Archive of Our Own

“What the fuck is this?”

It’s pretty much Luke’s first full spoken-in-person-sentence to Calum in months.

It’s his first sentence to Calum in months, and he’s yelling it in the middle of his driveway at seven in the morning, while a dog yelps back at him from down the street. It’s perfect.

“I thought you said you wanted iced coffee,” Calum replies defensively, consciously diverting his eyes away from Luke’s face because it’s the only way he can be sure he’s not staring. He needs to act normal, but he can’t remember exactly what acting normal around Luke actually entails. Probably not constantly shifting his eyes around like he’s possessed. He forces his eyes back to Luke’s face before Luke goes off in search of a priest skilled in exorcisms.

Luke takes another sip of the apparently offensive beverage and grimaces slightly, and Calum’s eyes land on the dimple carving into his cheek for just long enough for it to be physically painful. He just can’t win. “I said I wanted cold brew,” Luke says. “They’re different.”

“As if you can even tell the difference.” Calum rolls his eyes. He should be giving Luke more shit about this. That’s what they do. Instead, he holds his own cup out to Luke. “Almond milk latte?”

Luke cocks his head and smiles, a tight-lipped little grin like he’s afraid Calum’s offer is too good to be true. He raises an eyebrow. Fuck. He’s so fucking cute it’s tragic. Calum snatches his hand back. “Changed my mind, I don’t want to give up my latte for your nasty iced coffee.”

“Fuck you, you’re the one who fucked it up!” Luke whines, stomping his Converse-clad foot a little.

“You look pretty today,” Calum says. He clearly just rolled out of bed and is dressed in joggers and a hoodie with a mysterious stain on it, but it’s the truth, it always is, and maybe especially today, since it’s the first time Calum has laid eyes on him in forever. 

But it’s also one of his favorite things to do, bullying Luke only to follow it up with a compliment, because it always works. It always flusters Luke just a little. It’s probably imperceptible to most people, but Calum’s seen it happen enough times he knows. It’s in the way Luke’s smile is a little restrained, and the way he drops his eyes slightly, the nervous chuckle that could just be his normal squeaky laugh, but it’s not, not quite.

Luke narrows his eyes at Calum. Something’s different about them. His eyebrows, maybe. A little more out of control than the last time Calum saw him. “Stop trying to charm me out of being mad at you.”

“Is it working?”

“No,” Luke replies adamantly, but he’s fighting a smile, and he takes a sip of his iced coffee without any additional dramatics, and his body starts listing toward Calum’s like he’s a poorly-constructed skyscraper on a windy day. Calum knows this particular mannerism, knows it means he’s supposed to hold his arms open and let Luke fall into his side. He hasn’t done it in so long, but it’s a practiced motion he slips into without a second thought.

Step 1 - Hold his arms out wide. 

Step 2 - Take two to four shuffling steps forward until he’s about a foot and a half away from Luke. 

Step 3- Brace himself. And in this case, hold on to his latte for dear life.

Step 4 - Hold almost the entirety of Luke’s body weight up when Luke falls into his side with complete trust that Calum will catch him.

Step 5 - Wrap his arms around Luke as tightly as possible given the circumstances. With the coffees in play, he clutches Luke tightly with his free arm while he holds the one holding his cup out straight over the driveway.

Step 6 - Try not to make it abundantly clear that having Luke pressed against him, head tucked into his neck, is his favorite thing in the world. 

Usually he fails at step 6, and that’s fine. He’s not ashamed. Today he definitely fails, because it’s been so long. He closes his eyes and leans his head on top of Luke’s and breathes him in. 

“Missed you, buddy,” he says quietly, tapping Luke’s shoulder in their usual signal that the hug is over and it’s time to move on with their lives.

Luke doesn’t move, though. He stays there, arms around Calum’s waist, that fucking iced coffee pressed against Calum’s back, leaking condensation through his shirt and leaving a chill on his skin. He doesn’t want Luke to move, but he’s also panicking. He wasn’t prepared to be this close, this long, this soon. So he does the only reasonable thing and forcibly pries himself out of Luke’s grasp. “I didn’t miss you that much, bro.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Luke mumbles with a smug smile. Calum’s proud of him for his smugness. It hasn’t always come easily for him, but he’s earned the right by now. 

He certainly has every reason to be smug about Calum missing him, whether he realizes the extent of it or not. He better fucking not. Wait, has he noticed something is weird with Calum already? Has he, in the past two minutes, ascertained based on context clues that Calum is, in fact, irrevocably in love with him? In a very non-friendly way?

He’s smart. He could figure it out.

But he’s also really fucking stupid, especially when it comes to understanding exactly how much a person loves him. There’s no way. Calum is safe. Probably.

“This is weird, huh?” Calum says, reaching down to retrieve his bag from the ground and flinging it into the backseat of Luke's car.

Luke jams his free hand in his pocket and shrugs. “I’ve been doing this for months. It was weird being in the studio without you, but now it feels weird going in with you.”

And this is the reason Calum has barely seen Luke in months. This is the thing that finally broke Calum.

He thought he’d gotten over this years ago; put it behind him and moved on. But lately, it’s happening again. That feeling he thought he’d moved past, that feeling he hasn’t had since he was a teenager and didn’t think he’d ever have again, because it was a silly crush. Butterflies in his chest and his heart pounding and an instant smile on his face as soon as he saw him. 

It didn’t seem like something Calum could ever have as an adult. Now that he’s matured and seen the world for all its good and bad, the romantic in him has been replaced with a realist. Butterflies are a thing of the past.

Or so he thought.

It only makes sense that Luke is the reason Calum feels it now, just like he was the reason back then.

It started creeping in when Luke disappeared into the studio to work on his solo album. It was already strange and wrong not seeing him every day thanks to their unexpected pandemic “vacation,” but while he was working on his album, Calum barely heard from Luke; barely saw him, and he fucking missed him. 

He hasn’t had a chance to miss him before, not really. He thought he did, back when they’d spend a few days apart after tour or home for the holidays, but this was something else altogether. This was the kind of missing that made Calum’s chest ache and moved him to randomly pull up old pictures of Luke on his phone throughout the day just to make himself smile, to tide him over until he could get the real thing.

Now he thinks maybe he never did get over it, maybe he just got used to living with it and not doing anything about it.

Calum can still remember the exact moment he first realized he liked Luke as more than just a friend, so many years ago. They had been practicing a cover, just the two of them on Luke’s bedroom floor. Luke was singing and strumming the guitar, and Calum was doing his best to throw in harmonies and try not to be useless. He fucked up a note halfway through, and Luke had stopped, his honey smooth singing abruptly interrupted by his overwhelming laugh.

It was the laugh that did it. His laugh hasn’t changed.

His face lights up, mouth opening wide and his lips kicking into a smile. He looks like he’s laughing before he actually is, like it’s his automatic reaction to most things, and he has to physically hold it down every time. But when he lets it loose, it’s the most joyful thing Calum has ever seen, laughter bubbling out in loud waves and squeaky wheezes and low chuckles, a grab bag of sheer delight. He’s sunshine and warmth and fizzy soda when he’s laughing.

He’s that to Calum all the time, really. But especially when he’s laughing.

“And by weird you mean exciting, thrilling, a saga you’ve been waiting on for months?” Calum jokes, pointedly avoiding any commentary about how weird it was for him to know Luke was in the studio without the rest of the band.

The sound of Luke’s sneakers slapping against the pavement seems to echo through the entire neighborhood as Luke circles the front of the car and folds himself into the driver’s seat. “Yeah, maybe,” he replies quietly, waiting for Calum to climb in and buckle up. 

Calum doesn’t like the way that yeah, maybe feels. He’d thought a lot about Luke being in the studio without them, but he’d never really considered a scenario where being back in the studio with the rest of them would be anything less than ideal for Luke. He’s clingy and needy and they’re all horrifically codependent. It’d be one thing if Luke were joking, but he’s not. He’s unsure. Calum hates that. Hates what it might mean, and hates that Luke is anything but confident about something band-related and therefore Calum-related.

“It’s gonna be good, man,” Calum says, in the special way of speaking he reserves for Luke, when he makes it sound like he’s stating a fact but really he’s just wishing it into existence. Sometimes Luke needs the period at the end of the sentence instead of the question mark, and Calum will happily provide it. “We’ll write some sick tunes, you can impress us with how much you learned working on your album, and we can make fun of Ash for what a hippie bum he’s become in quarantine.”

Luke squints one eye shut and looks at Calum skeptically as he starts the car, but there’s already a smile lurking. “Can we hang out? Just the two of us?”

“I don’t see why not.” He says it like Luke’s dumb for even asking, but inside he feels like his heart is being injected with sweet buttercream and sprinkles. “I’m tired of those guys anyway. While you’ve been making beautiful music, I’ve been baby-sitting both of them.”

“Sorry,” Luke replies, legitimately apologetic, which is fucking hilarious. 

Calum laughs, waving him off as they back out of the driveway and head toward the freeway. “It’s fine, it’ll be worth it when I get to hear your amazing album.” He lays it on thick, partially because Luke eats that shit up and partially because there’s a little part of him that wants to needle Luke about the fact that he has shared essentially nothing about his solo project with any of them. Calum’s trying not to take it personally, but the whole situation is a head trip.

It wasn’t surprising that Luke wanted to do something on his own. They’re all talented and driven; it’s the only reason the band is as successful as it is, but it manifests differently in all of them. Ashton tries to be the best he can for everyone else; to prove himself. Michael tries to be the best he can for his own security and sanity; to make sure the floor doesn’t drop out from under him. Calum mostly just tries to be the best he can for his friends, because he loves them.

Luke has always been special, though. He’s the reason they even formed a band in the first place. Without him, there’s no way they’d be where they are today. Luke’s never entirely satisfied, always reaching to be better in some way. That’s what allows him to exist in the world, what allows him to feel like he has meaning and purpose and is worthy of this thing that he’s so lucky to have been given the opportunity to achieve. His combination of natural talent and drive is unmatched by anyone else in the band. In a way, making a solo album is the only thing he could have done with an extended break.

