Archive of Our Own ^beta

On the road, things can get strange. 

Driving or flying from one city to the next, without ever really being conscious for the journey. Waking up knowing you’re in a new city, but not knowing which one. Performing the same show over and over, seeing different faces in the crowd, but also a lot of the same faces. 

After a few weeks of this, reality blurs into a strange dreamlike haze where sometimes Calum’s not entirely sure he can trust his own brain to distinguish what is and isn’t real.

It’s a pleasant blur, though. An escape to sink into for the duration of tour. 

And yeah, it gets tiring after a while, and Calum is always happy to have a break so he can revisit reality. But once he’s had his fill, he looks forward to getting back on the road again.

“You wanna go for a run?”

“Huh?” Calum blinks up at Luke from where he’s slumped over an armchair in the dressing room of whatever venue they’re performing at tonight. He hasn’t checked where he’s at yet, because he’s barely awake. 

He has a process, and he’s only, like, eighty percent finished. Luke interrupted him right at the part where he acknowledges how strange his life is by quietly exploring his current feelings about being on tour.

Luke knows the process, or at least that there is one, and he smiles patiently at Calum with tired eyes. “I’m gonna go for a run, maybe find a coffee shop. Wanna come?”

He’s already dressed for it, in his baggy black shorts that still manage to hug his ass, a tight black tank top that probably started tour inside one of Calum’s suitcases, and his trusty 5SOS trucker hat pulled over his messy curls.

Taking a deep breath and letting out a long exhale, Calum considers the offer. “No, I don’t want to. But I will anyway.” 

Luke grins. “Meet by the bus in ten?”

Calum yawns, nodding, and starts dragging himself out of the armchair to search for his gym shorts.

The grind of tour is exhausting, and it makes it hard for Calum to have the energy to take care of himself, but it’s so much worse when he doesn’t. And the shows suffer, too. The routine helps, being able to get in the habit of forcing himself to exercise or drink a protein smoothie at a certain time every day, because every day is basically the same thing in a different city.

And Luke helps, for a lot of reasons. Calum wants to spend time with him, even if it’s time spent running. Calum wants to make him proud. Calum wants to be able to keep up with him on stage. Calum wants to see him sweaty and breathless. Calum wants to look good for him.

For him is maybe not the most honest way of putting it. Calum wants to look good in case Luke decides to look at him the way he’s been looking at Luke lately.

Over the years, Calum’s definitely thought about it. But fleetingly, a passing amusement, a thought exercise.

Lately, he thinks about it all the time. And it feels different. It’s not just a whimsical what if. It feels real and intense and overwhelming.

He doesn’t know what changed. Maybe it’s Luke’s hair. Maybe it’s his tattoos. Maybe it’s the way he struts around on stage in vests and crop tops and skin-tight sheer mesh.

Whatever it is, it’s keeping Calum up at night.

The thing he can’t quite sort out is if he just wants to fuck Luke, or if the fact that he wants to fuck Luke means something else too.

It’s not a bad thing, though. In a lot of ways it’s just interesting. What the fuck happened? Why is he thinking about Luke this way all the time? And should he actually do something about it at some point?

Jogging along beside Luke on an unfamiliar sidewalk, peeking out of the corner of his eye at the way Luke’s body moves while he runs, at the way sweat is collecting on the tops of his shoulders and along his collarbone, at the way his hummingbird tattoo flashes in and out of view as he swings his arms—Calum’s not sure he should. 

Not because he’s afraid it’ll fuck things up or whatever. There’s just something a little addictive about having this little secret locked away in his mind. About no one knowing what he’s thinking—just his own private wonderland where he fantasizes about Luke, and has a good time doing it. The thrilling zip of nervous butterflies in his chest when Ashton or Michael catches him zoning out staring at Luke, but knowing they don’t have a single clue Calum’s zoning out because he’s thinking about getting on his knees and sucking Luke’s dick.

Luke certainly doesn’t have a clue. He might have considered it, but he doesn’t trust himself to be right. Calum is so comfortable in this weird space because he knows for certain Luke won’t call him on it. 

Might Luke waltz up to him someday and say, earnestly, “Are you thinking about fucking me right now?” Possibly. But it would be with a tinge of humor underneath, a safety net in case he’s wrong. It’s just a joke! Just Luke giving Calum a hard time!

Calum rolls his eyes thinking about it, reaching up to dab at the sweat trickling down from his hairline before it drips into his eyes.

It’s been great for his running pace, being sort of obsessed with Luke. It’s so easy to just keep going when his brain is occupied with thoughts of Luke, and Luke is actually there next to Calum, his longer legs taking him further faster, spurring Calum to keep up.

There’s a tap on Calum’s shoulder, and his gaze follows the line of Luke’s arm to see him pointing at a coffee shop about a block down the street. Calum nods, slowing his pace, and Luke pulls out his earbuds, chest heaving as he gradually slows to walking.

“You wanna sit down, or take it to go?” Luke’s mouth is hanging open a little while he catches his breath, frowning into the sun.

“Let’s get it to go,” Calum suggests through his own labored breathing. “We can walk back. See the sights.” He flicks his eyes meaningfully up and down Luke’s body, which Luke responds to by smiling and ogling Calum jovially, which means he’s in a particularly good mood this morning.

“I’m already seeing some sights,” he flirts, voice deep and suggestive while his eyes are bright blue and sweet. Yes. A very good mood. Calum should figure out a way to take advantage of that. 

“Maybe you should do more than just see them.”

After a brief pause, Luke’s face contorts into a gleeful leer, eyes wide, eyebrows drawn, mouth curled in a smirk. “Like maybe instead of just looking, I should actually…come inside?”

Calum’s responding laugh is a high pitched squeak, the sheer overwhelming joy of lobbing a joke at a friend and having them execute it to its potential. Yeah, it’s funny, but it’s that sweet satisfaction too. Something went exactly to plan without a plan ever being made. Because there’s a connection between you. Confirmation that you understand each other. It’s one of Calum’s favorite feelings.

“I’ve heard it’s worth the visit,” Calum says with a shrug. It’s hard for him to fully contain the warmth he feels in moments like this, with Luke specifically. Sometimes he can manage to keep a straight face or a sarcastic tone for the sake of fucking with him, but most of the time, it bleeds out onto his face somehow. He can feel it happening, and there’s no real incentive to stop, because Luke likes it. Nothing makes Luke happier than knowing he’s entertaining Calum, except maybe M&Ms and passing dogs on the street.

The door to the coffee shop is covered in flaking navy blue paint, and the sign advertising the hours is printed in flowy script on a chalkboard. A rustic sort of place. Luke’s baby blue fingernails on the door handle are a perfect contrast to the navy as he holds the door open for Calum.

Inside, the hardwood floor creaks beneath Calum’s sneakers as he approaches the counter,  the scent of espresso and sugar filling his nose. “Ooh,” Luke says quietly, coming up behind Calum and leaning close to the bakery case next to the counter. “Sugared cinnamon roll.” He turns his head and stares at Calum hopefully. Like Calum is somehow in control of whether or not he gets a sugared cinnamon roll.

“Looks good,” Calum says, nodding encouragingly. “You should get it.” It’s what Luke wants to hear. But, more than that—“I’ll split it with you if you want.”

Luke grins at him, a bright and toothy one, and Calum sighs. How is it that Luke’s never red after they run together? Sweaty, yes. Very sweaty. But it’s, like, the kind of sweat that makes him glisten like a Twilight vampire and emphasizes the already natural highlight on his cheekbones. The kind of sweat that looks so good on him, it makes Calum want to be the reason for the sweat. But never red. A touch of pink blush on his cheeks, maybe. Not today though. Just glittery sweat and freckles in the sunlight.

They order flat whites and one of the cinnamon rolls, which Luke promptly removes from the brown paper to-go bag and rips in half, handing Calum his half while he’s already biting into his own. “Mfph’s re-ey ood,” he reports, smiling around the mouthful of pastry as he chews.

Calum takes a bite, staring at the tiny granules of sugar dotting Luke’s lips. Licking them off seems like a really lovely way to follow up a morning jog, but Calum just eats his cinnamon roll, tasting the sugar and wishing he were tasting it on Luke’s lips instead.

***

After that night’s show, they follow one of their two usual routines of stripping out of their sweaty clothes, rinsing off, and piling into a car for the ride back to their hotel. 

The hotel nights used to be Calum’s favorite, because sleeping in a hotel bed is so much better than cramming his body into a tiny bunk on the bus. He can use a real bathroom. Jerk off in peace. Leave his shit sitting around the room instead of having to pack it back up as soon as he uses it. Little things.

At a certain point, though, he stopped having much preference. He stopped caring about whether or not he had space to stretch out in bed, stopped caring if he jerked off with the sound of Michael’s videogames in the background, stopped caring if he left his shit spread all over the bus for Ashton to complain about. 

And much like the Luke situation, he has no idea what changed or why. He didn’t notice it happening, just realized one night after a show that he didn’t know whether he was spending the night on the bus or in a hotel room, and he didn’t care either way.

Luke still prefers hotel rooms. It’s partly because he’s just a little too tall to stand up straight on the bus. The rest of them have just enough clearance to be comfortable, but Luke has to duck his head slightly, shoulders stooped. Most of the time he’s sitting or lying down anyway, but it slowly eats away at him over the course of a full tour. By the last few shows, his frustration leaks out through irritated growls and violent frowns every time he stands up on the bus.

Calum thinks it’s cute. Like a baby lion.

This tour, Calum’s started to feel the pull of hotel rooms again, and it’s unfortunately only because he knows Luke’s happier in them. And if Luke’s happy…

Well.

“Good show tonight,” Luke says, smiling and twitchy in the seat next to Calum while they wait at a stoplight on their ride back to the hotel. Still buzzing on the post-show adrenaline. “Killed it.” He’s shoving M&Ms in his mouth, a little pick-me-up before they get back to the hotel and real food, and Calum can smell the chocolate on his breath.

“Yeah, but you always get a little wild for the last few shows.” Calum reaches for the bag of M&Ms and Luke angles it toward him so he can get his fingers in.

“Do I?” Luke asks incredulously, voice ticking up a register while he waits impatiently for Calum to get his hand out of the way of his M&Ms supply.

“Are you kidding? You know you do.” Finally, Calum manages to snag exactly two M&Ms out of the bag. They’re soft between his fingers, warm from the bag being in Luke’s hand.

Shaking the bag so the rest of the M&Ms fall into his palm, Luke frowns and says, “I don’t think I do.”

“You have to know you do,” Calum says forcefully, slipping an M&M between his lips. Since it’s already so soft, he’s going to let it melt in his mouth. No chewing for this guy right after a long, tiring show. “It’s not like you’re possessed. You know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” A small, amused smile decorates Luke’s face while he carefully plucks a red M&M from his palm. Unlike Calum, he makes an effort to chew it.

“You’re just…extra.” Calum flails his hand in the space between them. “Running all over the place, interacting with me and Mike more, literally rolling around on stage. Wearing less and less every show. Shit like that.”

He glances at Ashton and Michael in the row of seats in front of them, lost in the land of noise-canceling headphones, not offering Calum any useful backup. Whatever, he knows he’s right.

“Huh.” Luke makes a thoughtful face and tosses a green M&M into his mouth. “I guess maybe I do.”

“Are you trying to tell me you aren’t aware of it? Like you truly have no thought in your mind when you chop the bottom off your shirt or get on your knees in front of me on stage?”

“I’m just living in the moment,” Luke says innocently, accompanied by an unconvincing pout. 

“And the moment makes you want to throw yourself on the ground in front of me?”

Luke shrugs, one of those tiny, closed lip grins on his face, the kind that drives Calum insane. “The moment makes me really enjoy it.” 

“Me fuckin’ too,” Calum mumbles, stealing the last M&M out of Luke’s palm, an orange one, and sucking on that instead of using his mouth to elaborate.

Crumpling the M&Ms bag in his fist, Luke turns his head to look out the window, illuminating his face in the neon of a CVS sign. “It’s a nice night,” he says, finger scratching over a snag on the knee of his trousers. “Cooler than it has been.” He turns to look at Calum suddenly, eyes glowing. “Do you wanna eat dinner outside when we get to the hotel?”

