a fucking cook. It’s all I ever had--the cooking and a little bit of art to keep me going. But I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I like you. I love you too. But I wonder how far this can go. How far do you want to take it, you know? I don’t need announcements on social media or anything like that. I just--I keep the voice in the back of my head fed because what if all this leaves me.”

Calum’s lips are soft. His mouth sealing around yours in a kiss. His hands are warm on your face. The tears are hot on your cheek--yours this time. What if you lose it all? What if it all goes away? You cannot consume him. But you wish you could.

“We never know what life’s going to bring, baby.” The silver bracelet Calum slipped on dazzles just a little in the glint of the faint light coming in through the car window. “I know I want to be with you. I know I want to wake up next to you. I want to take you on dates, even if it’s just picnics in the park. I want to show you off to my friends. I want to have a relationship with Teagan and Charlie too. I want to take you all out, have them crash some bumper cars, feed them too much fucking candy and make your parents hate me just a little because I always drop their two youngest off on a sugar high. I want to watch you paint and talk about our days together. I want,” he pauses. You watch his eyes flicker from your face to the space around the car. He’s searching. You don’t know for what though you do hope it’s the words.

You squeeze his face. “You want what?” You just want to hear the words: that Calum wants you. You know it’s true. You just need to hear it.

He continues on. “I just want you,” Calum laughs, squeezing at your hips. “I want to adopt a dog with you. I miss my boy, Duke, so fucking much. He’s a hole in my heart but I know that I still have love to give. I know it’s not always going to be easy with me. I know it’s scary. But I don’t want these things with anyone else, baby. If I had the opportunity to beg life for anything, I’d beg for you; that you get to stay with me so that you can teach me things, so I can teach you things. You’ll have to stop feeding that voice. It’s a hungry bastard, but starve it.” His arms are trembling. The emotion rocks his voice.

“Starve it,” he whispers. “I want you to starve that voice so that you can enjoy this too, so that you don’t keep waiting for the bad and start to enjoy the good thing in front of you. We’ll never know what life’s going to bring. I certainly didn’t think life would bring me you. And yet, it did. I’m so happy it did.”

It’s a rush, the surge in the centimeters between the two of you to seal Calum’s mouth in a kiss. I just want you. It’s terrifying to want. Here, especially with Calum. Wanting things didn’t mean you needed them. Wanting things didn’t mean you’d get them either. But you are lying if you say you don’t want Calun. You’re lying if you say you don’t want him to want you. And you’ve always known it. But knowing how far he was with Nora, a part of you just needs reassurance.

Reassurance comes when Calum kisses back. It comes when he pants into your skin how much he waits for calls. It comes when he squeezes at your hips, rocks you over his pelvis. Reassurance comes when hands are deftly teasing skin under shirts. When you don’t waste time with either of you fully undressing, and you watch the fog creep up on the windows, you feel reassured. Reassurance comes when the gratitude Calum painted you in earlier turns into desire, when he tattoos into your skin I love you over and over with his lips and tongue.

You need that reassurance like you need the graze of his teeth over your collar bone. Need the curl of his fingers into your flesh. You need the shuddered moans of your steady rhythm as your pelvis rocks up and down his. You need him. You crave him. You want him. You want Calum in every sense of phrase--you want to tell Calum about your day. You want to hear about his day. You want the dog too. You want Diana and Melvin to be pissed at the sight of you and Calum because they know there’s about to be too much sugar involved. You want to paint for Calum, want him to ask you about each color and each stroke.

“I think you might be the death of me,” you whisper against his jaw. The tension in your stomach tightens as Calum bucks up against your clothed pelvis. You gasp at the feeling. You know the stretch of him, how well he treats you on his cock and tongue. His truck may not be the best place for it, but the thought crosses your mind to beg for it. That is until Calum responds to your statement.

“No,” Calum groans, “No, I want you to live for me.” His hands slide up your back. The tug pulls you in with ease--your chest pressed into his. “Can you do that for me? Can you live for me?”

I want you to live for me. Another gasp leaves you. Body teetering on the edge of release but the shock pulls you far enough from the edge. You don’t want a glass house with Calum either. You want something real. Perhaps, you want something to live for too--needed it without really knowing you needed that kind of direction.

You know you can’t live for Calum long-term. You’ll need something else eventually. But Calum’s the best start. You nod before Calum presses you down onto his bulge again. “I can.”

“Good,” he grins. “Now, c’mere.”

The rumble in his voice makes your stomach liquid. Your skin buzzes as you kiss him again. Your orgasm rockets through you as Calum’s tongue pants your mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, body quaking with the fire of your desire consuming you. “That’s it, fuck, baby,” Calum whispers against your mouth, his voice tight.

Calum won’t be far behind you. You let your hand graze over his nipple, up to his throat. The hold is featherlight. But it’s enough for his eyes to flutter for a moment. You grin. “Make a mess for me,” you command, pressing harder into Calum.

They say fire only needs oxygen--it takes one gulp and then bursts into flames, an inferno of a single spark. Calum only needs the command, the light press of your fingers at the sides of his throat before his body goes rigid. His gasp falls choked before you pull yourself in close, swiping your tongue over his parted lips. The ghost of his breath, the huff of air as he comes down from his orgasm fans over your face. You revel in it, grinning as you listen to his raggedy breathing.

Calum laughs, head falling into the rest. You curl into his chest though there’s dampness from your own orgasms and Calum’s creeping in through the denim. “All that’s missing now is the handprint on the window,” he teases. Calum’s fingers are gentle over your back, tracing the length of your spine.

You reach out to touch the driver side window. “Done.” The scent of leather swells your nose, long after you’ve slipped back into the passenger seat. Calum’s cologne is signed onto the hairs in your nose. The dampness of your jeans turns into a coolness as it starts to dry. Calum’s hand is warm on your knee. I want you to live for me. Insecurity is a useless emotion, yet it still reared it’s ugly head. You were glad to hear Calum’s reassurance. But his demand that you live for him; that you starve the voice in your mind that keeps waiting for the bad, is dizzying. When your entire world has been set in hiding, never being heard or seen, it’s unsettling to have someone draw you out. Calum wants to draw you. He wants you to live in a life that you’d been content with. You hope the spotlight doesn’t burn you.

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