It was strange knowing that Luke was writing and singing songs that wouldn’t become Calum’s songs too. He’s desperate to hear them, but also terrified. Luke’s brain is this great and mysterious thing that Calum loves, but he knows it’s not always the easiest brain to live in every day. He’s scared to find out what’s happening in that always-thinking brain. What it might have to say about their lives the last ten years, about what it’s done to Luke. Calum doesn’t care if this life breaks him, but he can’t stand the idea of it breaking Luke. He’s not sure he can handle hearing the bad stuff, even though logically he knows it’s there, swirling in the background of Luke’s thoughts most of the time.

It’s why he needed to write the album, he said. Because as soon as he had time with his thoughts, and nothing but time with his thoughts, he needed to get them out. To rip those thoughts out of his head and put them into songs, to find a way to finally process everything before he exploded with the force of it all.

Calum gets that. He admires it; wishes he had the bravery and the drive and the talent to do it on his own, whether through music or something else entirely. But he prefers to avoid, ignore, and pretend there's nothing he needs to deal with. He’ll let it fester until it infects him head to toe and he lashes out with some sort of self-destructive behavior, gets it out of his system for a few months or years, rinse, repeat.

“Do you want to hear a song?”

“Huh?” Calum blinks rapidly, eyes focusing on the freeway stretching out in front of them. He can barely hear Luke over the road noise and the wind in his ears. 

“Do you want. To hear. A song?” Luke repeats in forceful staccato, raising his voice and tilting his head toward Calum.

Calum’s brow furrows. “One of your songs?”

“Yes, dumbass, one of my songs.” 

Shit. He does, desperately. But he doesn’t know if he can listen with Luke right there. He doesn’t know if a car speeding down Highway 60 with the background noise of engines and desert wind is the ideal condition to listen. He wants to be able to take it all in.

“Fuck yes, of course I do!” he says, letting his enthusiasm bleed out for Luke, because Luke deserves to see it. It’s one thing for the rest of the band to say they’re supportive of his solo album, it’s another for them to show it. “When we get there, though? I wanna be able to actually hear it.”

“Damn.” Luke snaps his fingers and follows it up with a dweeby little aw shucks movement of his arm. “You caught on to my evil plan.” The wind is whipping through his messy, bleached curls, and he’s looking teasingly at Calum out of the corner of his eye, and it’s one of those moments that’s the worst for Calum, when he’s overwhelmed with how endearingly dorky and sweet Luke can be while simultaneously getting palpitations over how fucking hot he is.

“You don’t want me to actually hear it?”

“I do,” Luke says, eyes unwavering on the road in front of them. “I’m just fucking terrified.” His fingers grip more tightly to the steering wheel. 

“Yeah,” Calum replies, barely loud enough to be heard over the wind. “Don’t blame you.” He almost says I’m terrified too, but that’s exactly the kind of thought he needs to keep bottled up. Prime festering material.

***

They pull into a fancy truck stop halfway to Joshua Tree, and while Luke is in the bathroom, Calum sneaks into the attached Starbucks to get Luke a cold brew. 

When he comes out of the bathroom and sees Calum waiting around the corner, holding the cup out to him, he grins and smothers Calum with another hug. One of these days, Calum’s going to get to enjoy it properly. To snuggle into Luke’s chest and feel his soft hoodie against his cheek and Luke’s stubble against his forehead, and he’ll get to stay there, take a few breaths, commit the feeling to memory.

He’ll probably get it in the next few days; a proper cuddle after months without. It’s not the sort of thing Calum should be this excited about. Obsessing over Luke in quarantine has really done a number on him.

“Thanks Cal! I knew you still loved me,” Luke says breezily, grabbing at the cup of cold brew with both hands and tipping it up to his lips eagerly. His head drops back and his neck stretches and his prominent Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Fucking illegal.

Calum shakes his head. “You look like a hot baby right now.”

Luke snorts and chokes just as he goes in for another sip of his drink. “What the hell?”

“I’m just saying,” Calum replies with a sly smile. “You’re holding your drink like a baby bottle.”

“How is that hot?” Luke wheezes.

“It’s not. You are. Thus, hot baby.” Calum draws some shapes in the air with his finger that he’s sure are helping him make a convincing scientific argument. 

One of the things that saves Calum from giving himself away every single day is that he’s always been a little flirty with Luke, since the day they met. He can get away with things, because Luke doesn’t think twice about them.

Unfortunately, being able to get away with things just makes Calum wish he could get away with more.

“Why are you acting like hot baby is a compliment?” Luke asks, ambling toward the door, socks peeking out between the bottom of his joggers and the tops of his Converse. Calum smiles, delighted by the familiar sight of Luke’s ankles. Those fuckers can’t be tamed. They’re just always hanging out, despite Luke’s best efforts to cover them.

“It is!” Calum jogs after Luke to catch up, clasping him on the shoulder as he comes up behind him. “Haven’t you been online? Being hot is good, being baby is good, you’ve got both!”

“Actually, Cal, I haven’t been online. I’ve been busy making a whole fucking album while you lurk on the Twitter stans.”

Calum pouts dramatically. “I haven’t just been lurking on Twitter stans. I’ve also been learning how to make oat milk.”

“Calum!” Luke shrieks, flinging the car door open. “Why the hell would you do that? You’re rich. Just buy a fucking gallon of milk?”

Yes. This. Calum missed this.

“Where’s the fun in that, Lucas? Besides, you’re the one who acted like I haven’t accomplished anything in the past year. That’s just not true.”

“Okay, so you’ve perfected the art of making oat milk,” Luke replies, tugging his hood up over his ears and steering them back out to the highway. “What else have you got?”

The sun is shining directly in their eyes, and Calum fumbles in the glove compartment to try to locate sunglasses. “Um, I rearranged my living room furniture,” he says, digging one pair out and handing them to Luke. “And I went on a Zoom date with this hot chick who asked if I wanted to see her tattoos.” 

Why are there so many straws in Luke’s glove compartment? Who needs this many straws? Why were they not used in the first place? Is he just buying Big Gulps, removing the lids to drink them, and tossing the straws in the glove compartment in case he ever needs to suck up all the water across a flooded road or something?

“What’d you say?” Luke asks curiously, peeking over the top of his sunglasses at Calum. Fuck him. 

“I politely declined,” Calum’s fingers snag on some hard plastic. “A-ha!” he exclaims, flipping open the weathered sunglasses with one hand and sliding them over his eyes. They’re scratched, but so is Calum’s psyche, so it’s cool. Match made in heaven.

“Why would you turn her down?” Luke taps the steering wheel anxiously as he waits for a chance to pass a slow-moving semi. “Sounds like you could’ve gotten some cyber sex out of that deal.”

“Cyber sex? Are you kidding me?” Calum reels back in his seat, scrunching his nose in disgust. “Who fucking says that? Ew. Cyber sex.” He reaches for Luke’s cold brew to sneak a drink.

“Well what would you call it then?” Luke asks shrilly, finally gunning it past the semi. The sudden acceleration makes the car lurch, and Calum splashes cold brew down his chin and over his chest.

“Fucking hell.” He dives back into the glove compartment. No napkins. Just straws. “Goddamn it Luke! Why do you have so many straws?”

Luke glances over at Calum and chuckles at the drops of cold brew running down his face and staining his white long sleeve T-shirt. “You deserve that for stealing my drink and making fun of cyber sex.”

“First of all, I’m the one who bought you the drink in the first place. It was, in fact, the second drink I bought you in the last two hours, because your hot baby ass wasn’t satisfied with the first one, and I’m nice like that.”

Luke raises his eyebrows, impressed with Calum’s outburst. “Secondly,” Calum continues, “I didn’t want to see the hot chick’s tattoos because then she’d ask to see mine, and I’ve learned my lesson. I will not be stripping over Zoom.”

“Not even for me?” Luke puts in with a pout. 

“Goddamn it,” Calum screeches, vindictively swallowing down as much as he can of Luke’s cold brew in one gulp. This is what Luke does. He waits for just the right moment, and then he says something that makes Calum want to laugh and smack him and kiss him. Supremely fucking annoying. “Not if you’re going to ask me if I want to cyber, you sick psycho.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Luke replies solemnly, quirking an eyebrow as he plucks his drink out of Calum’s hands. “There’s a roll of paper towels on the floor in the back.”

***

“It’s very...rustic,” Calum says, glancing around the aggressively earth-toned lodge. 

“Ashton booked it,” Luke replies condescendingly. “What did you expect?” He flashes a close-lipped grin at Calum and traipses through the house, presumably in search of a bedroom. 

“There’s so much couch,” Calum observes, squeezing between one of three large sectionals and some animal print dining room chairs to follow after Luke.

“You scared of couches?” Luke looks back over his shoulder tauntingly. “You can stay in my room. I’ll protect you from the big, scary couches.”

“Maybe I will. You always end up with the best room somehow.” It’s like Luke has radar about these things, he can simply glance at the bedroom doors and determine which one contains the most welcoming scene on the other side. Whether it’s the room with the biggest bathroom, the room with the only patio, or the room with the giant TV, somehow Luke always finds it and claims it first.

They round the corner through the kitchen and are confronted with a hallway of earth-toned bedrooms. Calum may never want to see brown again in his life after a week in this lodge. He watches Luke briefly inspect the doorway of every room before carefully selecting the second room on the left. Calum follows him in. “Hey!” Luke protests. “Get out of here! I was joking.”

“I wasn’t,” Calum replies, dropping his duffel bag on the floor and looking around the room. Sure enough, there’s a spa tub in the attached bathroom, a massive flat screen against the wall, and a sliding glass door leading out to the patio. “I’m staying here. If you don’t like it, you can go across the hall.”

Maybe he’s being selfish in more ways than one. He knows Luke won’t leave, and he also knows Luke won’t actually kick him out, which means he can have this. He can stay here with him, double dipping on his precious Luke time just because he feels like it. 