It’s such a small thing, such a simple thing. But Calum can tell from his eyes that he wants it so badly, and specifically that he wants Calum to be there with him. Turning him down isn’t an option.

“Yeah, okay,” Calum agrees, reaching for Luke’s hand to pull it away from his trousers. “You’re gonna get a hole in these if you keep tugging on the snag.”

Sighing, Luke tries to shake Calum’s hand off his. “Let me live, Cal.” But he slides his hand under his thigh and smiles out the car window.

***

“I wish it were this cool when the sun’s out,” Luke contemplates, collecting a pile of salad on his fork. “Sunshine and seventy degrees would be perfect.”

“I like it like this,” Calum says, slicing a chunk of roasted potato in half. “When it’s dark. Feels quieter. Besides,” he adds, lifting his eyes from his plate to smirk at Luke. “You’re all the sunshine I need.”

“Fuck off,” Luke mumbles happily around a mouthful of salad. He stretches his legs out, kicking his feet up onto the chair next to him at their little square table under the stars and downtown lights. The breeze ruffles his hair as he hunches over to collect another forkful of salad, whipping it into his eyes with enough force that he shakes his head to try to clear them. Calum enjoys the show with a quiet sigh.

Luke after a show is one of Calum’s favorite things. 

No matter how much he tries to style his hair before they go on stage, by the final bow his curls have broken containment, extra fluffy from the combination of sweat and hair products mixed with the whirlwind of Luke’s on-stage antics, big messy tendrils falling across his forehead and damp shorter ones curling at the base of his neck.

And then there’s the makeup, mascara and eyeliner smudging around his eyes, stray glitter from his eyelids drifting all over his face, sometimes even to the tops of his shoulders or his hands when he rubs at his face or wipes sweat off his forehead.

The post-show rinse doesn’t address his messy hair and makeup. All it does is make him feel fresh enough to change into something comfortable and cozy. Tonight it’s a plain white T-shirt with a few small holes across the chest and along the collar, paired with loose black trousers and Converse. They’re not even really tied, just attached to his feet enough to take him from his hotel room down to the lobby and out to the courtyard patio to meet Calum for dinner.

It’s the combination that Calum appreciates, the remnants of stage Luke—one extreme of his general existence—juxtaposed with the most casual, unguarded version of Luke from the other end of the spectrum. There’s also the thing where it feels really damn close to what Luke might look like after coming home with Calum at the end of a night out and fucking him.

“You look good like this,” Calum says, to take the edge off, and because it’s always fun to respond to Luke telling him to fuck off by saying something nice.

Luke blinks at Calum skeptically while he chews.

“You do,” Calum insists. “Like you just got wrecked.”

Luke chokes out a laugh, struggling to swallow his bite of salad. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

“No, it is. Really, really good. Fuckin’ hot. I promise.” Calum nods while he speaks, eyes earnestly meeting Luke’s, leaning on the power of suggestion to convince Luke to understand.

“Hmm.” Luke studies Calum’s face, a tiny smirk on his lips while he quietly contemplates for a second before he says, “Okay. I’ll buy it. Not sure why you’re so into that, though.” The telltale eyebrow raise informs Calum that Luke does, in fact, have some clue why Calum is so into that.

Which is fine. Good, even. Let him think about it a bit. Let him imagine some scenarios. Calum grins. “C’mon Luke, do you really need everyone to tell you they want to fuck you? You know they do.”

Luke shakes his head, accompanied by a little roll of his eyes, but Calum can see the pleased smile lurking. “I would prefer to hear it, yes. It’s nice to be reminded.”

These kinds of conversations aren’t unusual, but it’s only recently that they’ve started to make Calum ache. Unleashing this feeling inside him that incongruously makes him want to cry. They’re joking around, Calum’s telling Luke how appealing he is, because it makes Luke happy, and none of that should make Calum feel like he’s choking down sobs, but lately, it does.

It’s not sadness. It’s just everything. Everything about Luke hits Calum all at once during these conversations. The softness of him lounging in his cozy shirts, casual and unguarded, mixed with the way looking at him makes Calum burn with desire, swirled together with that specific combination of things that make Luke who he is. The dash of sly humor, the sprinkle of self-deprecation and uncertainty, a garnish of salad dressing dripping onto his shirt when he raises his fork to his mouth.

Calum puts his fork down, leaning back in his chair and tipping his head toward the sky, closing his eyes, feeling the cool breeze on his face. “These are my favorite parts of tour.”

“Watching me eat salad?” Luke’s mouth is completely full when he says it, words sloshing around between half-chewed bits of spinach and shredded carrot.

“I’m not even looking at you,” Calum grouses, sticking his hands in his pockets and cracking his eyes open to look at the stars, just barely visible through the light pollution of the city. “I was gonna say the parts where it’s just us hanging out together, but after that comment I’m rethinking it.”

“You love watching me eat salad,” Luke gloats, chewing loudly on purpose.

Calum smiles, in no hurry to respond. That’s one of the things he likes about spending time with just Luke. Both of them can appreciate some silence. Not every space needs to be filled with words.

“I love the energy of being on stage. There’s nothing like it,” Luke says after he swallows. “But it makes me appreciate the quiet parts. Being able to have the balance.”

Calum loves the energy of being on stage too, but it’s not quite the same as what Luke gets from it. For Luke, it’s not just a rush. It’s a release. 

Nodding, Calum says softly, “The thing with you is that being on stage is like…a chance to step outside of yourself. Live in the moment without overthinking. That must be really freeing.”

“So freeing I roll around half naked at your feet, apparently,” Luke cracks, setting down his fork and pushing his plate away. He’s not in any rush to leave, though, relaxing back in his chair with a big, satisfied sigh, eyes on the sky.

“I’m not complaining,” Calum says, enjoying the view of Luke enjoying the view. “Really, though. I’m glad you have that. And you’re really fuckin’ good at it.”

Luke scratches the underside of his chin, leaving his hand resting on his chest while he gazes at the stars. “Sometimes I wonder what I’d be like if I didn’t. And not just the shows. All of it. Like if we’d never left Australia, never made this our job.” 

He drops his eyes to look at Calum, head still tipped toward the sky. “You kind of know. Like if you hadn’t done this, you would’ve done football, and your life probably wouldn’t be that different, except you’d be traveling to football games instead of shows, and you’d be wearing shorts a lot more often.”

He smiles gently and Calum chuckles, sliding back into his chair to mirror Luke’s relaxed position. “Yeah, I guess so. Sometimes I think about what that would’ve been like, but I guess it is different. I still have some idea what the other path would look like. You don’t, really.”

“I just wonder how much I’d be the same person, just with a different job and a heavier accent, and how much I’d be different.”

“Probably a lot less glittery,” Calum offers, sort of wistfully, because it’s a hard thing to think about. This version of Luke has been through so much—Calum knows, because he’s been there for all of it—to shape him into the person he is now. This is the version of Luke that Calum knows and loves. It breaks his brain a little to try to consider any other reality. He doesn’t want to. But he understands why Luke thinks about it.

Luke nods thoughtfully, fingers tapping against his chest rhythmically. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we get home from tour?”

It’s always a hot topic once they get into the home stretch, the last few days when the end is in sight. The obvious answer is sleep, and they all know it. Luke wants to know what’s next. What Calum is most looking forward to. Usually, Calum answers with something like going to his favorite restaurant or taking Duke to the dog park. But as he thinks it through, he realizes there’s something else this time. Something that’s never made the top of the list before.

“Miss you,” Calum replies with a cheeky smile. 

It’s true. And that’s different, too.

“You don’t have to. We can keep going on our coffee runs every morning. It’d probably be good for us.”

“It’s not the same,” Calum sighs, rubbing his tired eyes, the post-show adrenaline high starting to fade fast. “I don’t get to see how stupid cute you look first thing in the morning when you’re all disheveled and have no idea where you are or what’s going on. I don’t get to help you pick out your outfit for the show. I don’t get to watch you eat salad under the stars.”

It gets a genuine laugh out of Luke, one of the light, wheezy ones that tickle Calum’s skin. “But you could do all those things,” he says, a serene, close-lipped smile on his face. He’s the moon, bright and shining with his glittery eyes and flashing white teeth, shadowed craters of dimples carved into the surface of his cheeks and chin. “All you have to do is ask. Shit, you don’t even have to ask. Just tell me.”

Something in those words twists Calum’s chest into knots, and he swallows down a lump in his throat, keeping his voice light and even. “Tell you when I desperately feel the need to watch you eat salad?”

“Anything else on your list, Cal?” Luke asks, a mischievous glimmer in his celestial eyes. “Anything that comes after salad under the stars?” Maybe he knows. Maybe Calum underestimated him. “This is my cute way of trying to talk you into letting me stay in your room tonight.”

Calum exhales slowly, nerves settling. It’s fine. This is not an unusual request. As much as Luke loves hotel nights, he doesn’t love spending the night alone. “All you have to do is ask,” he says, shrugging.

“I hate it when you use my own words against me.” Sighing impatiently, arms crossed over his chest, Luke says, “Calum, can I please stay in your room tonight? I’m codependent and I need my Cal Cuddles.”

Shuddering, Calum echoes, “Cal Cuddles? Ew.”

Undeterred, Luke nods emphatically. “Cal Cuddles. It’s trademarked. There is no substitute. I can’t ask Ashton or Michael. No generic version will do.”

“That’s true,” Calum says agreeably, gesturing at himself with a flourish of both hands. “You can’t get this kind of quality everywhere.”

Luke’s lips curve into a tiny smile, but he doesn’t laugh like Calum expects him to, doesn’t add on to the bit. He must be crashing too. After a few moments of blissful quiet, Luke sighs softly and starts hauling himself out of his chair. “I’m tired. What’s your room number? I’ll come by after I get ready for bed.”

Calum tilts his head back to look up at Luke. “I never said yes.”

Luke purses his lips thoughtfully, head tilting to the side, assessing eyes studying Calum before softening into a satisfied smile. “You were going to.”

***

This hotel is just like all the rest. It’s disconcerting sometimes, staying in a hotel room that’s almost the same, but not quite, week after week. 

This one is a mirrored version of the one Calum stayed in three nights ago, and he accidentally slams into the corner of the bathroom wall that juts out into the main part of the room on his way to the bed. It’s his own fault. He was overconfident, thinking he could manage that journey without turning a light on, and he’ll have a bruise on his shoulder to show for it.

He mumbles a quiet ow under his breath and rubs his arm with one hand while he ambles back towards the door, outstretched fingers searching for the light switch. He flips it on, then he pulls the door open just wide enough to slip the security latch into the opening, preventing it from clicking shut and locking. 

Is it the best choice for Calum’s personal safety? No. But it will allow him to flop into bed and not have to get back up once Luke shows up at his door, and that feels much more important right now.

He shucks off his shirt and pants along the way, leaving them in piles on the floor behind him, then falls into the huge bed dramatically, face first. It’s one of those silly things that he started doing years ago, until it turned into a tradition, then just a habit, and now it’s more of a compulsion. Superstition, even. If he doesn’t faceplant into the hotel bed, something will go wrong with the show tomorrow. He has no reason to believe this. No evidence to support it. And he’s not even a superstitious person in general. But he has no desire to risk it.

That’s how Luke finds him—sprawled on his stomach horizontally across the bed, cheek squished into the comforter. “What’s this, a little role play?” he teases, knowing full well Calum is just seeing through his baseless ritual. “Leaving the door unlocked like that while you’re in here face down and ass up? Should I be pretending to be an intruder? A hot robber? Kidnapper with a heart of gold? What’s the scenario here?”

“How are you still talking this much?” Calum mumbles into the comforter, wincing as the door slams shut behind Luke. “I’m so tired. You’re supposed to be tired too.”

“I had a shower, I’m reinvigorated for the next ten to fifteen minutes.” The mattress dips next to Calum and he cracks open his eyes to see Luke sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a wrinkled T-shirt that’s sticking slightly to his skin, damp hair just starting to dry into ringlets. He kicks his slides off and falls backwards on top of Calum, draping heavily across Calum’s back. Calum can still see his feet flat on the floor, mismatched socks clashing with the busy hotel carpet.