Luke almost certainly knows this is what Calum is doing, but he won’t call him on it. He’s done the exact same sort of thing countless times in the past. They really suck at being apart. Calum’s actually kind of offended Luke managed to go so long without him the past few months, and didn’t even seem to miss him. That’s not how it’s supposed to work. But that’s one of those perfect festering thoughts. Right now, they’re together, and Calum has casually wormed his way into Luke’s bedroom. Life is good.

“Whatever,” Luke mumbles, digging into his own bag. “I have to hop on a meeting.” He extracts his laptop, tosses his bag on the floor of the closet, and makes for the door. 

It’s strange, Luke having Official Business to do that Calum isn’t privy to.Reorganizing band things around Luke’s solo schedule. It’s a little thrilling too, though, because it means big things are coming for him. It’s what he deserves. 

Calum falls backwards onto the bed and stretches his arms over his head. “Cool. I’ll be here. Relaxing.”

“I sent you the song,” Luke says, a carefully-planned afterthought as he leaves the room. “If you want to listen.”

He disappears down the hall as Calum jerks up to dig his phone out of his pocket and track down his headphones. Luke’s giving him the chance to do this exactly how he wanted to do it. Of course he is, Luke just knows these things. Always anticipating the needs of everyone else to try to avoid an awkward moment or an uncomfortable exchange.

It’s also probably a bit of a defense mechanism on Luke’s part. It’s hard enough sharing a piece of yourself with your entire band when you’re writing songs together, but this is something entirely born out of Luke’s brain and Luke’s brain alone. It’s so vulnerable. Calum can only imagine if the tables were turned, and he were baring his raw soul directly to Luke while they sat next to each other. He shudders at the thought. 

The song is called Starting Line. It’s not a very 5SOS title, for some reason Calum can’t exactly articulate. It just feels different. Strange. He presses play, lays back, and closes his eyes.

On the first listen, he’s too stunned to take it all in. All he can do is let Luke’s voice wash over him. He sounds the same, but different. The lyrics are lost on Calum, all he’s picking up are the dynamics and the way the song fucking builds from a melancholy softness to a euphoric battle cry. And the emotion in Luke’s voice. It’s one of the things that makes him special, the way emotion pours out of him when he sings. You don’t need to know what he’s singing to feel it. When the song is over, Calum feels like crying, even if he’s not quite sure why.

He presses play again. This time he pays attention to the lyrics. It’s like Luke has managed to bottle up all these thoughts and feelings that were swirling in Calum’s head throughout the last decade and put words to them, articulate them perfectly. Calum didn’t think that it was even possible. He’s tried so many times inside his own mind and never come up with anything remotely coherent, but here Luke is, capturing everything in the most beautifully sad way.

The song is like Luke, thoughtful and introspective and worried, but also so full of hope and love. It’s the duality of Luke — soft and stubborn.

On his third listen, Calum bursts into tears. For Luke, for himself, for all of them. For everything they’ve been through, together and yet completely separately inside their own heads. It just hits him all at once, how strange their lives have been and how it’s shaped them as people. Luke’s singing about missing memories and standing on the sun and not feeling a thing and it’s fucking tragic, but he never once questions if it’s been worth it.

Calum’s sure he knows the answer, both for himself and for Luke. Of course it’s been worth it, because they get to do what they love, but mostly because they all have each other.

He doesn’t cry for long. He loops the song over and over, and the tears eventually stop, because it’s just so. Big. It makes Calum feel like anything is possible and all the pain is beautiful and meaningful and the future will be better and goddamn how does Luke do this with his words? He’s always been one of the best lyricists in the band, but this is galaxy brain bullshit even for Luke. What’s the rest of the album going to be like? Unbearable, most likely. His beautiful best friend is so fucking talented, and Calum can’t stand it.

***

“What did you think?” Luke asks nervously, tugging at his hoodie as they walk the dusty path from the lodge to the studio. 

“I loved it,” Calum says. That part comes out so easily. But how can he adequately explain exactly why he loved it, and exactly how much? 

Luke pulls his hoodie off over his head, and accidentally tugs the tank top underneath halfway up his torso along with it. Of course Calum watches carefully as this unfolds, because he’s the worst, and his eyes catch on something absolutely insane. “Did you get a new tattoo?” he exclaims, pushing his hand against Luke’s side to hold up the tank top. They stop, dirt swirling around their feet, and Calum bends down to look more closely.

“Maybe,” Luke replies sheepishly, standing perfectly still while Calum inspects the tattoo, a simple outline of a puzzle piece on the side of Luke’s ribs. 

“How could you get a tattoo without telling me?” He’s joking, but also...he’s not joking at all. He knows it’s not a big deal, and it’s none of his business what Luke does to his body in his spare time (god, there’s a cursed thought), but it’s just so unlike him. For all his other tattoos, Luke agonized endlessly about them, showed the potential designs to everyone in the band at least four hundred times, and forced Calum to come along with him to the appointments.

The fact that Calum missed this one entirely makes him feel empty. Irrelevant. Like he’s out of the Luke loop, which is the last thing he wants. It’s his favorite loop, ahead of Fruit Loops and looping Luke’s new song endlessly.

To his credit, Luke at least looks guilty about it when he says, “It was a last minute thing.”

“The fuck it was?” Calum steps away and lets Luke’s shirt drop back into place as they resume their trek to the studio. “In what universe would you ever get a last minute tattoo?”

“I mean, actually deciding to do it was last minute. I’ve been thinking about it forever.” 

Ignoring the fact that this is, in fact, a logical argument that makes perfect sense, Calum mumbles, “You could have at least told me about it. Sent me a picture after you got it done.” 

“Sorry. I kind of got lost in my own world for a while.” Luke takes a breath like he’s going to say more, but more doesn’t come, and Calum’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved. Whatever Luke was going to say next could have been comforting, but it could also have been an awful reality check.

The fact that he didn’t say it in the end means Calum should probably be relieved.

The studio comes into view and Calum shields his eyes from the reflection of the sun off the windows of the brown building. “Yeah, you really did.” He sees Luke’s head jerk to look at him from the corner of his eye. He must have let some of his jealousy seep into his voice. There’s nothing and no one to be jealous of, really, but there’s not a better word for the feeling that settles uncomfortably in the back of Calum’s throat when he thinks about the past few months of Luke working on his own.

“I like it,” he says softly, an attempt to soothe any of Luke’s nerves that were frayed by his earlier tone. “It’s simple. I assume it’s significant. Not that you fucking told me anything about it,” he tacks on, teasingly tugging at Luke’s shirt where it rests over the new tattoo.

“Yeah, yeah.” Luke rolls his eyes. He makes no move to push Calum away, so Calum captures him in a messy side hug as they clumsily make their way up the front walkway to the studio doors. “Don’t act like you were the only one missing out on things,” Luke grumbles, falling heavily against Calum and tucking his head against Calum’s neck. It’s nothing unusual. Nothing he hasn’t done a million times before. But it’s different now, because Calum is paying attention in a way he wasn’t before. Every nerve ending in his body that’s connected to Luke perks up. The touch feels bigger and heavier.

So Calum tries not to pay so much attention. He thinks about Luke’s words instead, and that’s an interesting wrinkle of its own. Calum had sort of taken for granted the fact that Luke probably missed him too, maybe not quite as much, because Luke was staying busy and creating and didn’t have nearly as much time to just sit around and pine after his bandmates like Calum apparently did. 

But he hadn’t really considered that Luke thought he was missing things. Not just missing the idea of Calum, but also missing the moments. Wondering what Calum was doing, maybe? Feeling left out because he wasn’t participating in the stupid activities the rest of them were doing? Probably. That would be a very Luke thing to do, but somehow it hadn’t crossed Calum’s mind until now.

It’s not that it makes him feel better exactly, but there is some satisfaction in the knowledge that maybe he isn’t the only one being unnecessarily emo about their separation.

Ashton’s already there when they step into the studio, barefoot and lighting incense. “Boys!” He claps his hands together and smiles at them both, but he fixates on Luke quickly. “Nice to have you back, Luke. Been off making some hits without us?”

“Yup,” Luke confirms, “Used ‘em all up. Hope you’re prepared to include all my shittiest material on 5SOS5.”

“Your shittiest material is still better than the best thing the rest of us have ever written,” Calum says, shivering. It’s freezing in the studio, air conditioner apparently set for height-of-summer desert temperatures that won’t actually be happening for another 5 months.

“I don’t know what you mean, Cal.” Ashton tugs a beanie down over his ears in his own attempt to combat the chill. “I happen to be a songwriting genius.”

“Is this one of those hippie speak it into existence things?” Calum asks. He turns to Luke and explains, “You have to ignore at least half of what comes out of Ash’s mouth these days. The trick is figuring out which half.”

“Oh, I’ve always done that.” Luke slips his hoodie back on and Calum watches with a yearning stare. Not at Luke, for once. At the hoodie. He’s going to be stuck in this studio for seven hours shaking like a leaf because he couldn’t be bothered to dig a hoodie out of his bag before they walked over. No, he has not learned any lessons from this experience.

“No respect,” Ashton mumbles, shaking his head and throwing himself into a brown — what else? — chair in the corner of the studio, crossing his legs and reaching for a notebook off the table next to him. “I came prepared.”

“Of course you did.” Calum might also have written some lyrics and bass riffs here and there in the past year, but he’s not going to offer them up unless they fit. He’s protective of his thoughts in a way that’s not entirely conducive to collaborative songwriting. He does better when he’s just with one other person instead of the whole band. It’s less terrifying to be perceived by one person, especially if that one person is Luke. 

“I came prepared too!” Michael shouts proudly, clambering into the studio, arms loaded with the world’s largest water bottle and a tote bag stuffed with bags of chips; guitar strapped across his back. “And not just with snacks,” he adds, dumping the tote bag out in the middle of the floor. An avalanche of chips lands at their feet.

Luke steps over the chip pile carefully and drops onto the (light brown) loveseat adjacent to Ashton’s chair. Calum follows him without ever actually thinking about it. He just goes. “What else, then?” he asks, sitting down next to Luke and looking up at Michael skeptically. Out of all of them, Michael is the least likely to come prepared.

“References!” Michael frees a rolling office chair out from under the soundboard and splays in it dramatically, holding his phone up in victory. “I made a list of stuff for you guys to listen to.”

“Great, a list,” Luke deadpans, and Calum shoots him a little grin. Luke seems to take it as encouragement. “Did you also bring your bank statement for us to review? Maybe an instruction manual for assembling a bookshelf?”

“Fuck you, deserter,” Michael replies fondly. “What did you bring, besides your pretty face?”

“I brought Calum,” Luke retorts proudly, grinning at Calum.

Calum suddenly feels very warm. He even stops shivering for a second.

“And what did Calum bring?” Michael presses, rolling over to the loveseat and nudging Calum in the shins with his toes. Calum rips his eyes away from Luke’s grin.

“My winning personality,” he grumbles, annoyed at Michael simply for not being Luke.

“Great, so. Those of us who are prepared—” Ashton gestures at himself and Michael, “Can go in the booth and start trying to make something happen. Those of us who are bums—” he gestures at Luke and Calum, “— can stay here and try to come up with some usable contributions.” He pops up out of his chair with a level of energy Calum could only ever dream of having, and drags Michael’s chair, with Michael in it, into the booth.

The door clicks shut behind them and the studio immediately feels more peaceful. It’s still fucking freezing though. 

“You know what we need,” Calum says, crossing his arms and pulling his knees up to his chest to cover them with an extra layer. “Is a yurt. A studio yurt.”

“A yurt?” Luke echoes, already smiling even though there’s confusion in his eyes.

“To keep us warm. We could set it up around Michael’s chip altar."

“You wanna build a yurt in the middle of the studio?”

“I think so, yes,” Calum confirms.

“I have a better idea.” Luke’s eyes are sparkling and he looks like he’s up to no good, or about to be. Mmm. Calum’s prepared to be up to no good with him, no matter what the no good might be. “Blanket fort.” Luke leans back and nods his head toward the floor between the loveseat and the chair Ashton had been sitting in. 

It’s a pile of (brown) blankets. A very tall pile. So many blankets. Fuzzy blankets, fleecy blankets, scratchy blankets. Calum’s mouth drops into a wide, open-mouthed grin, and he nods, slowly at first, then picking up speed as he realizes exactly how fantastic this idea is. This is a prime Cake bonding activity. The exact sort of nonsense Calum has missed so desperately the past year. It will waste time, and it will annoy Ashton, but as far as Calum’s concerned, those are just bonuses.

“Okay, yes,” Calum says. “But we need to save some blankets to actually use, too, because I am legitimately freezing.”

“Don’t worry, Cal,” Luke assures him, awkwardly folding himself over the arm of the loveseat to retrieve the blankets. “We’ll make sure you’re warm.” He’s incredibly inefficient about it, tossing one blanket at a time over his shoulder in Calum’s general direction. Most of them fall on the floor on top of the chip altar.

Calum reaches down and snags one off the top of the pile to wrap around his shoulders immediately. Luke pops up and takes in Calum’s blanket cape. “Gonna be hard to build effectively with that on.”

“How about I just sit here and tell you where to put everything? I’ll be the blanket fort project manager.”

“Calummmmm,” Luke whines, tugging on the blanket. “Help meeeee.” He presses his face in close to Calum’s and makes a ridiculous pouty face, still tugging the blanket vigorously enough to shake the sofa cushion beneath them.

“Remember when I said I missed you? I take it back.” Calum stands suddenly in an attempt to yank the blanket out of Luke’s hands, but in the end the blanket is still in Luke’s hands, and Calum’s bare arms are exposed to the frigid air.

Luke bursts into victorious laughter, and Calum looks down at him, shaking his head and trying to look annoyed, but there’s a smile trying to force its way onto his lips. It’s Luke’s damn laugh. He can’t not smile when faced with it.

He holds out a hand. “Come on, then. Let’s get moving.” Luke takes his hand and allows Calum to haul him up off the loveseat. 

Once he’s up, he carefully wraps the blanket around Calum’s shoulders, tying it under his chin. His suspiciously warm fingers brush against Calum’s neck and Calum shivers violently. Once the blanket is secure, Luke steps back, a small smile on his face, and rubs his hands together. “Where do we start, Project Manager?”

***

“Maybe set the guitar case on top of the corner,” Calum advises, body stretched awkwardly to hold the edge of a blanket over the corner of a chair while keeping the other edge anchored to an end table.

“Yeah, got it.” Luke maneuvers into an equally absurd stretch to reach behind him for a guitar case, setting it across the top of the chair to secure the blanket. He lifts his hands carefully, ready to slam them back down at any second if the corner doesn’t hold.

It holds. He smiles triumphantly and steps back to survey their work. “It’s beautiful,” he says. “Let go.”

“If I let go, this whole thing is going to collapse on the ground.” Calum does not trust his skills as Project Manager. This haphazard patchwork of blankets secured with random studio implements has questionable structural integrity at best.

“It’ll be fine,” Luke says, dropping to his knees to crawl under the blankets. His voice is slightly muffled by fleece when he says, “And what’s the worst that can happen if it caves in? We get extra cozy?”

Calum cocks his head appreciatively. Luke’s right. Nothing wrong with being extra cozy. He pulls his hands away from the brown blankets and stares at them for a few seconds, willing them to stay put. “Stay,” he commands, pointing a threatening finger at them.

He follows Luke’s lead and crawls into the fort from the other side. He breaks into a fit of laughter when he spots Luke, cross-legged with his back against the loveseat, head poking into the blanket roof, creating a crown of static-y hair around him.

Luke smiles and shrugs helplessly. “The roof angle is less than ideal.”

“I’m sorry, I failed you.” Calum backs up against the loveseat, his own head brushing against the top of the fort but managing to just fit comfortably. He’s warmed up considerably already just from the physical exertion of building the fort, but he still piles one of the extra blankets on top of himself.

Suddenly, a loud thud shakes the room. Luke jumps and squeaks a little, and the pressure of his head on the blanket above them sends dangerous ripples along the roof. They both widen their eyes at each other, hands tense out in front of them. The fort stays in place. 

Another thud. Calum slides over to poke his head out and assess the situation. He’s met with Ashton’s aggrieved stare from the other side of the clear soundproof window of the booth. His mouth is moving rapidly, but Calum can’t hear him. He gathers something along the lines of “What the fuck are you assholes doing?”

Calum shakes his head and shrugs. “Sorry,” he mouths. “Can’t hear you!” He laughs as he ducks back into the fort, and Luke is looking at him expectantly. “Ashton’s riled up,” he says, tucking himself securely under his blanket.

“Whatever,” Luke says, snapping his gum. “We’ll still end up getting more accomplished today than they do.”

It’s really true. Ashton and Michael are much more easily distracted than either of them. They may have spent 45 minutes on an unnecessary blanket fort, but they’ll more than make up for it by buckling down and focusing on songs the rest of the afternoon, while Ashton and Michael will waste away their 45 minutes, and more, in little snippets of time spent on unnecessary google rabbit holes and getting too detail-oriented too soon. They still haven’t quite figured out how not to try to make a song perfect on the first try, and they end up wasting so much time on things they have to redo later anyway.

Calum and Luke, though. They have a rhythm.

At least, they used to. Shit. Panic seeps into Calum’s blood. Luke wrote an entire album without him, without any of them. He no doubt learned a lot and grew as a songwriter from that process, but will it change the way he writes? Is it going to be different now, when they work together? 

Different doesn’t have to mean bad, but the idea still freaks Calum out considerably. He likes what they have. Had?

***

Have. They still have it. Calum didn’t need to worry. 

They fall back into their old pattern easily, working quietly in their own heads for long stretches of time, then pausing to bounce ideas off of each other when they get stuck, or when they’re unsure if something that’s good is actually good, or something that’s shit is...maybe actually good.

The only difference is that when Luke looks at Calum with that excited spark in his eye when he knows they’ve hit on something great, Calum’s heart twists in a knot.

The fort stays put for a few hours, but eventually they’re forced to install a makeshift skylight to let in enough light for them to work. Their acoustic guitars sound especially warm with the notes bouncing off the blankets, and Calum takes probably too many dark, blurry photos of Luke reclined against the loveseat with his guitar across his lap and a tiny smile on his lips, blankets piled high around him.

***

The desert is so much quieter than LA. Obviously it is, but Calum always forgets. He gets so used to the background noise of the city that when it slips away, the quiet is almost oppressive. It means he can hear every word of Luke’s phone call through the patio door of “their” room, another Official Business conversation about the solo album that only half makes sense to Calum out of context and one-sided, but he pays attention to all of it anyway, lying crosswise on the bed on his stomach with his ear turned toward the patio. Luke’s voice is reassuring. 

When they were apart, Calum still called Luke a lot. And Luke always made time to chat with him for a few minutes, although it was about the most mundane stuff. What was the hype about the Shamrock Shake? Can they feasibly share an Apple TV subscription? What color should Luke paint his bedroom in his new house? (The clear answer: Shamrock Shake green.)

Luke never talked much about his music, and Calum didn’t press him. He’s still not sure he’ll ever really be able to talk to him about it. It’s just too hard, too personal, too touchy. Even for them. He and Luke can cry together, but talking about why they’re crying? Not so much. Although sometimes it feels like they’re not talking about it because they don’t need to talk about it. They just get it, and that’s really fucking nice. It’s the same reason Calum prefers to write with Luke. He doesn’t need to say anything for Luke to get it.

“Guess I’m doing a music video where I run around town all day,” Luke says, struggling to shut the patio door behind him. “Need to get in better shape if I’m going to pull that off.”

“When?” Calum asks, pulling himself up to sit.

“End of June.” Luke tumbles down on the bed next to Calum, flat on his back with his hands shielding his eyes from the overhead light.

Calum falls back next to him. “Plenty of time, then.” He pokes Luke in the side. “We can go for runs together.”

“I don’t think I can go for runs. Maybe slow jogs.” Luke turns his head to the side and his eyes peek out from under his arm. He looks so young for a second, wide blinking blue eyes, a hint of trepidation wrinkling his forehead. It reminds Calum of the old days, when Luke was anxious about everything, and Calum was too, but he tried not to show it, for Luke’s sake. It was good for him,  a little fake it till you make it he could actually force himself to do because it wasn’t for him, but it benefitted both of them in the end. Now they’re both experts at faking it until they make it.