Honestly, Calum could probably fall asleep like this, warm and secure with Luke on top of him like a weighted blanket. And maybe he will. Moving seems really unappealing right now. But then he feels Luke’s fingers brushing through his hair absently, gently twisting and pulling while the rhythm of their breathing falls into sync. 

It’s relaxing. It should be relaxing. Normally, it would be relaxing.

But Calum’s not normal around Luke anymore. And even though Luke’s fingers in his hair and the feeling of Luke’s breath against his back are soothing, and the position they’re in is not remotely sexy, Calum is all too aware of the fact that it’s Luke. On top of him. In bed.

“You plannin’ to sleep like this?” he asks, shaking his shoulders to jostle Luke.

“Probably could.”

“Me too.”

Luke slides off Calum’s back, scooting backwards until he’s up against the pillows, bent in half at the waist as he tries to pull Calum’s dead weight along with him. “Give me a minute,” Calum says, shivering with a chill now that he’s not covered in Luke’s warmth. “I’m meditating.”

“The fuck you are,” Luke mutters, letting go of Calum to sit back against the headboard, but still nudging him in the side repeatedly with his toes. Then, as an afterthought, “Maybe I should try meditating. Maybe it’ll unfuck my head.”

This gets Calum’s attention, and he has to physically restrain himself from immediately popping up and getting up in Luke’s face to interrogate him. Instead, he slowly rolls onto his side, squinting at Luke. “What’s going on in your head?”

“I’m not even sure I know. It’s just a weird place to be right now.” He doesn’t seem upset about it, just generally perplexed. 

Calum can relate. “Yeah, I know a little something about that too.” Luke looks at him sharply and he widens his eyes defensively. “What, I’ve got layers!” 

Luke smiles, watching Calum crawl up to sit next to him with amusement twinkling in his eyes. “I know you do.”

“This weirdness in your head. Is it bad weird? Good weird? Neutral weird?”

“Why?” Luke asks, chuckling apprehensively. “Are you going to analyze me?”

Calum frowns and puts on an overdramatic pout. “Just trying to give my friend a chance to talk to me about his feelings.”

“You know I prefer to deflect.”

“I do. That’s why I’m trying to get you to talk about it instead.” Which is true, his main motivation is to be there to support Luke as much as possible. But he also needs to seize any opportunity to get a direct line to Luke’s thoughts. He can’t get enough.

Luke goes quiet, casting his eyes to the ceiling, nose scrunching. “Neutral weird, I think? You know how it is being on the road. Everything gets all scrambled up. Then one day you just stop, and you go from the hectic tour routine to just…nothing. Time with your thoughts. And all this shit you were suppressing because you didn’t have time for it bubbles up to the surface.”

Not expecting Luke to go along with it, Calum has to take a second to catch up with Luke’s words. “What kind of shit?”

Luke shrugs, pulling the comforter up to his chin. “Lots of things. Lots of thoughts and feelings that got all mixed together, like squishing a bunch of colors of Play-Doh into a ball for three months, and then it’s almost impossible to separate out the individual colors and figure out what they ever were to begin with.”

It’s so incredibly Luke to pull a comparison like that out of thin air. Sort of weird and offbeat, but also perfect once you stop and think about it. Carefully, Calum says, “But you’re still carrying around a ball of Play-Doh in your pocket.”

Luke’s deep, satisfied rumble of laughter shatters the light glaze of tension in the air. Calum didn’t even realize it was building until it’s broken. “Exactly.”

“I really do understand. Sometimes tour feels like it’s not even real life. It’s an alternate dimension, and I’m not sure if anything I think or feel on tour will translate back into reality.”

Luke hums in agreement. “And I think that’s why my head is weird. Because I don’t know. And if I don’t know, I can’t mentally prepare to deal with it. So I’m just in this funky limbo where I always feel just a little unsettled.” His hand pops out from under the blanket, executing some haphazard finger wiggles. Funky. Calum’s an expert at translating Luke’s hand-talking.

“Do you feel unsettled right now?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, nodding while he studies Calum’s face with thoughtful narrowed eyes. “I feel really fuckin’ unsettled right now.” Then, with absolutely no warning, his face shifts into something different entirely. His fuck me face.

Luke looks at everyone like he wants to fuck them. It’s just what happens when he makes prolonged eye contact with anyone. There’s something in the attentiveness of his gaze that makes you feel like he’s also currently thinking about ripping your clothes off, but in the sweetest possible way.

Not always. Not every look. But often. Alarmingly often. Calum has been used to it forever. It’s just one of those special Luke things that’s always drawn people to him. But lately, Calum’s not so sure if that look is always unintentional when Luke directs it at him. 

It’s probably nothing. The uncertainty he feels is only there because his perspective on Luke has changed, so now he’s extra aware of Luke’s special looks. Primed and ready to interpret them in the way that suits him best. Which, currently, means Calum is interpreting it as Luke’s fuck me face, and he very much wants to answer the call every time he’s subjected to it.

“I’m just wondering, are you aware when you’re doing the fuck me face, or does it just happen and you have no idea?” It’s been a topic of discussion. The whole band gives Luke shit about his fuck me face. It comes up surprisingly often. Usually, it’s when they get done doing an interview and it’s obvious the interviewer is actively imagining Luke fucking them by the time the interview is over.

It’s not the first time Luke’s gotten the question, and Calum is prepared for his usual vaguely whiney it just happens! rebuttal. But it doesn’t come. Instead, his eyebrows raise up high on his forehead and his lips twitch, bouncing between a smile and a guilty cringe. “Most of the time it just happens.”

It’s his usual response, but also completely different. And he wants Calum to notice it’s different. Calum can tell from the way he says it, eyes boring into Calum’s meaningfully while he specifically emphasizes the game-changing phrase. “Most. Of the time…it just happens.”

“But sometimes you do intentionally try to eye fuck interviewers so they’ll give you the easy questions?”

Luke laughs, quiet and wheezy. “That’s—that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?” Calum stares at Luke, a challenge in his eyes. Luke stares right back.

“Just that sometimes I do it on purpose.” Luke’s voice and smile are both timid, just for a moment. Then his eyes flash with determination, and he adds, “But when I do it on purpose I bet it doesn’t look the same at all. I can probably only make sex eyes accidentally. When I do it on purpose I probably look like a sociopath who wants to eat you.”

It would be so easy for Calum. Well. Did you do it on purpose just now? Because if so, outstanding work. I’m definitely thinking about fucking you.

“You always look like a sociopath who wants to eat me,” Calum retorts.

“That’s because I am, and I do. Any time I get a free minute I’m thinking up delicious Calum recipes.”

“Oh yeah? What do you recommend?"

“Calum on the cob is a delectable salty treat. Calum croissants are pretty great too, squishy and sweet.” Luke captures Calum’s cheeks between his palms and smushes them until Calum’s lips poke out from in between.

The desire to kiss Luke is overwhelming. Calum knows he looks ridiculous right now, but Luke’s right there, face inches away, smiling fondly at Calum’s stupid face caught between his careful palms. His eyes are different too. He’s not looking at Calum like he wants to fuck him. He’s looking at Calum like he wants to gently cradle Calum in his giant hands like a baby chick. Somehow, that’s even worse.

“That’s fine. It goes both ways. This morning, when we had that cinnamon roll? I was thinking about eating the sugar off your lips. Might as well take a bite out of them while I’m at it.” Calum lunges at Luke, snapping his teeth, and Luke lets out a giggly yelp, using his grip on Calum’s cheeks to keep Calum a safe distance away from his precious lips.

“You better not,” he warns, holding Calum at bay. “If you eat my lips, I won’t be able to sing.”

Calum initiates an immediate retreat and flops down onto his pillow. “Fine. I’m going to go to bed. You might wanna be careful, I can’t guarantee I won’t come for your lips in my sleep.”

Luke grumbles something unintelligible and flips off the lamp next to the bed. The mattress shakes as he settles in, knees bumping against Calum’s thighs as he burrows beneath the comforter. Calum kicks backwards at Luke’s shins and Luke knees Calum aggressively in the ass in retaliation before murmuring a quiet, “Night. Love you.” 

***

Neither of them are very good at mornings. Calum is just lazy and slow, like he’s drunk but without the fun parts. 

Luke, though…Luke gets feisty. 

When Calum’s phone alarm goes off, Luke grumbles aggressively, curling himself into a tight ball and pulling the comforter over his head dramatically. 

And when Calum finishes his shower and comes back to poke at Luke to get up, he rolls onto his back and reaches for Calum, trapping Calum in the comforter, bending him in half and holding him captive with his chest pressed against Luke’s and his face somewhere in the neighborhood of Luke’s armpit.

“We need to go soon,” Calum warns, words muffled by his forced cocoon. 

“I know.”

“You need to go back to your room and get your stuff.”

“I know.”

Calum waits silently, not worrying too much about freeing himself from the confines of Luke’s comforter, because it’s nice here. Warm. Soft. He doesn’t even mind being stuffed in Luke’s armpit, smelling his deodorant. It’s a comforting thing for Calum, actually, because he associates it with the quieter band moments. Dinner after shows and vacation mornings. Sleeping next to Luke on planes and watching movies on the bus.

He’s also not too worried about it because he knows he has one more card to play, and it’s a foolproof way to get Luke out of bed. “If you get up now, we might have time to stop at that coffee shop again before we get on the bus. Get another cinnamon roll.”

A growl emanates from beneath the comforter, followed by an unidentifiable string of curses that Calum only knows ends with motherfucker because that’s exactly what Luke’s saying when he finally pops his head out, tangled curls smashed against one side of his head and pillow lines creasing his cheek. “You don’t have to bribe me to get me out of bed.”

“Yes I do.”

“I would’ve gotten up eventually.”

“Yeah, but isn’t this better? You’ll be ready to go on time and you’ll have a cinnamon roll.”

A heavy sigh from Luke sends his hair blowing up off his forehead. “Yes. This is better,” he admits, releasing Calum so he can rub the sleep out of his eyes. Calum rolls off him and starts packing up his bag, smiling to himself when Luke passes behind him on his way to the door, resting his hand on Calum’s back and murmuring a quiet, begrudging thank you.

On the bus ride, Luke is quiet, sitting longways on the couch with his back against the kitchenette wall and his legs stretched out in front of him, staring out the window with his airpods in. Calum loves when he’s like this. It makes it easy to watch him. And it’s one of the few times Calum—or anyone, really—gets a glimpse of this side of Luke. The contemplative, always-thinking nature of his mind is outwardly visible rather than carefully camouflaged by cutting jokes and bubbly laughter.

“Good job getting him to the bus on time,” Ashton says, nodding towards Luke across the aisle of the bus while he quietly strums the guitar on his lap. “I don’t know how you always manage it.”

“I just bribe him like a toddler,” Calum jokes, gazing at Luke’s jaw working around his gum while his eyes reflect the stripes of paint on the road.

“Yeah, but even when Mike and I do that, it doesn’t work. He won’t take the bribe. What’s your secret?”

What is Calum’s secret? There isn’t one, really, except maybe that he’s Luke’s favorite. Something about how Calum and Luke relate to each other, how they understand each other…it’s just different, and it brings out different parts of Luke than the others do. 

It probably brings out different parts of Calum too. But if he stops to think about that for too long, he’ll get a very clear answer to his question about whether he just wants to fuck Luke, or if the fact that he wants to fuck Luke means something else too.

After tour. That’s when he can think about it. When he’s back on solid ground and can think clearly without Luke always being present, scrambling Calum’s brain with his constant proximity and constant irresistibility.

“I’m just his favorite,” Calum replies with an easy shrug and a half-smile. 

Ashton snorts and shakes his head, fingers mindlessly working their way over the frets on his guitar, plucking out an aimless melody. “Maybe you should use that power for good. Whisper in his ear that he should listen to the rest of us too.”

Calum presses a finger to his cheek, looking up at the ceiling of the bus thoughtfully, for the drama. “Nah,” he says finally, flashing Ashton a cheeky grin. “I don’t think I will.”

“You like being the only one with special privileges.”