“We’ll start slow,” Calum offers generously. “But that’s what? Three and a half months? That’s so long. We’ll get you doing six minute miles by the time that video shoot rolls around.”

Luke snorts, then groans and rolls into Calum’s side. “What if the director calls action and I just sprint away and never come back.” He chuckles to himself, and it’s his tired silly laugh, the one that comes out when he’s nearing delirium from lack of sleep but he’s happy about it.

“Is that a metaphor?” Calum asks, laughing along, savoring the feeling of Luke’s breath gusting through his hair.

“If I run away, I won’t have to see how people react to my album,” Luke says, offering it up easily, with a bold laugh, even, but it’s not a joke at all. Calum knows that immediately.

“Your album is going to be amazing,” he says, turning his head to look at Luke. His face is so close, the outline of his profile — perfect nose, pouty lips — almost making Calum go cross-eyed. “People will love it. And if they don’t, I’ll beat them up.”

“That should be the tagline for the album.” Luke holds his hands up above Calum’s chest and spreads them apart with a flourish. “A big sticker on the front that says, If you don’t love this, Calum Hood will beat you up.” His hands drop, one of them falling against Calum’s waist, and it’s purely accidental, probably, but he doesn’t bother to move it away, just lets it rest, fiddling with the edge of Calum’s hoodie pocket mindlessly.

This is the shit Calum used to be able to stand. The sort of thing that happened all the time, and he could just ignore it. It was normal, and he could act normal about it. He can get back there, probably. He just needs a little exposure. He’ll get used to it again and it won’t affect him so much. Just gotta hang in there. Push through. Where’s a motivational quote when you need one? Calum hates motivational quotes, though. Cheesy, pointless platitudes. He’s probably fucked.

Still, he gives being normal the ol’ college try. “Sounds like a good sales pitch to me. I’d follow through, too. The naysayers can say nay to my fists.” He clenches his hand in a fist and shakes it violently. 

Luke’s head lifts a tiny bit to watch, mouth hanging open, and he huffs out a laugh. “I dunno, bro,” he says, pulling his hand off of Calum’s waist to scratch at his stubbly cheek. It’s a relief. It’s a disappointment. “There would be so many people saying they don’t love it just to get a chance to have you rough them up. This might backfire terribly.”

“The true popularity test — do more people want to listen to your album, or do more people want me to beat them up?” 

“I don’t think I wanna know the answer to that,” Luke replies. His voice gets low and rough when he’s tired, and it makes his dry self-deprecation hit even harder.

“You sound tired.”

“I am tired.” He pulls his legs up to his chest, dropping his knees to the side to let them rest on top of Calum’s thigh, and Calum does what he would normally do. He covers Luke’s knee with his hand and rubs at the soft material of his joggers. “Your hand is freezing,” Luke complains lazily. “I can feel it through my pants.”

Calum sighs deeply. “I wanna make a that’s what she said joke so badly.

“No one’s stopping you.” 

“My dignity is stopping me,” Calum retorts. “You should go to sleep.”

“What about you?” Luke asks through a yawn.

“Soon,” Calum says, voice cracking. He’s so tired, but he feels like he’s only just woken up.

***

They have a plan. There are a few areas where Luke’s solo album Official Business overlaps with 5SOS Official Business: coordinating schedules, understanding timelines for Luke’s promo versus 5SOS studio time and releases, and most importantly, making sure Luke announcing a solo album doesn’t translate to fans as “5SOS is breaking up.” 

It was a bit of a risk with Ashton’s solo album, but they all know it’s different when it’s the lead singer. It’s not enough just to have Luke do damage control when he does press. Calum can’t believe how much press Luke is planning on doing all on his own. It’s usually only bearable because they have each other. Doing it alone sounds like legitimate torture. It’s just one more way Luke is making Calum immeasurably proud.

So on top of damage control, they have a preemptive plan involving all of them making more regular appearances on social media and posting about 5SOS5 long before Luke even announces his solo album. Plant that seed, make sure everyone knows the band is working together, then drop the solo album bomb.

Calum invites himself over to Luke’s the day before they’re supposed to unleash this plan with a behind-the-scenes video of them in the studio at Joshua Tree, followed by a live something-or-other with some newfangled Twitter feature Calum knows nothing about and is counting completely on Ashton to sort out.

“People are going to go crazy,” Calum says, lounging on the sofa in Luke’s studio while Luke taps around on his laptop. He’s wearing glasses, a new pair Calum hasn’t seen before outside of the updated Please Don’t Go cover Luke posted on Instagram recently. He’s not sure what it is about them. He’s not normally, like, into glasses, or anything. And Luke’s worn glasses plenty of times; this isn’t a new development. 

But today, for whatever reason, Luke in the glasses is making him feel kinda spicy. 

“People are going to hate me when they realize 5SOS5 isn’t coming out yet because of me,” Luke grumbles, pushing his hand through his hair. The bleach is starting to grow out, leaving dark roots and light ends. It’s a bit of a mess, and Calum loves it. 

“Screw them, 5SOS5 is going to come out when it comes out regardless of your solo album.”

Luke spins around in his desk chair, chewing his lip, hands pressed on the edges of the chair so his shoulders are up around his neck. “I know. But you know what I mean.”

“There will always be haters,” Calum says with a smile. “But it’s gonna be so good. Most people will be shocked you managed to keep this a secret for so long. They thought you were just bumming around playing video games and snuggling with Petunia for a year, and here you’ve gone and made an entire album.”

From her bed across the room, Petunia’s head perks up at the sound of her name, and Calum smiles at her sweet, curious puppy dog eyes, and smiles even wider when he notices Luke is looking at her with the same expression. 

“And now I have to try to not talk about it tomorrow on this Twitter thing. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say. I forgot how to talk to, like...actual people.” Luke pushes his glasses up on his nose, which wiggles a little in the process, and Calum sighs.

“You’ll be fine. You’ve been not talking about your album for months, so that will be easy for you.” He tries very hard not to make it sound like an accusation, even though there’s a little piece of him that means it that way. Just a tiny little tidbit. “And I’m pretty sure I’m an actual person. You’re talking to me.”

Luke grunts an acknowledgement, but he doesn't quite sound convinced. Calum switches tactics. “I like your glasses.”

“I look like a fucking grandpa,” Luke replies.

“Nah, you look hot. Hot boy in your hot glasses.” Calum launches a decorative floral pillow across the room at Luke’s chest. It lands heavily against him, blowing his hair off his face with a gust of air on impact.

“I’m going to stab you,” Luke threatens, smiling sweetly at Calum. 

Calum ignores him. “Everyone will be so happy to see your hot boy face moving and saying words for the first time in a fucking year, you could say anything and they’d eat it up.

Hugging the pillow to his chest, Luke ruminates on that, swinging his chair back and forth. “Should we test that theory? What’s the most fucked up thing I can say?”

“Maybe we don’t go with most fucked up,” Calum says, sitting up excitedly. “We don’t want you to wind up on any government watchlists. We just need something...random. An inside joke.”

Luke’s nodding along, eyes drifting around the room as he mulls it over in his mind. It hits them both at the same time, and they turn to grin at each other, shouting in unison, “John Mayer!”

***

It’s the one year anniversary of CALM, and Calum is up a little earlier than he would like, trying to clear his head and caffeinate enough for another Instagram Live with the rest of the guys. It’s theoretically a celebration of the album anniversary, but it’s mostly a make-up for what happened a couple weeks ago.

Debacle is a strong word, maybe, but Calum thinks it applies to whatever the fuck went on with the Twitter Spaces experiment. They broke Twitter, fled to Instagram, and then couldn’t even get all four of them on the same Live at once. Calum had to show his face despite being completely unprepared to be seen, but at least it was over fast. After a quick chat with Calum, Ashton moved on to Luke.

Luke was prepared to be seen. Calum actually gasped when Luke’s face appeared on his phone screen. He was glowing, damp hair combed back off his forehead, eyes shining exceptionally bright blue to match the flowers on his studio wallpaper. He even managed to mention John Mayer. Calum thought in all the madness of the morning, fighting with technology and attempting to adapt to plans changing, that Luke would forget all about the John Mayer thing.

When he didn’t, Calum smiled so hard his face hurt. A pit opened in his stomach, and it’s stayed there ever since.

Sometimes Calum wants to live inside that pit in his stomach, because it’s not a bad pit. It’s a yearning, hopeful pit. It’s a space looking to be filled, not a space that’s been emptied.

This time, they’re reasonably prepared for the Live. It takes a bit of finagling to get Ashton on board, though, and Calum finds himself in the unsavory position of having to keep the rest of them on track in the meantime. 

“How’s it goin’, guys?” Calum asks, as if he didn’t just talk to both Michael and Luke yesterday.

Just as he says it, Luke slides on his glasses. He’s out in his backyard, sun shining on his face like it was made just to perfectly light him and him alone, and his slightly-damp curls are blowing gently across his forehead. It’s already a lot for Calum to deal with. The addition of the glasses feels like a personal attack. Or maybe they’re an offering.

“Pretty good,” Luke starts to respond. “I—"

Calum’s not going to miss an opportunity. “Oh all right, hot boy,” he interrupts. Then, to mitigate his obvious flirting slightly, he adds, “I see you with the glasses, ya old man.”

Luke laughs a little, sidestepping the comment entirely. “I look like Ed Sheeran with this beard.”

And okay, he does have a pretty thick beard going on, but there’s no universe in which he looks remotely like Ed Sheeran. Calum doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Luke pulls the glasses off a few seconds later, and Calum feels vindicated. Why the fuck did he put them on in the first place if not to get a reaction from Calum? This is fantastic. It’s a moment just for them; it’s Luke virtually holding Calum’s hand through iPhone screens and Instagram filters. At least that’s what it feels like to Calum.