“Fuckin’ right, I do. And I like watching you and Mike suffer.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Calum notices Luke looking at him and he turns to meet Luke’s gaze. Luke’s lips are just barely turned up on one side, eyes soft, no indication he’s heard any of Calum’s conversation with Ashton, but it still feels like a conspiratorial little moment. Like he could just feel that Calum was talking about being his favorite.

“Two more shows,” Ashton says, pulling Calum’s attention back to him. His eyebrow is raised expectantly. He wants to know how Calum feels about two more shows, but Calum’s not sure he can talk about how he feels about tour ending without talking about the Luke situation.

He tells Ashton everything, but he can’t tell him this. Not yet. It feels like a betrayal if anyone else hears about Calum’s feelings before Luke does. So Calum dodges, noncommittally echoing, “Two shows,” while nodding slowly.

It’s weak. Ashton can tell he’s holding back. “Excited? Sad? Relieved?” Ashton prompts, dimples popping while he happily strums out a little tune to match each emotion.

Calum holds firm. “Yes.”

“Alright,” Ashton says, glancing down at his fingers to work out a chord, effectively dismissing Calum in favor of focusing on his song. “Keep your secrets.”

With Ashton occupied, Calum spends a few minutes checking texts and lurking on twitter, but he’s restless and jittery from the cold air conditioning blowing onto the back of his neck, making him shiver. It makes it impossible to relax or focus on anything. He’s also really tired. The idea of pawing through his bags to locate a hoodie feels very daunting.

Sighing, he sets his phone down next to him and looks across the aisle at Luke again. The one thing he can always rely on to keep him entertained no matter what conditions he’s dealing with. 

But Luke’s already looking back at him, lifting his arm to beckon Calum closer, sliding one leg off the couch to make space in front of him. Inviting Calum in.

His face is so peaceful, eyelids heavy and mouth set in the slightly open-mouthed loose pout he tends to favor when he’s zoning out. He looks warm. Calum has no choice. He crosses the aisle and sits down in front of Luke with his legs curled up, and Luke wraps his arms around Calum to pull him tightly against his chest. 

The thing that really gets Calum, the thing that makes him feel like crying, is that Luke slips the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands before touching Calum’s bare arms.

After all these years, all this time spent with Luke’s body pressed against him in one way or another, Calum never would have thought it was possible for touching Luke to feel anything other than normal and comfortable. But somewhere along this tour route, too gradually for Calum to notice it happening until suddenly it was all he could notice, a new feeling snuck in. 

It’s anticipation. He feels it now, snuggled against Luke’s chest. The hum under his skin, the occasional flutter in his chest, a sense that he’s on the edge of something that could be amazing or could be a disaster, but his body is aching to know the answer.

There’s no way to know what’s going on in Luke’s mind. Probably a lot more than he lets on. He pays attention, and he cares about Calum. No, he probably has no idea how often Calum thinks about sucking his dick. But he almost definitely has noticed something is just a little different. And if he’s noticed, he’s almost certainly thinking about it. Maybe even obsessing about it.

Not a day goes by that Calum doesn’t wish he could dive into Luke’s brain and swim through all the hidden trenches, but especially lately, in times like these. Together, but silent. 

What’s Luke thinking about while he watches the scenery pass by out the window with Calum in his arms? 

And maybe more importantly, will Calum ever ask?

***

Calum’s end-of-tour celebration involves sleeping for basically three days straight. He wakes up for a few hours at a time to have a meal and rotate his laundry, maybe watch a show or check in on social media before passing out again. He thinks about Luke and also dreams about Luke; sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference when he feels like he’s in a constant state of half-consciousness.

Sometimes it even feels real. Like Luke showed up at his house and sat down next to him on the couch to watch TV or curled up in bed with him to join the nap marathon. 

And what’s really fucked up is Calum can’t even be totally sure it’s not real, because that’s exactly the sort of thing Luke would do and has done. Show up at Calum’s house, let himself in, sleep for an hour, then leave again.

On day four, Calum finally wakes up feeling well and truly refreshed, and that’s when he finds Luke’s hoodie hanging on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

Calum: were you in my house

Luke: ever?

Calum: within the past three days

Luke: …yes

Luke: several times

Calum: shit

Calum: i’ve been so out of it i thought i might have dreamt it all

Luke: do u dream about me often? 

Calum: only when i’m lucky

On his way past the chair, Calum swipes up Luke’s hoodie with the intention of tossing it in with his last load of post-tour laundry, but then he hesitates when the light catches on a loose strand of curly blonde hair resting in one of the folds of the hood. 

Luke’s hair is so soft and fine. Touching Luke’s hair is an entirely different experience than touching his own hair, and seeing individual strands of it gathering on Luke’s shirt or stuck to the dressing room countertop makes Calum strangely emotional.

Luke’s hair is so perfectly representative of him, soft and beautiful, twisting with complexity and contradiction, that it feels like every loose strand is a piece of Luke that he’s leaving behind, a small but mighty imprint on the places he’s been and the things he’s worn.

Calum knows what this is. He already misses Luke. It happens after every tour, even when they still see each other every day. There’s still an adjustment period, going from being together constantly to being together for a couple hours. Calum misses Ashton and Michael too, but it’s always been different with Luke. Calum has always written it off as being a Luke-specific phenomenon because of Luke, not him.

Luke being clingier, Luke needing more reassurance, Luke struggling with being alone after not doing it for so long. 

What if it’s not just Luke, though? What if it’s also because Calum is infatuated with him and can’t ever fucking get enough?

There’s no way to really know. And Calum doesn’t mind. He kind of likes it, actually. It’s nice to think about it as a collaboration.

Luke: what am i doing in your dreams?

Calum chuckles at his phone. Of course Luke needs to know. He can’t resist an opportunity to learn how he’s being perceived, especially if he suspects the answer will be a flattering one. 

Calum sets his phone on the counter so he can pull Luke’s hoodie on over his head, then scoops it back up and taps his fingers against his chin, considering.

Calum: do you really want an honest answer to that

Luke:  u know i do

Calum: alright. you asked for it.

Calum: usually you’re moaning and pulling my hair while your dick is in my mouth

Luke: nice

Luke: u wanna get brunch?

Christ. It’s so maddeningly easy to be honest with Luke with absolutely no repercussions. Normally Calum loves that about him, but right this second he wishes he could get just a tiny glimpse of how Luke might feel if he knew for certain Calum wasn’t joking at all.

Calum: anything you want, honey 😘

It’s funny how seeing Luke for the first time in a few days—while fully conscious—somehow always feels to Calum like he’s returning from a six month sabbatical and hasn’t laid eyes on Luke the entire time.

There are just little things that feel different, things Calum wouldn’t notice changing when he could see Luke every day on tour, but after a few days suddenly the new sun-kissed freckles across his nose or the chipping of his nail polish are glaringly different from Calum’s most recent memory of Luke.

Depending on his mood, this can either be incredibly sad to Calum (oh god, he missed important moments of Luke’s existence!) or incredibly reassuring (oh good, an updated version of Luke to set as the default!)

Today, though, it’s mostly just confusing.

Luke’s wearing his glasses out in public, which is throwing Calum off considerably. Usually they only make an appearance behind closed doors, when Luke’s at home messing around with music on his laptop, or when he’s in a hotel room watching TV the morning after a show. Why are they making an appearance this morning at breakfast?

Unable to stand the not knowing, Calum finally asks, “What’s with the glasses?”

“I wear glasses sometimes,” Luke says with a shrug.

“Yeah, but not, like, out in the world.” They’re at a trendy restaurant packed with people. This isn’t just a quick run in and out of the coffee shop.

“Not usually,” Luke says carefully. “But you like them.”

He’s right about that. Calum fucking loves it when Luke wears glasses. It’s insane to him how glasses take nothing away from Luke’s hotness, but simultaneously turn him into an adorably earnest English teacher type. They make him look like a scattered genius. Which he kind of is, and that’s what Calum likes so much. Luke puts on his glasses and suddenly no one is like aw, sweet babygirl’s head is so empty, absolutely nothing happening behind those eyes.

It’s all meant to be a joke, but Calum still gets kind of violent about it. People just don’t get it. It’s not funny to Calum to joke about Luke’s head being empty when he knows firsthand exactly how full it is. Not to mention all the ways what’s inside that full head has taken its toll on Luke over the years. All the ways it shaped him into the person he is now—someone Calum loves and respects and is deeply proud of. Calum doesn't want to joke about the things that make Luke Luke not existing.

“I do like them,” Calum says agreeably, stabbing at his scrambled eggs. “You just don’t usually plan your outfits around my preferences.”

Luke frowns at Calum intensely, eyes narrowed and skeptical. “Yes I do. Literally every show of the tour I was just wearing whatever you said you liked best that night.”

Okay, well, that is true, but Calum never really thought about it as anything other than Luke being indecisive and caring about other people’s opinions of how he looks. It didn’t seem like anything proactively specific to Calum’s preferences. If Calum didn’t offer an opinion, Luke would probably just hop down the line until one of the other guys gave him one. 

Or so he thought, anyway, but here Luke is, wearing glasses. For him? “So you’re saying you wore your glasses to breakfast only because you know I like when you wear your glasses?”

“Well, yeah. I wanted to look nice for you.”

Calum chokes on his mouthful of egg, slapping his hand over his mouth to cover his laugh. “Your shirt has a massive hole in the armpit.”

Luke glares at Calum indignantly. It’s just one of those Luke things. He cares so much about how he looks, until he doesn’t.

“I came up with a theory about that, by the way,” Calum continues. “The giant armpit holes you always get in your T-shirts? I think it’s from playing guitar. The way you hold a guitar makes your shirt stretch across your shoulder when you strum. And since it’s already tight across your massive shoulders, it puts a lot of stress on that armpit seam.”

Luke’s glare almost immediately flips to a dimply grin. “Are you studying me, Calum? Working on your dissertation about my T-shirt holes?”

“I can’t help it,” Calum says with a shrug. “You’ve always got the same holes in your T-shirts. No one else winds up with holes like that. It makes me curious in a what the fuck is Luke doing to his T-shirts sort of way.”

“You might be right,” Luke says, biting the bottom off one of the strawberries garnishing his now-eaten French toast. “It could be the strumming. No way of knowing for sure, though.”

“You could set aside one shirt that you never strum in. A control variable to compare against all the others.”

“But then I’d never wear that shirt, because I’m always fuckin’ strumming,” Luke says, rolling his eyes like he’s irritated with himself for being such a serial strummer.

“Guess you’ll just remain a man of mystery,” Calum says, shooting Luke a close-lipped smile before sipping on his iced coffee.

Luke snorts, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, chin dipped so his untamed morning curls swing over his forehead while his eyes pierce Calum’s. “You’re the mystery man at this table. What’ve you got going on after breakfast?”

“No plans.” Calum swipes at his lips with a napkin and reaches across the table to snatch the remainder of Luke’s strawberry off his plate and stuff it in his mouth. “I’m still in tour recovery mode. What about you?”

“I dunno yet. Something, though. I need to get out of the house before I start writing songs.”

“Already at the overthinking phase of being alone?” Calum teases gently, smiling at their server when he silently drops their bill on the table.

Calum reaches for the bill, but Luke swipes it out from under his hand. “I got this.”

“I’ll cover my half,” Calum offers, starting to dig into his pocket for his wallet.

“Don’t worry about it,” Luke says. “I wanna treat you.” Then, before Calum can protest weakly, Luke charges on. “It happens almost immediately as soon as I’m done with unpacking and shit. And it’s fine, I want to write songs, I just know I probably need more of a break first.”

“Let’s do something, then,” Calum says, eyes drawn to the glint of Luke’s rings as he tosses his card on top of the check. “I’ll take you out on a distraction date.”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever you want.” Calum contemplates the most Luke-friendly activities he can come up with and rattles them off. “I’ll take you shopping. We can go to a movie. I’ll let you make fun of me at Topgolf. You can do my makeup.”

“If we go shopping, am I allowed to pick things out for you? We can find you a new hoodie so you can give mine back to me.” Luke gestures at his hoodie, currently swallowing Calum up in its wide shoulders and long sleeves. “It’s all I’ve seen you wear since we got back to LA.”

“It’s comfortable!” Calum retorts indignantly, crossing his arms protectively over the hoodie pocket. “It’s so big and cozy. And,” he adds, twisting his lips into a small smirk, “I like wearing your clothes.”

“That’s not the order of things!” Luke protests, voice pitching higher. “I’m supposed to steal your clothes. You’re not supposed to steal mine.”

“Why not?” Calum challenges, meeting Luke’s eyes intently.

“Because,” Luke flounders, flapping his hands in Calum’s direction. “Because I’m the clingy one. I’m the one who needs to wear your clothes for the sake of my mental health.”

Calum laughs brightly and watches Luke fight a smile in response. “That’s the story we’re going with? You’re not just a clothes thief who dips into my suitcase when he gets tired of wearing his own shit?”

“Maybe that’s what I want you to believe.” There’s something a little dark in Luke’s voice, a secret, a tease, a mystery he hopes Calum will solve.

“How about this? You can pick out a new hoodie for me, but I’m still keeping this one until you literally rip it off me.”

Luke tilts his head, eyes narrowing while they search Calum’s, trying to decide what percentage of that offer is a joke. He must at least realize the answer isn’t one hundred, because he nods firmly, lips pressed together in a determined pout, and says, “You’ve got a deal, mate.”

“How’s the Play-Doh?” Calum asks, needing to do something to make Luke stop looking at him like that. Like he needs Calum to kiss him. “Now that we’ve been home for a few days?”

“Good question,” Luke says, raising an eyebrow, mouth settled in a crooked line that’s not quite a smile. “I’m definitely…thinking about it. There is definitely some shit bubbling to the surface.”

“That’s cryptic.”

Luke smiles, freckles glowing in the early morning sun while a jangly indie rock tune spills out the open doors onto the patio where they’re sitting. “Not in a bad way,” he says, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “It’s probably good. Processing some things. Poking around and seeing what I can make with it.”

Calum knows that pushing him is useless. Luke will tell Calum what he’s thinking about if and when he’s ready, and not a second sooner. It’s maddening, because Calum is desperate to know everything that’s going on inside Luke’s mind, but he gets it. Luke needs to sort through things internally before even thinking about talking about them.

“What about you?” Luke counters, pointing one finger at Calum with his hand wrapped around his coffee mug. “Dealing with any Play-Doh?”

“Oh mate, I am elbow-deep in Play-Doh,” Calum says with a grin. “But I’m having fun with it.”

A bright, boxy smile lights up Luke’s face. “Good. I think I am too.”

***

A week or two after tour ends is usually when Calum starts missing hearing Luke sing.

Sometimes—lots of times—it’s like white noise. A pleasant background sound that he’s used to having in his ears, but often talking over, barely even paying attention. 

It’s just that Luke sings a lot. Quietly to himself while the rest of them hold entire conversations. More loudly, wandering around the dressing room before a show doing his warm-ups. Or in the studio, working through a melody while Calum is occupied with other things.

But on stage, or when Luke’s recording vocals in the studio, suddenly Calum’s faced with the full brunt of Luke’s voice, and it keeps surprising him. He gets lulled into this space where he’s so familiar with hearing Luke sing, he almost forgets what Luke’s capable of when he actually tries. Then something incredible will come out of Luke’s mouth, and Calum is gobsmacked. 

It happens on stage sometimes, and Calum knows it shows on his face. That’s okay, though, because sometimes Luke will see him and laugh. And sometimes he’ll mouth something to Luke on stage—you sound so good—and Luke will wave him off with an embarrassed but pleased smile.

He’s used to Luke’s voice, but he’s not used to Luke’s voice at all.

When they get home from tour, Calum goes from hearing Luke singing off and on for his entire day to hearing it a few minutes at most, and maybe not at all. And even though he maybe wouldn’t notice if he were hearing it, he definitely notices that he’s not.

“C’mon, just a little something. It can be silly.”

Calum’s trying to cajole Luke into singing to him over the phone, convinced it’s the thing he’s missing from his routine that’s causing him to feel so scattered on this strange Wednesday afternoon.

“Just listen to 5SOS5 on your fuckin’ Apple Music,” Luke grumbles in response. So eager to sing any time at all, except specifically when Calum asks him to. Figures.

“Don’t make fun of my Apple Music.”

“You’re such a hipster. Spotify is so much better, but you just have to be weird and different.”

“If I were actually trying to be weird and different I’d have Deezer or some shit.”

“You just listen to music on YouTube,” Luke suggests jokingly.

“Hey, don’t knock it,” Calum protests. “Think how many people are just letting YouTube play them some tunes and then suddenly the dulcet tones of Baby Blue flood their ears like warm caramel, and they look at their screen to see what’s playing and, oh, who’s this glistening hunk of a man feeling himself up? And boom, you’ve got a new fan.”

“Are you saying I wouldn’t have a new fan if they just heard the song without the visual?”

Calum snickers, struggling to hold back his laugh, because it is actually ridiculous to suggest Luke needs anything more than his incredible music to win over a listener, but there’s also no denying the fact that he looks the way he does certainly isn’t hurting anything. “Might win over some fence-sitters, that’s all I’m saying,” he teases.

Luke is unmoved. “Well, yeah. Why do you think I do that shit in the first place?”

“Because you like feeling yourself up on camera for an audience?”

“No comment,” Luke replies petulantly. “I’m gonna come over, okay?”

Calum shakes his head at Luke’s diversion. “Since when do you even bother to ask?”

“That wasn’t asking. That was informational. I’m gonna come over whether you want me to or not. The ‘okay?’ was just there to make sure you heard me.”

“I heard you,” Calum says with an amused snort. “Am I supposed to entertain you?”

“Nope. I’m picking you up. Taking you out.”

“Taking me out to do what?” 

“It’s a surprise. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

He hangs up before Calum can ask any follow-up questions. What could Luke have up his sleeve at two in the afternoon on a Wednesday? He’s not really a surprise-planning sort of person. Maybe there is no surprise and he’s just winding Calum up. When he shows up he’ll just want to go to In-N-Out or something.

Unfortunately, Calum would probably find that incredibly endearing.

When Luke shows up twenty-two minutes later, he sweeps Calum out the door and into his car, revealing nothing about their destination, chatting shit while he navigates them to the freeway.

“I accidentally opened Twitter today,” he says grimly, making Calum snort with laughter.

“Accidentally? How does that happen?”

“It’s right next to Spotify on my phone. My finger slipped.”

“Maybe you should move it.”

“Not the point,” Luke says, waving Calum off. “The point is that my Twitter feed was filled with these blurry screenshots of you in the background of one of the videos Ashton posted last night. Everyone was like Oh my god, Calum’s alive! Calum’s so hot! Look at his hair! Look at his muscular arms, choke me daddy!”

“They were not saying daddy,” Calum cuts in, rolling his eyes while Luke laughs at his own joke.

“Maybe not, but they were saying ‘choke me’. How does that make you feel?”

“Like I wanna choke you for bringing it up.”

Luke wheezes happily, zipping off the freeway exit ramp. “Maybe if you weren’t so mysterious and reclusive all the time people wouldn’t be so crazy over a couple of blurry screenshots.”

“You’re one to talk. You’re more of a recluse than I am.”

“In life, yes, but I at least post on Instagram every once in a while so people know I’m alive.”

“Hmm, pass,” Calum says dismissively.

“Can I post you every once in a while so people know you’re alive?”

“You do that already.” It’s one of the side effects of being Luke’s favorite. No one makes more regular guest appearances in Luke’s instagram posts than Calum. And Calum likes it that way, even if he’d never admit it out loud. It feels like Luke is proudly showing him off, telling the whole world that Calum is his favorite. Which, unfortunately, fuels Calum for weeks every time it happens.

Luke swings the car into a nondescript parking lot, smiling while he works his gum around his mouth. “Rad. I’m gonna keep doing it.”

Calum peers out the window while Luke parks, trying to get some clue about where they are, but there’s nothing nearby that even remotely looks like a place Luke would bring him to on purpose. 

“Don’t bother,” Luke says, music cutting off abruptly when he turns off the car. “You can’t see where we’re going from here.”

“Fantastic,” Calum mumbles, pretending to be irritated by Luke’s theatrics, but they both know better. He reaches for the handle on the door but Luke interjects.

“Hold on, I’m gonna come around and open the door for you.”

“What? Why?”

The only answer Calum gets is Luke’s door slamming shut, and he watches in amusement as Luke scurries around the front of the car to swing Calum’s door open for him.

“Thanks,” Calum says, giving Luke a dubious look as he climbs out of the car. “Now I know for sure you’ll be able to fulfill your duties as my emergency contact if I wind up needing an escort home from the hospital after a horrible accident.”

“Fuck yeah I’d be able to fulfill my duties,” Luke says, extracting a gum wrapper from his pocket. He spits his gum into the wrapper and rolls it into a little ball, tucking it away in his pocket. 

When his hand comes back out, he’s holding a tube of chapstick, which he haphazardly applies to his lips, dimples digging into his cheeks when he presses his lips together. He pops the cap back onto the chapstick with one smooth motion of his thumb, then flashes Calum a grin. “Okay. Now I’m prepared for you to kiss me when you realize where I’m taking you.”

“You’re so thoughtful.”

Luke shrugs and grabs for Calum’s hand, hauling him through the parking lot until finally their destination is revealed.

“Castle Park?” Calum squeaks excitedly. “Mini golf?”

“Mini golf,” Luke confirms with a smug nod.

It’s one of those things Calum has wanted to do for a long time—he drives past the castle pretty regularly and it taunts him with its cheery sign—but despite living in LA for years at this point, he’s never actually gone in.

“Holy shit. What’s the occasion?”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels, Luke says, “Does there need to be an occasion? I just wanted to hang out with you.”

Just wanted to hang out. Right. Except when Luke just wants to hang out, he’s perfectly happy to show up at Calum’s door and lounge around doing nothing all day. Not to mention he looks awfully suspicious right now with his shifty eyes and his lip caught between his teeth.

But Calum doesn’t get hung up on it, because even if Luke has something up his sleeve, as long as it involves mini golf at Castle Park, Calum is on board.

Let Luke keep his secrets. Calum certainly is.

***

The flowers arrive on a Thursday, shortly after Calum emerges from the shower. 

He’s still damp and wrapped in a towel when the doorbell rings, rushing to throw on shorts and a T-shirt before he jogs for the door. By the time he gets there, no one is outside, but there’s a vase full of bright yellow and purple flowers with a white cardboard box next to it sitting on his welcome mat.

Daisies and pansies. They’re bright and beautiful and a little odd together, which Calum loves. He sets the vase on his counter and pops open the box. The scent of apples and cinnamon fills his nose immediately, the lid of the box lifting to reveal an apple pie with a little flag stuck in the middle of the hole in the top crust that says Ur my sweetie pie in swirly script.

What the hell is this? Is it even meant for him? Was it delivered to him by mistake?

But then he spots a little card sticking out among the flower stems, his name clearly printed next to the To label. And, next to From, it says Luke :-). Calum grins and reaches for his phone.

Calum: why did you send me a pie

Luke: and flowers ;)

Calum: why did you send me a pie and flowers

Luke: why wouldn’t i?

Calum: did you send ash and mike pies too

Luke: of course not

Luke: why would i do that

Calum’s face scrunches in amused frustration and he shakes his head while he types out his response.

Calum: i love the flowers

Luke: but not the pie? 🥺

Calum: i’m sure i’ll love the pie too once i try it

Luke: do u want to try it with me

Luke: tonight

Calum: is the pie actually for me or did you just get it bc you want to have some

Luke: yes

Calum barely has time to finish drying off and throw clothes on before Luke is plowing through his front door singing a happy little melody about how it’s high time for pie time.

“How the fuck did you get here so fast?” Calum stumbles out of his room with his shirt halfway over his head, partially obscuring his vision.

“I was already on my way over.”

“Already on your way over?” When Calum pops his head out and shakes his hair out of his face, Luke is staring at him with a sort of deranged look in his eyes. So eager for pie he’s ready to pounce. “Were you tracking the pie? Did you get a delivery notification and immediately speed over here on a pie rampage?”

Luke gives Calum a cheeky grin. “Nope, just lucky timing,” he says, pawing at the pie box on the counter. “Can we have some now?”