He rides that feeling through the rest of the Live. Ashton pops in and takes the hosting pressure off of Calum, which allows him to sit back and relax. He spends a lot of time watching Luke, who’s a little awkward in front of the camera, still getting used to the idea of it again, and the interesting result is that Luke seems especially young. It’s like watching 16-year-old Luke doing press in current Luke's body, with his constant fidgeting and stifled giggles with his hand over his mouth.

It tugs at Calum’s heart hard. It’s nostalgia and pride and a disconcerting reminder of just how long Calum has loved him.

Luke flips his camera to catch Petunia chomping a treat, and Calum jokes about not being able to tell the difference between them. “I thought you were just eating something,” he says.

Luke smacks his mouth like he’s chewing, and that’s it. Calum’s done. He can’t take how cute this is. He needs to make another fucking joke and he needs to do it now.

“He’s cute though,” he says, suppressing a smirk, because he knows what’s coming.

“It’s a she bro, and you know it!” Luke replies testily. 

“I said she.” Calum fails horribly at covering his teasing smile.

“Don’t grind my gears,” Luke complains halfheartedly, the rest of them already moving on.

Because Luke is Luke and he never remembers to charge his phone, his battery starts to die before they can wrap up the Live. He speed-walks into his house and Calum taunts him. “Luke, just figure it out!” 

“Alright, alright, alright, I’m on it, I’m on it,” he scurries inside a little faster, and somehow as soon as he steps in the house, his eyes get even bluer. Every second this thing continues, Calum loses himself a little more.

The worst part comes toward the end, when they’re debating what kind of content will keep the fans engaged. Ashton jokes about showing Calum on the rower with an enthusiastic pitch. “Do a live workout!”

Luke pounces on that quickly, before Calum can even respond. “Dude. That’s what the people wanna see.”

Willing away a blush, Calum replies, “It’s the opposite of what the people wanna see."

But Luke doesn’t let it go. “Dude, you on the rower? I’d tune in.”

Well fuck. Calum chokes. Literally. There’s an actual sound in his throat. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. Normally he’d brush it off, maybe, or he’d lean into it with a joke, but right now, everything feels like it’d be flirting. Everything feels like it would be loaded, too loaded for something seventy thousand people are watching live. He keeps his face carefully neutral.

There’s a bit of an awkward silence, which Luke attempts to cover with one of his little wheeze laughs. “Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable on the livestream,” he says, emphasized with an over-exaggerated leering face. Um. Fuck. What does Calum say?

He’s never been more grateful for Ashton’s limited attention span, because he randomly reads off another comment, saving Calum from needing to address anything Luke said.

About wanting to see him working out. A concept which he enthusiastically endorsed not once, but twice. Jokingly, maybe? But Calum knows when Luke’s joking, and this sure didn’t feel like a joke. Maybe Luke just really enjoys picking up workout techniques from watching his friends. Maybe he finds it motivational. Maybe there’s absolutely nothing Calum should be reading into this.

Always one for dramatics, Luke ends up dropping off the Live early when his phone dies, frozen on one final frame of him frantically jumping up to find his charger. There’s a lot to love about Luke. He’s got so much going for him, the universe needed to give him some sort of fatal flaw. Calum never lets his phone charge drop below 60% if he can help it. 

After they wrap up, he sends Luke a text.

Calum: Nice job bailing on the end of that before it got awkward.

Luke: My phone died.

Calum: Sure it did.

Luke: Fuck you, it did.

Luke: So, when are you gonna row for me? 🤤

***

They don’t often get high while they’re working, but every so often, when it’s just the four of them — and in this case, they’re just fucking around in Michael’s home studio, not wasting anyone else’s time or money — it can be a nice treat. It’s relaxing, and it makes them a little more musically adventurous in a way that can sometimes turn out really well.

It can also result in pure useless garbage, but hey, at least it gives them a laugh when they listen back the next day.

Calum likes it because it’s one of the only times Luke’s not overthinking. Sure, Luke’s a fun drunk, giggly and clingy and always up for an adventure, and Calum loves that too. But when he’s drunk, he’s magnetic, the life of the party, and Calum often feels like an afterthought. When Luke is high, though, he’s calmer, not quite so excessively giggly and hyper. He’s just him, but with a lighter weight on his shoulders. He’s not trying so hard to be what he thinks the world wants him to be. He’s just existing.

He has his snapback on sideways, and Calum can barely look at him without laughing. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, staring down at Calum, who’s reclined back on the sofa next to him, feeling pretty great. 

“Your hat looks ridiculous.”

“Your hat looks ridiculous, bro,” Luke says defensively, tapping the bill of Calum’s hat. He’s right, it’s a ridiculous hat. That’s exactly why Calum loves it.

“My hat looks ridiculous because it is. Your hat looks ridiculous because you’re wearing it wrong.” Calum grabs for the bill of Luke’s cap to twist it around to the front, and Luke puts up a fight, swatting Calum’s hand away. Undeterred, Calum goes for it again, this time aggressively swiping the snapback off Luke’s head entirely and jamming it between his back and the cushion of the sofa.

Luke stares at him, dumbfounded, his unkempt bleached hair falling into his eyes without the hat to hold it back. “What the fuck?” he squeaks, betrayal in his eyes. He runs his fingers through his hair to push it off his forehead; but it’s useless. His hair flops right back down in his eyes, and he sighs in defeat.

“Here,” Calum says, taking his own hat off. He smooths Luke’s hair back with one hand and gently places his hat on top of Luke’s head with the other. “Commit to looking ridiculous.”

“What about you?” Luke asks, eyeing Calum’s hair. It’s as absurd as it’s ever been right now, long and curly and in desperate need of some sort of cut or style, but Calum hasn’t drummed up the motivation to do anything about it yet.

“I’m fine.” Calum fluffs the hair on top of his head in case the hat left a dent. “It looks better on you anyway,” he admits, because unfortunately, it’s true. To his extreme chagrin, Luke actually looks kind of good in the awful hat. At this point Calum’s not sure if Luke actually always looks good no matter what, or if that’s just Calum’s own special warped reality.

Luke scoffs, but he reaches up to secure the hat on his head more firmly. “I think it looked good on you,” he says, some combination of a rebuttal and a compliment rolled into one.

“Stop fucking around with hats and play the guitar riff we need,” Michael complains, violently flinging a pick at them and startling a laugh out of Luke.

It’s too easy to forget the others are there. Even though all four of them are gathered in the small room, it feels like it’s just Luke and Calum. Ashton’s there, talking and giggling, but he’s on the other end of the sofa. He may as well be in Siberia. And Michael’s sidled up next to his computer across the room. Fucking Mars, as far as Calum is concerned. Luke’s there next to him, folding into Calum when he laughs, arguing with him about matcha, and hooking his chin over Calum’s shoulder to workshop lyrics together. 

It’s the same the next day. Calum tries sitting on the opposite end of the sofa to see if it makes a difference. It doesn’t. Luke just sits next to him there instead, leaving the space they were in yesterday for Ashton. Maybe Calum really is Luke’s favorite. 

He ends up writing some obnoxiously yearning lovey-dovey shit under the influence of weed and Luke curled up next to him in the corner of the sofa with his hood up over his hair, looking all warm and soft in the sunlight streaming in through the window. It’s a difficult combination to fight. 

When Calum shows Luke the lyrics he’s written, Luke gives him a funny look. Surprised, confused, somewhere in between? Maybe he’s imagining it because he’s high, but it makes Calum’s skin burn and he vows to rip the page out of his notebook and shove it in the back of a drawer as soon as he gets home. There’s no way he can show the song to the rest of the band, let alone consider it as an option for 5SOS5.

He goes maybe a little too hard on the weed after that to soothe his frayed nerves, and Luke keeps up, because that’s what they do. Partners in crime. They get so insufferable that eventually Ashton goes home and Michael leaves them in his studio while he escapes to get dinner. Calum barely notices either of them leave, but he’d also barely noticed either of them were there in the first place, so it’s fine.

“What if I, like, wear a bag over my head for the whole video?” Luke’s sinking deep into the corner of the sofa, one foot up on the edge and the other foot crossed to hook over his knee.

Calum pauses with a Dorito halfway to his mouth. “You can’t do that. There will be riots!”

Luke got news this morning that he’ll be shooting a music video for his second single, Motion, and he and Calum have been bouncing horrible concept ideas back and forth ever since Michael left them alone.

A slow smile spreads across Luke’s face, and he cackles to himself, eyes squinting closed. “That kinda makes me want to do it more."

Calum laughs along with him, just imagining the stan Twitter meltdown over a full music video where Luke’s face is obscured the entire time. “Oh my god,” he says, fueled by his absolutely warped sense of humor and Luke’s curious smile. “You can’t have a bag over your head for the whole thing, but what if you did it so, like, your face was almost never clearly in focus? Like just when Lucy the Luke stan is about to get a good look, your face melts into a puddle or something.”

“That’s fucking genius,” Luke replies, pushing himself up on his hands to dig himself out of the corner of the sofa so he can slide in next to Calum. “What else?” He taps his fingers against Calum’s knee and tilts his head up while he thinks, and Calum watches him with a goofy smile on his face. He can just feel it, the way he doesn’t quite have full control over his muscles or his mind and is just staring moony-eyed at Luke. It doesn’t matter, because Luke looks back at him with an equally goofy grin.

“You’re behind a fogged up window. An elephant walks in front of you. You’re engulfed in smoke. Your face is so pixelated you look like a cartoon.” Calum lists things off, laughing harder and harder as he goes, until he’s struggling to get the words out.

Luke’s laughing too, the low one that sounds a little lazy, which happens to be one of Calum’s favorite variations of Luke’s laugh, because it means he’s reigning himself in, and pretty soon he’s going to burst, and the high-pitched wheeze will make an appearance, and he won’t be able to stop himself from rolling against Calum, chest shaking against Calum’s arm, and —

“Fuck dude,” Luke says taking a deep breath and steadying himself before Calum’s expectations become reality. Damn it. “That could actually work though. With the concept of the song.” 

Apparently Calum will just have to take the initiative. He raises his eyebrows and leans against Luke, resting his head on Luke’s bicep, the material of his hoodie filling Calum’s senses with softness on his cheek and a beachy scent in his nose. “You think?” 