Fuck. Luke looks…really good. For no fucking reason. He’s just wearing jeans and yet another shirt that used to belong to Calum, but it’s a ringer tee that hugs his body so tightly it’s obscene, and the jeans are doing this thing where they’re loose enough to hang low on Luke’s hips but are still snug against his ass. A lethal combination.

“Why are you so obsessed with this pie?” Despite the questioning, Calum starts getting out plates and silverware.

“Because,” Luke says, absently smacking Calum on the ass as he passes by, like it’s a reflex. “It’s the best pie I’ve ever had and I want to see your face when you try it. You make such incredible food faces.”

Calum nods agreeably, bumping Luke out of the way with his hip so he can reach the pie. “That’s true. It is one of my many talents.”

“I always wonder if your food faces are anything like your sex faces.”

“Always?” Christ. Luke’s been in his house for two minutes and is already testing Calum’s resolve. “Would that be a good thing or a bad thing? Because I feel like it would be a bad thing.”

Luke shrugs, chewing on his bottom lip while he watches Calum cut the pie into slices. “Depends on if it’s food you like or not, I suppose.”

The knife wavers of course as Calum laughs, leaving half the pie slices much larger than the other half. “Well, unfortunately I can’t really give you an answer. I’m not really in the habit of thinking about my face during sex.”

“That makes one of us,” Luke quips, wasting no time at all jamming a fork into the pie to dig out a slice. 

Of course he chooses one of the bigger ones. Calum could probably die over it. That’s all it takes. Luke selects a large piece of pie and Calum is so emotionally affected he blinks out of existence.

“Do you have any ice cream?” Luke’s mouth is full so it comes out sounding like ooh you ‘ave any eye cream? and Calum is transported back to that coffee shop in god-knows-what-city with the sugared cinnamon rolls.

It’s unusual for real life to remind Calum of tour. It’s the whole thing about them feeling like two different dimensions, where what happens on tour doesn’t really have any influence on reality. But for whatever reason, Luke talking with his mouth full of sugary treats is bridging the gap in Calum’s mind.

It’s not like things that happen in real life never align with things that happen on tour. There have been many scenarios where Calum probably should be reminded of tour, but his brain just doesn’t do it. They are separate compartments. Somehow Luke is leaking out of one compartment and spreading into the other. The one exception.

Goddamn, he always has to find a way to be exceptional, doesn’t he?

Sighing for several reasons, Calum says, “I don’t have any ice cream. I haven’t even done a proper grocery shop since we got back.”

“Cal. It’s been, like, a month.”

“I’ve been to the store,” Calum defends, wiggling his fork into the pie to extract his (also large) slice. “But I’ve only really gotten enough to get by for a few days. You know how I am about never using more than two grocery bags.”

Luke rolls his eyes and goes in for another bite of pie.

“It’s usually a good system! I only get a couple of bags’ worth of stuff and it’s enough for the week! Otherwise I get too much stuff and it all goes bad. I don’t need fuckin’ shallots and dragonfruit and shit. All I really need is bread.”

“You don’t need ice cream?” Luke stares at Calum judgmentally.

Frowning, Calum admits, “The system falls apart when I haven’t been home long enough to build up the freezer and pantry essentials.” He jams a forkful of pie in his mouth and wow, that’s good. “Oh my god,” he murmurs, eyes closing as he chews. “This is so good on its own I don’t think I would survive eating it with ice cream. It would be too amazing. I’d die.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Cal,” Luke reprimands, jabbing his fork at Calum. “You always think that something that’s really good can’t get better without it being too good. Fuck that. There’s no limit to the amount of good something can be.”

Calum wants to argue, but he can’t. Luke’s right. Why is he always finding reasons to settle for good when he could have amazing?

***

Calum sometimes forgets the fact that Luke is literally a model. He never really sees Luke being a model, because it’s something he does on his own, independent from the rest of the band. Instead, Calum occasionally gets smacked across the face with a reminder once the photos appear in a magazine spread and flood his twitter feed.

It’s always strange for Calum when it happens, a very specific mixture of pride and lust rippling through him as he scrolls through the photos. It’s like Luke said—there are so many ways he could be a very different person if not for the band, and photos of him all done up in fancy clothes and makeup and posing for the camera are a stark reminder of that. 

There are so many timelines where this version of Luke wouldn’t exist, and that idea is so bittersweet. It makes Calum incredibly grateful to be experiencing this timeline, incredibly proud of the person Luke has become, and incredibly turned on by how amazing he looks in full HD even when Calum zooms in to his individual eyebrow hairs.

Attending a fashion-y event with Luke is an equally complex emotional scenario for Calum to navigate.

It’s a party to celebrate some fashion week activity at a trendy bar Calum has been dying to go to, which Luke knows because Calum has brought it up every weekend since they got home from tour. He assumes that’s why Luke invited him along, but now that he’s there the bar is barely making an impression because Calum’s attention is focused elsewhere.

He’s trying to put his finger on what’s different about Luke tonight than at every other event Calum had ever seen him at. Does it bring out a different side of Luke when he’s not there as part of a band? When the fact that he’s beautiful is what got him in the door rather than the fact that he’s a talented musician?

It’s subtle. There’s this extra shine of excitement and wonder in his eyes, like the whole thing is slightly intimidating to him—something he admires but doesn’t quite feel a part of yet.

But then outwardly, he seems more confident than he normally would at a party like this, at least before he has a couple drinks in him. He’s allowing himself to take up space. He’s laughing loudly, shooting Calum these mischievous looks while they chat with whoever wanders their way, occasionally widening his eyes like can you believe this shit?

“You seem wound up tonight,” Calum comments, careful not to make it sound like he’s teasing. He doesn’t want to discourage whatever it is that has Luke buzzing like this.

Luke shrugs, scratching the corner of his mouth with a silver painted fingernail. “I’m excited to have you here with me.”

“Seems like you’d be fine without me.”

“Yeah, I’d be fine, but it’s better having you here.”

This is a Luke thing, being a bit more reserved on his own in certain situations, but absolutely thriving when he has backup. For parties, Calum is his preferred backup, which Calum is extremely aware of, but not entirely sure why he’s the most qualified for the job. 

Sometimes it feels like Luke is performing for him. Like if he’s got Calum in the audience, he’s motivated to put on a show instead of lurking in the wings. It’s a perfect combination of caring what Calum thinks of him enough to put in an effort, along with having a level of comfort with Calum where he’s confident that even if no one else understands him, Calum will laugh at his jokes and swoop in to save him if he forgets his lines.

“You know what’s crazy,” Calum says, smirking when Luke looks at him curiously, “Is that even at this party full of models you’re still the most beautiful person here.”

“Oh stop it,” Luke complains, rolling his eyes but not bothering to hide the pleased smile on his lips. “You sound like my mom dropping me off for a school dance or some shit.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Calum replies.

“I know it’s not true,” Luke says evenly. “It can’t be true as long as you’re here.”

Calum grins, shaking his head. “And this is how you managed to snag a hot date to those school dances even though you’re the most annoying person on the planet.”

Luke scoffs and waves him off, face struggling to decide between landing in an irritated frown or a pouty smirk.

It changes into something else entirely when Luke notices a guy approaching them, a guy who Calum doesn’t recognize but fits in perfectly with the crowd of beautiful people in his sleek red suit.

“Hey Luke! Who’s your friend?”

Luke smiles tightly. “Hey Mark. This is Calum. He’s not just my friend.” He looks at Calum, eyes widening in an attempt to send some kind of message, but Calum’s not receiving it. He looks back uselessly. “Cal, this is Mark. He’s signed with the same agency. We run into each other a lot at these sorts of things.”

“I’m in the band,” Calum explains, holding out his hand to shake Mark’s. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Mark says, locking his eyes on Calum while he drags out the handshake for an unnecessarily long time. “In the band. That’s pretty hot.” 

Instead of just letting go of Calum’s hand, he slides it up Calum’s forearm and squeezes Calum’s bicep. “Your arms are incredible. You must be the drummer.”

“Bassist, actually,” Calum replies, suddenly feeling Luke’s hand snaking behind his back and resting on his hip to pull him closer. “You’re a model, then?”

“For now,” Mark replies, preening as he runs a hand through his hair and flips on a convincing smize. “Eventually I want to get into the business side of it. Maybe do some scouting. You, for example, would be fantastic for commercial work. Sneakers, alcohol, shit, you could even do pharmaceutical ads.”

“Did ya hear that, Cal? You could do pharmaceutical ads!” Luke’s mocking smirk is obvious to Calum because he knows all the nuances of Luke’s facial expressions, but to Mark it probably just looks like his usual sweet, lopsided smile. 

“Not the geriatric shit,” Mark clarifies, sweeping his eyes over Calum from head to toe. “Maybe one of the skin things, so they can show you playing basketball shirtless and carefree knowing your condition is under control.”

Calum snorts, then fully loses it, dissolving into laughter. Mark grins proudly and Luke’s hand tightens against Calum’s hip.

After clearing his throat, Luke says, “It was nice running into you, Mark, but we were just about to head out.”

Were they? Calum thought they probably had at least a couple more drinks in them, but this is how it is sometimes with Luke. Something will happen—usually something invisible, a stray thought that flits through his mind—and it turns his mood around in a hurry.

There’s always a reason, even if Calum doesn’t know or understand it. And one thing Calum cares about a lot is making sure Luke is as content as possible at all times, so he’s going to roll with this, just like he always does. 

“Yeah Mark, it was good to meet you. Maybe I’ll see you around at one of these again sometime.” 

Calum smiles and offers Mark a polite wave, Luke already pulling him towards the door as he tosses a halfhearted, “See ya, Mark,” over his shoulder. 

Then, under his breath for only Calum to hear, “You want me to hook you up with my agent, Cal? See if he can get you into a commercial for a prescription eczema cream?”

“Nah,” Calum replies, mirroring Luke’s smirk back at him. “I don’t think I want to give Mark the satisfaction of seeing my shirtless basketball playing.”

Something incredible happens in Luke’s eyes, a shift from narrowed and mischievous to open and hopeful. “I’m sorry about leaving already. I know you were excited to check this place out. I just…”

“It’s okay,” Calum says with an easy shrug, pushing the door open and breathing in the fresh air outside. “I saw it. I tried a couple of their fancy drinks. That’s all I needed.”

“Do you wanna stop somewhere else before we go home?” Luke asks, that hopeful glow lingering in his eyes. “Get another drink, maybe?”

Calum’s not surprised Luke is asking to stay out even though he was eager to leave the party. It’s different, getting a drink just the two of them. 

It requires less of Luke. And it lets Calum have more of Luke.

Calum grins, watching the glitter around Luke’s eyes shimmer in the streetlights. “Sounds perfect.”

***

In bed that night, Calum does his usual scroll through social media before falling asleep. That’s when he sees Luke’s latest story—a selfie they took at the much quieter bar a few blocks away from the party, both of them with lopsided smiles and slightly drunk eyes. It’s captioned date night 😍

There’s another photo after it, a tiny bit blurry like it might’ve been captured accidentally after the selfie. Calum is still looking at the camera, his smile slipping into a wide laugh. Luke’s face is turned slightly to the side, dimple just barely visible as he smiles softly with his lips pressed together, eyes twinkling while he looks at Calum.

***

The sky has been cloudy grey for four days straight. Calum blames his current state of existence on the bleak weather. He’s not sick, but he feels not-quite-right either, tired for no reason, a little woozy and unsettled. His brain is in a similar not-quite-right state, a vague sense of ominous dread looming behind every thought.

He spent the morning aimlessly wandering around his house doing small tasks, scrolling twitter, and sighing a lot. He only managed to drink half of his iced coffee before it started to feel like he had to choke it down. What kind of evil dreariness prevents him from fully enjoying his coffee?

It’s not a big deal, it’s just one of those things—some days are like this, it’ll pass, and life will go on.

Around lunchtime it starts drizzling, raindrops pinging against the kitchen windows while Calum unloads the dishwasher. Almost on cue, his phone lights up on the countertop, displaying a message from Luke.

Luke: this weather reminds me of that morning on tour when we got caught in the rain on our jog

Luke: and you acted like it was so refreshing and wonderful while i was miserable in my wet socks

Hmm. It's reassuring in a way, that Calum's not the only one who's suddenly connecting thing that happened on tour to reality.

Calum: wish i still had that kind of positive outlook today

Luke: why? something wrong?

Calum: nah just feeling kinda blah and i think it’s from vitamin d deficiency

Luke: i’ll come over and give u some vitamin d if you want 😉

Calum: yeah come over

Calum: distract me from my emotional wet socks

Luke: 🫡

Luke arrives with a gallon of orange juice and a block of sharp cheddar cheese. “I googled good sources of vitamin D,” he announces, thrusting the juice and cheese at Calum’s chest when he walks in the door.

“I thought you meant your dick,” Calum mourns, cradling his orange-colored treats.

Luke smiles brightly, cupping Calum on the shoulder as he passes. “Didn’t come up in the google search, but you can have that too if you want.”

Calum sighs wistfully, depositing his treats in the fridge while Luke sprawls across the sofa. He’s wearing a T-shirt that used to be Calum’s. 

Calum complains about Luke stealing his clothes, but he never gets tired of seeing them on Luke. Noting the differences in how they fit him and the way the colors look against his pale skin, wondering if Luke ever catches a lingering scent of Calum on the fabric. 

He also has this particular way of existing in Calum’s house like he belongs there that makes Calum ache. No hesitation about tossing his jacket on the table, no uncertainty about where to sit on the couch. He melts into the cushions the same way he always does, then picks up the remote and starts flipping through Calum’s streaming apps without a second thought.

There are so few places where Luke feels comfortable just existing. He’s usually performing at least a little bit everywhere he goes, but Calum’s house is on the short list of exceptions. Calum probably can’t take credit for that, but it still fills him with a strange sense of pride, being able to provide a space for Luke where he can just be.

Normally if he had this particular thought, he’d smile about it and move on. But today, because shit’s weird for no reason, it makes him tear up a little, looking at Luke sprawled out and comfortable, biting his lip and humming to himself while he decides what to watch.

This might be a problem. Calum’s been okay with going along with whatever this thing he’s feeling about Luke happens to be without worrying too much about what it is or what it means, but if he’s going to start crying over Luke simply being in his house, he might need to rethink that. Perhaps there are some emotions he needs to process before he winds up curled up on the ground sobbing next time Luke knocks on his door.

For now, he powers through, swallowing down the lump in his throat when Luke smiles up at him softly, patting the cushion next to him on the coach. Calum sits, trying to remember what he would normally do in a situation like this. Would he smile back? Would he crack a joke? Would he tackle Luke and crush him with his weight?

What he probably wouldn’t do is stare at the small swath of bare skin along Luke’s shoulder where his collar is stretched out and contemplate kissing his freckles one at a time.

“I know it’s your shirt,” Luke says, misinterpreting Calum’s longing stare. “You can’t have it back. It’s my favorite shirt right now.”

“I don’t want it back,” Calum says, smiling in a way that almost feels normal. “I like seeing it on you. But if you’re keeping this—” He pinches the fabric of Luke’s sleeve between his fingers and tugs. “—then I’m keeping your hoodie.”

“Deal.” Luke kicks his legs up on the couch, snuggling up against Calum’s side, and starts tapping the remote in earnest. 

He’s always so warm. His stubble is a little longer than usual, rough and scratchy against Calum’s arm through the thin material of his shirt. The rest of him is so soft that Calum likes the prickliness. It’s a reminder that Luke has a protective shell around all that softness. Something to keep him safe.

“There we go,” he murmurs, passing Calum the remote. “Got you logged in to my HBO account so we can finally watch White Lotus.”

Calum perks up immediately, shifting on the couch so he can see the TV better. “Oh my god, really?”

“Yeah, I figured we could watch something beachy, get you some secondhand vitamin D.” Luke huffs out a quiet, content laugh, curling even more tightly against Calum, so close he’s nearly in Calum’s lap.

Calum doesn’t know what made him laugh, and he won’t ask.

***

Without ever really discussing it, Luke starts appearing at Calum’s house around eight every night. Calum is used to Luke showing up unannounced and often, but every night is a lot, even for Luke.

Sometimes he wants to talk about his day or ask Calum questions about his. Sometimes he wants to order pizza and watch White Lotus while he smothers Calum with cuddles on the couch. Sometimes he comes prepared with some idea or scheme, a meal he wants to try to cook or a game he wants to play.

So it’s a little strange that today, he’s completely tuned out, lost in thought while White Lotus plays on the TV. His eyes are unfocused, cast up towards the ceiling, mouth slightly open the way it often is when he’s spinning in circles inside his head. Calum knows the signs.

“If I ask you what you’re thinking about, will you be honest with me?”

Sometimes Calum asks, sometimes he doesn’t. It mostly depends on where Luke’s mood seems to be in the moment, but sometimes it depends on him too. On how brave he’s feeling, on how much he can stand to hear if it’s bad.

Luke’s eyes slide to the side and he shrugs, lips scrunching along with his shoulders. “I’m not sure.”

“Will you try to be?”

“I always try for you.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“You know how so often I feel lonely even when I’m surrounded by people? I think it’s because it feels like no matter how many people are around, no one is totally seeing me or understanding me. But I was just sitting here realizing that, like…I don’t really have that with you. Even when I know you have no fuckin’ clue what’s happening in my head, I don’t get that lonely feeling as long as you’re around. And paying attention to me,” he adds with a satisfied smile. “It’s shitty when you’re ignoring me.”

There’s so much for Calum to unwrap from Luke’s words. Even when he asks what’s on Luke’s mind and he responds, it’s not usually quite like this. The immediate honesty, the clarity, the confidence.

“Is that—” Calum pauses, nibbling at his bottom lip. How does he ask this without actually asking it? “Is that unusual?”

Luke lets out a wry chuckle, rolling his eyes a little. “That’s one way of putting it.”

It’s something Calum sort of knew, in an abstract way, but actually hearing the words come out of Luke’s mouth suddenly makes everything make sense. This is why Calum is Luke’s favorite.

“Telling you that is fuckin’ wild,” Luke continues, voice soft while his face settles into a flummoxed frown.

“Why?” Calum probes gently. “I think it’s nice. It makes me really happy that I can be that for you.”

“Because,” Luke says, getting louder and more animated, eyes wide and slightly panicked, in that sort of sweet, overdramatic way he falls into when he’s tired or flustered or vulnerable. “It’s basically me telling you that you mean more to me than I ever could mean to you.”

Carefully, Calum says, “I don’t think that’s true.” 

Inside, he’s crumbling to pieces. His mind is racing, trying to figure out the right words to say to make Luke understand, but he just can’t. There are no words that are enough to encapsulate everything Luke means to him, and trying to find them is just a useless cycle of frustration.

“It’s okay if it is,” Luke says evenly. He sounds like he really means it. “I don’t mind. I know you care about me. That’s enough. I’m pretty content with the idea of, you know, feeling more. In general.”

“But that’s not—” Calum snaps his mouth shut, exhaling sharply in frustration, then tries again. “There’s no way for me to totally know how you feel. But I do know it’s hard for me to imagine it’s possible for anyone to mean more to a person than you mean to me.”

Luke’s eyes get achingly soft while he gazes at Calum for a moment, mouth slightly open and forehead creased like he’s in pain. Then, slowly, he leans closer, eyelids fluttering. 

Calum knows where this is going. It’s not the first time, but it’s the first time it’s happened like this. Sober, earnest, motivated by something other than having fun living in the moment.

Breath ghosting across Calum’s cheek, Luke raises his hand to gently cup Calum’s jaw. He pauses, giving Calum an opportunity to back away. 

He doesn’t. Another thing he can’t imagine is ever backing away from Luke.

When Luke kisses him, it’s slow and tender, his warm, soft lips lingering against Calum’s just long enough to pull a yearning sigh from Calum’s chest as his eyes slip closed. 

His eyes are still closed when Luke says, “Sorry to be cliche, but I had to.” Calum opens his eyes. Luke is looking back at him with a small, close-lipped smile. “I didn’t know what to say that would be enough.”

Why didn’t Calum think of that? When his head was spinning trying to find the words to help Luke understand, why didn’t he just show him?

Nodding slowly, Calum replies, “You’re right, that was probably much better than listening to you fumble your way through forming a coherent thought.” The corner of his lips pulls up into a sly smirk.

Luke grins back at him. “You’re such a dick.”

***

It’s impossible for Calum to go more than ten minutes without thinking about the kiss. Without wondering if it means something to Luke too. Without licking his lips and craving the feeling of Luke’s mouth against his. Does Luke feel that too?

But he doesn’t want to have a conversation about it. He doesn’t want to ask Luke these things, even though he knows he absolutely could and it would be fine. He doesn’t want to ask, because he doesn’t want to draw attention to it and accidentally discourage Luke from doing it again.

Calum is perfectly happy existing in this strange in between space where Luke might kiss him. He doesn’t need to define it. He’ll take whatever he can get.

***

“You haven’t made any plans for Valentine’s Day, right?”

This is not the greeting Calum expected when he picked up Luke's phone call. Shit, he totally forgot Valentine’s Day was coming up. It’s not really relevant to his life, is it? But a quick glance at the date on his phone informs him it’s a mere two days away. 

Doesn’t really matter, though. It won’t be different from any other day for him. “What the hell kind of Valentine’s Day plans would I make?”

“Rad, so I’ll come by and pick you up at six then.” Luke says this like it’s something Calum should already known.

“On Valentine’s Day?”

Luke grunts impatiently. “Yes. Please keep up, Cal.” 

“But—to do what?”

“Valentine’s Day things.”

What does that mean? Calum isn’t going to ask. He’s just going to let it happen. That’s been his coping mechanism for all things Luke for months at this point, no reason to switch it up now. “What should I be wearing for these Valentine’s Day things?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll look hot in anything.”

“You’re incredibly unhelpful.”

“Love you too. I'm hanging up now."

Which he does, leaving Calum smiling stupidly at an empty room with his phone pressed to his ear.

Spending Valentine’s Day with Luke is probably a bad idea, objectively, given the fact that Calum is almost certainly in love with Luke in addition to wanting to fuck him. And yeah, he should probably say something to Luke about it eventually. 

But Valentine’s Day is so not the time for it. He can’t put that kind of pressure on Luke on Valentine’s Day. Poor Luke would probably feel obligated to be sweet about it, on top of feeling twice as bad as he would otherwise if he doesn’t feel the same way as Calum. 

He won’t be able to fully explain to Luke that just because he’s telling Luke how he feels, it doesn’t mean he expects or needs anything in return. It’s more about not keeping secrets from Luke, because Calum doesn’t know how to live like that. 

Luke knows everything, and hiding something like this for much longer just isn’t realistic. One way or another, Calum is going to let it slip, and he’d rather have control of the situation instead of accidentally springing it on Luke somehow.

But Calum also can’t (and doesn’t want to) say no to Luke. 

So he’s going to do Valentine’s Day, he’s going to keep his mouth shut, and he’s going to bring this up next week. Or the week after. Or maybe he’ll just learn how to keep this one secret from Luke forever.

Even though he’s been favoring casual, baggy clothes lately, Calum decides to jam himself into some tight black pants and a nice heart-patterned button down with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons loose. It’s on theme, and maybe he wants to give Luke something to think about. Luke’s not shy about commenting on it when he thinks Calum looks especially good, so Calum has a pretty good idea what to wear to get him worked up.

He’s rewarded handsomely when he opens the door for Luke and Luke’s eyes immediately bug out of his head. “Wowie,” he says gruffly, which makes Calum insane because how can he be so cute and stupid while he sounds like that and looks at Calum like that? It shouldn’t be possible.

Luke reaches out to run his finger along the buttons on Calum’s shirt, a look of intense concentration on his face, dimple flaring. “See something you like?” Calum teases, causing Luke’s eyes to snap up.

“You know I do,” Luke replies, that same intensity in his tone. It shakes Calum up, because he wasn’t really prepared for anything other than a lighthearted response.

Calum clears his throat and captures Luke’s hand underneath his, holding it against his chest. “Good. That was my plan.”