“Maybe not the elephant,” Luke says, reaching over to pet Calum’s head. “But the rest of it? Or something like it? The song is about your head spinning, why shouldn’t the visual make your head spin too?”

“Luke, you can’t,” Calum replies seriously, leaning against Luke’s touch, gentle fingers in his hair, tickling his scalp and sending shivers down his spine. It doesn’t get much better than this. “We need to be able to see you.”

“You’d be able to see me. Just not very well.” Luke laughs again, chest heaving against Calum’s face, but Calum holds his ground, letting Luke cradle his head tightly until his laughter subsides and he deems it safe to release him.

“You should go into the meeting with the director with a bunch of pictures of old Trapper Keepers and Journey album covers. This is what I want.” 

And ah, there it is, the bright high-pitched laugh and Luke’s head on top of his, rustling Calum’s hair, Luke’s hand smoothing down to the back of Calum’s neck, warm and reassuring. Yeah, Luke likes to be touched, and Calum’s happy to oblige, but the real scandal is that Calum might actually like being touched even more than Luke does. Especially when Luke’s the one doing the touching. 

All this time, Calum has been telling himself that when he touches Luke, it’s because he’s anticipating Luke’s needs and trying to give him the comforting touches he wants without him having to ask. But lately Calum wonders if it’s not the other way around. If, over the years, he accidentally conditioned Luke into responding happily to his touch, like maybe Luke didn’t come this way out-of-the-box, and Calum’s excessive need to touch him just eventually became an expectation. Now Luke just knows Calum wants to hug him or cuddle him, so he offers it up proactively, not for himself but because he knows it will make Calum happy.

But here Luke is, resting his cheek on top of Calum’s head, carelessly kneading his fingers into the tense muscles of Calum’s neck as he laughs, and it feels like he wants it just as much.

“That feels really good,” Calum says, pushing his head back into Luke’s fingers, bumping his forehead against Luke’s cheek in the process. It’s a little scratchy, but Calum savors it, a counterbalance to the softness of Luke’s fingers against his neck.

“Give me more rad video ideas and I’ll give you a neck massage,” Luke hedges, strategically stilling his fingers.

Snorting, Calum spins around so his back is to Luke and his legs are crossed on top of the sofa. “I’ll take that deal. My ideas are shit and your neck massages are...acceptable.”

“We can’t all be good at everything like you, Cal.” He places his hands on either side of Calum’s neck and waits. 

Calum hums while he thinks. “You hang upside-down. It’s a metaphor for how your mind feels turned around. Or something.” Luke’s fingers begin working against Calum’s neck and shoulders and he suppresses a groan.

“Yeah, that’s good. That will also make it hard to see me. What else you got?” Has Luke gotten better at neck massages, or is Calum just really high? Possibly both. Luke’s hands feel like white noise against his skin, sneaking through his pores and draining the tension from his muscles.

“Milk,” Calum mumbles, because chocolate milk sounds really good right about now. Luke giggles behind him, a hiccupy burst that makes the hairs on the back of Calum’s neck stand up as his lips spread into a slow, satisfied smile. He fucking loves making Luke laugh. It’s not hard, but it’s rewarding.

He starts to worry about some things that are potentially hard when Luke dips his head close to Calum’s ear and asks, “Are you thirsty?” as he continues pushing his thumbs into the sides of Calum’s neck. Namely, Calum’s cock, which is a bit more disobedient than usual when he’s high, and it’s having a difficult time coping with the combination of Luke’s hands and Luke’s voice and the way Luke’s tongue ever-so-slightly presses against the shell of Calum’s ear when he says thirsty.

With a hopefully subtle swallow, Calum decides his best approach is to own it. He’s not a bad liar generally, but that goes to shit when he’s high. “Yeah dude,” he says, pleased with how calm and steady his voice sounds. There are some advantages to his current state of mind, aside from the cock situation. “I want chocolate milk so bad.”

“No chocolate milk in the video,” Luke decrees, fingers circling over Calum’s shoulders.

“Why not?” The force of Luke’s hands on his shoulders tips him backwards, and he falls against Luke’s chest. Luke’s arms slide around him to secure him there safely, and it fucking sucks that he’s not rubbing Calum’s neck anymore, but this is nice too, being held. 

“What if I got a milk mustache? A chocolate one would be too obvious.” 

Laughing, Calum frees himself from Luke’s arms so he can turn around to look at him properly. His hood has fallen down and his hair is sticking out at all angles, curls swooping over his forehead and hugging the tops of his ears. “That’s true,” he agrees, running his finger along Luke’s upper lip to trace the shape of an elaborate mustache. “Only regular milk for you. I can still have chocolate though, right?”

“Sure, you can have whatever you want if you call me hot boy.”

“You like when I do that?” Calum asks, knowing full well he does.

“Mmm,” Luke nods slowly, straining to hide his grin. He can’t hide it completely, though, dimples giving him away as soon as he so much as thinks about smiling. 

“You’re not wearing your glasses, though,” Calum says, shaping his fingers into circles and framing Luke’s eyes. “Can’t call you hot boy if you’re not wearing your glasses.”

Luke pouts with such intensity Calum almost kisses him, just to placate him, to wipe the pleading look off his face.

Instead, he smushes himself against Luke’s chest, hugging him tightly, just because. Luke’s caught off guard, and they topple over into a heap on the sofa. Luke lets out a delighted little gasp and wraps his arms around Calum on reflex, laughing as they accidentally send several throw pillows flying to the ground.

It’s then, laying on top of Luke while they’re giggling and flushed, that Calum realizes he’s not the only one with a disobedient cock. He can feel Luke hard against his hip, and fuck, can Luke feel him too? It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve been in this particular predicament. Not even close. It just happens sometimes. They’ve acknowledged it, joked about it, and moved past the point of being weird about it. It’s just bodies in proximity to other bodies and biology and it doesn't necessarily mean anything. 

Except now it does mean something to Calum, because Luke means everything to Calum. 

He doesn’t move away. He stays pressed against Luke’s chest as their breathing evens out and the air stills around them. 

“I liked your song,” Luke says out of nowhere, shocking Calum out of his hazy thoughts. “I don’t know the inspiration but—” He hesitates, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “I feel like I missed some things with you. While I was working on the album.”

He sounds sad, and Calum’s first instinct is to brush it off so Luke stops sounding sad. “I don’t know. I didn’t do much. I think I’m the one who missed things.”

“I always know where the song comes from,” Luke replies quietly. “When you write something, I always know how it connects to your life. But I don’t— I don’t know where this one came from, and it makes me sad, because I feel like I’m disconnected from you, and it’s my own fault.”

“Disconnected? I’m literally laying on top of you right now,” Calum says dryly. He’s terrified what direction this conversation might take if he doesn’t intervene.

“Yeah, but—”

“Luke, I can feel your cock against my leg. Pretty sure you can feel mine too. We are the furthest thing from disconnected.”

“Goddamn it,” Luke whines, squeezing Calum against his chest. “I’m not talking about our fucking cocks, Cal, I’m talking about our lives. I missed yours for months.”

“And I missed yours too,” Calum says, more softly now, because as scared as he is to talk about this, he doesn’t want to upset Luke. “But now we’re together and it’s fine! We’ve been writing songs like we always have. Don’t get all in your head over one song.”

“Will you tell me what it’s about?”

It’s the way he asks, small and sweet and hopeful, that splits Calum’s chest open. He owes him some kind of answer. “It’s about a lot of things. Some of it is about you,” Calum admits. “About missing you.”

“Oh,” Luke breathes. “Well now I feel like a dumbass.”

“Because you are a dumbass,” Calum retorts, flicking Luke’s shoulder. “Don’t know why I missed you so much when you’re such a dumbass."

“We should finish it. The song.”

“We? Like you and me? For the album?” Is that even something Calum can stand to do? He’s bared his soul to Luke for songs before, but never like this.

“Yeah,” Luke says serenely, tucking his chin on Calum’s head. “You and me.”

***

“What’s with all the fucking...smart trousers lately?” Calum asks, gesturing at Luke’s long legs spread out on the floor in front of him. He’s been wearing these literal fancy pants to the studio, usually paired with Converse and a casual shirt, and it’s making Calum feel underdressed in his baggy black pants, T-shirt and beanie. Something about those trousers makes all the difference somehow.

“The what?” Luke laughs, leaning back on his arms and crossing his legs. 

He’s paired today’s smart trousers (grey with a subtle stripe) with a plain black tank top and baby blue Converse, and the way he’s just casually lounging on the floor has been problematic for Calum. When they’re supposed to be listening back to tracks, Calum has instead been entertaining daydreams about climbing onto Luke’s lap, wrapping his hands around the straps of Luke’s tank top to pull him close, and taking Luke’s plump bottom lip in his mouth. Then he might brush his hair, which is extra wavy in the front today, off his forehead, using the leverage to tip Luke’s head back so Calum can kiss him deeply.

Or maybe he’d just push Luke down onto the floor and wrap himself around him, resting his head against Luke’s chest and closing his eyes.

“You good Cal?” Luke’s staring up at Calum, squinting a little in the light filtering through the window.

Shit, he zoned out completely. This is starting to happen too often. He’s supposed to be getting better at being around Luke. He’s supposed to be remembering how not to notice he’s in love with him.

Instead, he’s worse than ever, and he’s not convinced that he ever knew how not to notice.

“The smart trousers,” Calum replies, ignoring Luke’s inquiry. “We’re just sitting around the studio and you’re all dressed up all the time.”

“I’m not dressed up,” Luke says, looking down to assess his pants. Calum looks down at them too. Yeah, still a perfect spot to sit. Damn it. “These pants are more comfortable than jeans.”

“Maybe so,” Calum says, “But they look fancy. Mister fancy pants over here.”

“You should try them sometime,” Luke shakes his head, tossing his hair off his forehead. No. Calum was supposed to be the one to do that. He slides his eager hands under his thighs for safekeeping. 

“Not sure they’d work with my well-coordinated aesthetic,” he deadpans.