Luke smiles brightly, making no attempt to move his hand, but actually coming even closer, pulling his other hand out from behind his back to present Calum with a bouquet of pink hydrangeas. “You were scheming?”

“Oh! Thank you.” Calum happily accepts the flowers, placing them gently on top of the cabinet next to his door and silently berating himself for not thinking to get Luke flowers, or at least a box of chocolates or something. It’s fucking Valentine’s Day. “Of course I was scheming. Were you not?” he wonders, dragging his eyes pointedly over Luke’s body. Because it sure seems like he spent some time considering how to make Calum wild with lust.

Luke has also jammed himself into incredibly tight pants, along with a barely buttoned red satin shirt and a smudge of silver glitter on each eyelid. It’s the sort of outfit Calum is used to seeing him in for shows, but he doesn’t usually see it like this, against the bright gold sunset. It might be the most beautiful Luke has ever looked.

Somehow, Luke’s grin gets even wider. “I’m always scheming.”

“So where are we off too, schemer?” Calum detaches Luke’s hand from his chest and leads them toward Luke’s car. “And can we stop somewhere on the way so I can get you flowers too?”

Luke laughs loudly, opening the passenger side door for Calum. “No time. We’ve got a reservation.”

“After?” Calum pleads, batting his eyes cutely at Luke while Luke backs out of the driveway. “I need to get you something, I’m a shit Valentine’s date otherwise.”

“You think making me drive you somewhere to get me flowers after our Valentine’s dinner is gonna make you a good Valentine’s date?”

“Well! What else am I supposed to do!”

“Not be a shit Valentine’s date in the first place,” Luke answers smugly, casually flipping off a Tesla that pulled out in front of him on a blind corner.

“Okay, fine. You don’t have to take me somewhere to get you flowers. I’ll figure out another way to make it up to you.”

Luke glances over at Calum with a crooked smirk. “Now we’re talkin’.” 

Calum doesn’t press Luke for details on where they’re going during the ride, mostly because he’s enjoying the novelty of being surprised. He doesn’t really expect anything crazy, probably just dinner at one of Luke’s favorite fancier restaurants. 

While Luke drives into the sunset, Calum slides on his sunglasses and stares at Luke surreptitiously. 

Something about Luke in the sun. It’s a weakness for Calum, especially the warm light of the sunrise or sunset, glowing golden around Luke, like a visual representation of how he makes Calum feel. Maybe he’s Calum’s vitamin D after all.

It takes Calum a second to register where they are when Luke stops the car, but then he sees the familiar sign and his face splits into a grin. “Are we here to meet Mark? Have I been cast in that eczema commercial? Is that the surprise?”

They’re back at the bar from the fashion party. There’s a chalkboard sign on the street outside the front door advertising Valentine's Day dinner for two with special drinks and desserts.

Luke snickers, head shaking and eyes rolling as he presses a hand against Calum’s lower back and guides them to the door. “I figured you deserved to get the full experience. Minus Mark.”

“What have you got against Mark?” Calum pokes at Luke’s shoulder teasingly.

“He was hitting on my date!” Luke complains, holding open the door for Calum to go through ahead of him. “That’s horrible party etiquette.”

“What do you know about etiquette?” Calum mumbles, mostly to himself while Luke gives his name to the host.

The bar feels much different now than it did for the party, less crowded, quieter music, and ambient golden pink lighting, a candle flickering on top of every table.

It’s a curated menu, and the salad arrives first, along with a basket of fancy bread and something red in a martini glass. While Calum takes a sip of his drink, Luke digs into his salad immediately. “Mm so hungry,” he murmurs, chomping happily with his fork in one hand while his other hand reaches for the fancy bread.

Calum’s brain supplies him with the memory of having dinner with Luke outside their hotel near the end of tour. Luke teasing Calum about his favorite part of tour being watching him eat salad. Calum being assaulted by all the Luke things all at once, making his chest ache.

“Thank you for letting me watch you eat salad for Valentine’s Day,” Calum says, so distracted by Luke’s face that he fumbles while setting his glass down, a few drops of the cocktail spilling onto the back of his hand. “Nothing more romantic than that.”

Luke laughs, one of the high pitched giggles, and grabs Calum by the wrist. “I know what you like,” he says, voice dropping low and warm, in stark contrast to his laughter. He keeps his eyes on Calum’s as he pulls Calum’s hand across the table and dips his head to lick the spilled martini drops off the back of Calum’s hand.

Calum shudders violently when Luke’s tongue touches his skin, even though he knows it’s coming.

Jesus Christ. 

The look in Luke’s eyes…it’s the fuck me face, but more somehow. Calum’s never seen it quite like this, and it makes him shiver again, hand still firmly in Luke’s grip. 

It also makes him panic a little because what the fuck is happening? Why is Luke looking at him like this if he doesn’t…well. If he doesn’t mean it.

Calum has to say something. He can’t take this. If Luke keeps looking at him like this, his body is going to turn into a violent science experiment.

He clears his throat and tries to choose his words carefully. “Luke have you noticed…” 

Luke’s eyes clear slightly, all twinkly and curious. He carefully lets go of Calum’s hand, and Calum presses on before he loses his nerve. “It feels like something is, um, different? Since we got back from tour?”

“Something?” Luke prompts, a mischievous lilt in his voice. Which is very interesting. He doesn’t seem at all concerned or anxious about what Calum is saying. Does that mean...he’s noticed too? He’s okay with it? He likes it?

“Like with us,” Calum says, trying to figure out how much he actually wants to say right now. Is it time for him to tell Luke everything that’s been going through his mind the past six months? Or will that just confuse things? “It feels like we’re not quite just friends anymore.”

There. It’s out. Right to the point. 

Calum watches Luke carefully for his reaction, but Luke’s face doesn’t change. “Really?” Luke says, unimpressed. “What gave you that idea? The fact that I’ve been sending you flowers and taking you on dates and kissing you?”

“You—” Calum’s brow furrows and he purses his lips, squinting at Luke while he replays Luke’s words in his head. 

Luke’s not surprised. He’s known all along. Shit. He’s known all along! “You were doing all that on purpose?” Calum gapes, caught somewhere between surprise, betrayal, and glee.

While Calum is processing, Luke is obviously trying to contain his laughter, lips quivering as he says, “It wasn’t that hard. Most of it is barely different from normal.”

“Then why didn’t you just say something?”

“Why didn’t you?” Luke argues. “I was just…I don’t know. Testing it out. Seeing if it felt right and if you seemed to like it. And if it did, and you did, then maybe it would just naturally happen and it wouldn’t need to be a whole big thing.” Luke throws his hands in the air and does a celebratory shimmy with a hunk of bread in one hand. “And hey, I was right!”

“But if you would’ve said something, we could’ve been kissing more. I could’ve been sucking your dick!” Calum whines loudly, probably drawing some stares from strangers, but he’s got more pressing things to worry about. Mainly, the fact that he’s apparently Luke’s boyfriend.

“Compelling argument,” Luke replies, lips curling into a smile. “But we can do those things now. And you know how I am. I started overthinking it and somehow in my mind this just seemed like the best solution.” Luke shrugs helplessly,  jamming the bread into his mouth. He chews aggressively, swallows, and takes a sip of his drink while Calum stares at him in awe. “This was my Play-Doh,” he explains. “It was never going to make sense trying to pick it apart so I just…kept playing with the messy ball.”

“I do know how you are,” Calum says, nodding as his brain finally finishes rebooting. “And I love how you are, which is why I think it’s actually really sweet that you hatched this fucked up plan. I just—” Calum pauses, shaking his head in disbelief while he looks at Luke with his eyes shining clear blue and a proud grin tugging at his lips. “You just keep finding ways to surprise me.”

“So?” Luke licks his lips and fidgets in his chair, showing his first real sign of anxiety during this conversation. “Was I actually right? Like…you’re okay with this? You actually want—uh. Me?” He offers Calum a small, hopeful smile. 

“I’ve been thinking about this for months,” Calum says. “I was working up to telling you, but I wasn’t really in a hurry because I kind of liked secretly obsessing over you. Plus there wasn’t a lot of incentive to say anything when you were already pretty much treating me like your boyfriend.”

Luke’s eyes widen impatiently, the flame from the candle on the table flickering gold against the soft blue. “So that’s a yes?”

“Jesus, Luke,” Calum scoffs. “Yes. I want you. How long were you planning on keeping this up if I didn’t say anything?”

“I thought for sure you’d say something after I kissed you!” Luke says testily, clutching the air in frustration. “But then you had to go and be all laid back about it, and I had to come up with something even more drastic to try to get through to you.”

“What does that mean?” Calum asks, cheerfully alarmed, and endeared by Luke’s incredibly Luke-ish reaction.

“You’ll see after dinner when I take you back to my place,” Luke says, voice smooth and confident while he looks at Calum with a promise in his eyes. 

Calum’s stomach flips as fast as Luke’s demeanor. This is different. He’s not used to Luke directing this kind of energy at him. Normally Luke is self-deprecating or at least partially joking. But this was something else, self-assured almost to the point of cocky. 

It’s not what Calum expected, especially when barely five seconds ago Luke was looking to Calum for reassurance. It catches him off guard so much he can barely conjure up a sassy response. “We’re going back to your place? A little presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”

“Pretty rich coming from a guy who was just mourning all the missed opportunities to suck my dick.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Calum attempts to glare at Luke, but it’s hard not to smile when Luke is looking back at him with so much contentment in his eyes. “Shut up and finish eating your salad for me.”

***

Luke’s neighbors could stand to trim their hedges. Normally Calum wouldn’t concern himself with Luke’s neighbors’ hedges, but Luke instructed him to wait in the car for exactly three minutes before coming inside. Three minutes happens to be the perfect amount of time to muse about hedges.

After giving Luke a full four minutes, just to be safe, Calum lets himself into Luke’s house, eager to see what absurdity Luke has up his sleeve. 

There’s no sign of Luke. 

There is, however, a trail of rose petals leading from Luke’s front door to the couch. Curiously cliche. Calum smiles to himself as he follows the trail, discovering a pink Post-It note waiting for him on the middle couch cushion.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I want you so bad

I shared my HBO password with you

Calum cackles, shaking his head as he continues along the trail of rose petals, this time leading to the kitchen.

Another pink Post-It note, this one stuck to the countertop.

I got you flowers

I got you pie

I’ve been living off crumbs

I’m so desperate I could cry

“Oh my god,” Calum murmurs, chuckling to himself and sticking the note to his palm on top of the first one. His eyes follow the line of rose petals to the stairs and he calls out, “I dunno man. I think you’re still being too subtle.”

There’s no response from Luke, so Calum thunders up the stairs and along the rose petal path to Luke’s room. 

Luke’s there waiting for him. He’s sitting at the foot of the bed, grinning and holding out a note to Calum, cradled in his open palms. 

“I have to admit, I thought you’d be more creative about a Valentine’s date,” Calum says while he takes exactly four steps to the foot of Luke’s bed. It’s incredibly difficult not to just throw himself on top of Luke and kiss every inch of him. “This is all very cliche.”

“It had to be cliche for you to get it through your thick skull,” Luke says, voice sugary sweet as he nods at the note in his hand, prompting Calum to take it.

I kissed you on the mouth

And you still didn’t get it

Put me out of my misery

Please let me hit it

Calum dissolves into laughter, crumpling onto the bed next to Luke, all the notes fluttering onto the comforter. 

“This was your plan to get through to me?” he wheezes, skin warming pleasantly when he sees the way Luke is watching him laugh with adoration in his eyes. “These poems are absolutely tragic for someone with your songwriting skills. You rhymed it with it!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve written some songs about it too.”

“Have you really?”

Luke shrugs and glances over his shoulder at Calum coquettishly. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

It’s the fuck me face. It’s the fucking fuck me face again and he’s sitting in bed and he fucking means it.

“You’re doing that face on purpose,” Calum comments, voice thick.

Luke nods. He leans almost imperceptibly closer to Calum. His mouth is slightly open, lips taunting Calum. On purpose.

It’s all on purpose. Because he wants Calum. 

Calum closes the distance between them, catching Luke’s lips in a kiss, pushing his fingers through Luke’s curls and latching on tightly.

Calum wants Luke too. And he’s finally going to do something about it.