Luke latches on to the self-deprecating tone and fights back. “I like your aesthetic.”

Calum raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“I do!” Luke insists. “It’s working for you.” He dips his head down to loop his necklace around his chin. “Really well,” he says, mumbling to keep his chin steady so the necklace stays put.

Right, okay. So yes, historically, they do flirt with each other, and it’s starting to get really hard for Calum to tell what’s normal flirting and what’s something worth thinking twice about. Maybe none of it is. Maybe it’s all the usual bullshit. In which case, why is Calum even bothering to think twice about what he says to Luke?

“I like your smart trousers. You look hot. I was just thinking about how inviting your lap looks. Could just climb on, give you a little kiss.”

The necklace drops back against Luke’s neck and he fixes Calum with a vicious stare. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay. Kiss me,” he challenges. It’s not quite his usual petulant tone. It’s controlled. Carefully disinterested. Annoyingly hot.

Calum sighs, closing his eyes against the visual of Luke sitting on the floor, lips forming around the words kiss me, because that’s just not fair.

When he opens them, Luke is holding back a smirk, head tilted to the side. He must know what he’s doing. Even if he doesn’t fully know what’s going on inside Calum’s head, he’s not dumb. After ten years he’s certainly figured out Calum’s being extremely genuine when he calls Luke hot. Just like Calum knows Luke means it, too, when he compliments him. 

They probably do needle each other on purpose, now that Calum really thinks about it. He’s definitely done shit like specifically selected a sleeveless shirt just with the hopes of getting Luke to babble about how nice his arms look, and there’s photographic evidence for the world to see of the time Luke intentionally wore those red striped pants that made his ass look so insane Calum had no choice but direct a photoshoot of it so he could post Luke’s perfect ass on his own Instagram.

This shouldn’t feel any different, because nothing between them has changed. But it does feel different to Calum, because something in his own mind has changed, shifted out of its comfortable place, and now it’s balancing precariously on the edge of something.

“I can’t right now,” Calum replies, voice tragic. “Once I start, I won’t be able to stop, and we have to be out of here in five minutes.”

Luke’s eyes darken as he processes that, then they shift to the clock on the wall. He’s actually verifying this excuse, which Calum knew he would do, although it’s absolutely not necessary if they want this moment to fade away into just another one of their normal flirty moments. The fact that he bothers to check the clock makes Calum’s stomach flip. 

It all happens in probably two seconds, but it feels like an entire day drags on before Luke throws his head back and laughs, the muscles in his arms and shoulders shifting deliciously under his skin as his body adjusts to hold him up securely through the brief burst of laughter.

He shakes his head as he recovers, pushing himself up to sit cross-legged. “You’re insatiable.”

“So are you,” Calum fires back. “We both know you wouldn’t be able to stop either.”

“Yeah.” Luke shrugs casually, like Calum’s just said the most obvious thing in the world. He pulls himself up to stand and wipes his hands off on his fancy pants. “Wanna come over tonight?” he asks, smiling sweetly at Calum.

Yeah. He knows what he’s doing.

***

The day Luke’s meant to announce his album, he’s a fucking mess. He’s been off for the past week or so, zoned out in his own head every time the band gets together, quiet and distant. Knowing Luke, his anxiety is kicking in full force. He’s about to open up his heart and his mind to millions of people in a way he never has before. He’s always been incredibly vulnerable as a songwriter, but outside of that, he’s private. He cares what people think about him, worries about being perceived. It’s a contradiction he balances carefully every single day of his life.

Normally, he has three other people to back him up. Three other people to provide plausible deniability, three other people whose contributions make it possible for him to wear his heart on his sleeve and still feel safe and protected. Calum takes pride in being part of that layer of protection.

Which is why it stings, watching Luke retreat into himself more and more as the album announcement creeps closer. There’s nothing Calum can do, not really. This story is all Luke’s.

He tries anyway. Luke’s slumped over on a stool in the studio, legs spread and arms crossed as he pretends to pay attention while Ashton records drums. Calum sets his bass aside and walks across the room. He steps right between Luke’s legs, and it’s only when he presses his hands against the tops of Luke’s thighs that Luke seems to realize he’s there. 

His glazed eyes clear in the space of a few blinks, and he looks up at Calum with those fucking blue eyes, wide and open. Somehow the goodness inside of him radiates out through his eyes all the time, Calum’s never seen anything like it with anyone else in the world. He’s met a lot of people. None of them have eyes like Luke’s.

“Stop freaking out,” he says, quiet but firm. 

Luke’s lips turn up slightly. “How do you know I’m freaking out?”

“Because I know you,” Calum replies, using his grip on Luke’s thighs to press his legs together, which makes Luke sit up straighter immediately. “And because you’ve been unbearably quiet all week.” 

With a shrug, Luke mumbles, “I thought you’d like that. Me shutting up for a change.”

“Don’t avoid the subject,” Calum says, but then he reconsiders, because he knows what Luke’s like, knows sometimes he needs to wallow in it, but usually he just wants to try to forget, especially when he’s around other people. “Or do, if that’s better for you. But you can talk to me about it. I’ll bully you into believing in yourself if that’s what you need.”

Luke cracks a smile, rolling his eyes and uncrossing his arms to cover Calum’s hands with his own. “I’ll get over it, probably. After the song is out. But you can still bully me if you want. I know you love it.”

“I have to balance out the flirting somehow. Can’t let your head get too big.”

“Bullying can be flirting too,” Luke says, smirking. 

Calum lets him have that one, grinning when he replies, “Fuck, you’re onto me.”

The way Luke’s looking up at Calum with pure fondness in his eyes even though he’s ostensibly attempting to take the piss out of him is honestly everything Calum ever wants in life. This right here. It would be nice to also be able to lean down and kiss Luke, run his fingers over his jaw, feel the softness of his lips and the tickle of his eyelashes. But he doesn’t need it. He just really, really wants it, so much it hurts to look at Luke like this, but it’s a nice hurt. It’s the kind of hurt he can use to fuel the hopeful pit in his stomach.

“Can you come over when we’re done here?” Luke asks hopefully. “I need a distraction until it’s time to post about the album.”

“Sure. I love distracting you. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.” He ruffles Luke’s hair and Luke leans into it instead of swatting his hand away. He always leans in when Calum does it. Michael and Ashton don’t get the same privileges, Calum’s noticed. 

He smiles gratefully and tugs at the bracelet around Calum’s wrist. “Rad. I know what we can do, too.” 

Calum cringes at Luke’s mischievous tone. “Uh oh.” Luke’s fingers keep brushing against his wrist, spinning the bracelet in careful circles, and it’s a goddamn miracle of science how much that simple sensation makes him tremble. “Should I be scared?”

“Nah,” Luke replies confidently. “It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

***

There are a few universal truths regarding the band and group projects. Calum and Luke together? Very good for songwriting. And cuddling. Calum and Luke together for pretty much any other task? A recipe for disaster. 

They’re usually perfectly capable of completing the task, they just distract each other too easily. They end up giggling helplessly and nearly giving up, then one of them takes charge (they take turns being the responsible one; it’s not planned, it just happens), and eventually they get through it, but it takes forever, and there’s usually a disastrous mess to clean up when it’s all said and done.

Which is why Calum is currently staring at Luke skeptically while Luke fusses with a pile of small plastic bottles on his kitchen island. “Are you sure about this? I feel like we could really fuck some shit up with tie-dye.”

Luke looks up at him, curls tumbling messily over his forehead and a sparkle in his eyes, and there’s no question this is going to happen. Luke is happy and excited and he’s not spiraling over his album announcement (a mere four hours away) even slightly, so Calum is fully on board with anything that keeps him in this state. He should actually probably be grateful it’s nothing more absurd than tie-dye.

“We’ll start with something easy,” Luke says, voice muffled at the end of the sentence when he abruptly drops into a squat and disappears behind the counter. There’s some thudding and clanking as he digs through a cabinet, then he pops back up, holding a beige plastic bucket victoriously. “A-ha! One bucket.”

“Great, so we can tie-dye with exactly one color!”

“Choose wisely!” Luke replies, undeterred by Calum’s mocking. He sets the bucket on the counter and shoves the selection of dye bottles in Calum’s direction.

“What are we dying?” Calum asks, studying the colored labels. Luke insisted on keeping the evening activities a secret, so Calum hadn’t really come prepared. He’s wearing a soft, threadbare graphic T-shirt with a bald eagle on it, and he thinks it would be pretty disrespectful to tie-dye an endangered species. Plus, he really likes this shirt and doesn’t want to ruin it, which will absolutely happen if he puts it anywhere near a bucket of dye.

“Hmm,” Luke casts his eyes around the kitchen, as if the answer will magically present itself on top of the microwave or in the sink.

“Blue Eyes,” Calum says, reading off the label of one of the dye bottles. He snorts quietly. Fucking figures. He’d been drawn to the blues initially, thinking maybe one of the blues would be an adequate stand-in for Luke’s eyes, but this is too on-the-nose. He could dye his beloved white beanie Blue Eyes, and then every time he pulls it over his own eyes to escape from reality for a few minutes, it’d be like looking in Luke’s eyes. Nope, fuck that. He needs to save that cheesy shit for his horrible song, it doesn’t belong anywhere else.

But still...he wants a color that reminds him of Luke somehow. Something that will remind him of this day. “We could dye our socks,” Luke suggests tentatively, chewing on his lip. 

Calum fixes his eyes back on the dye bottles. It’s not the worst suggestion. “Seems pretty low risk,” he concedes, wiggling his toes to verify that he is, in fact, wearing socks. “Is it bad to dye dirty socks?”

“Yeah, probably.” Luke braces his hands against the counter and leans over to watch Calum picking through the dye bottles. “You can have a pair of mine.”

“That’s sweet,” Calum replies earnestly, picking up the singular bottle of yellow dye off the counter. “Lemonade Sky,” he reads, shaking the bottle gently. It feels right. Yellow like the sun, like warmth and brightness. “This one.” He holds the bottle out to Luke decisively.

“Why are you giving it to me?” Luke whines, keeping his hands fixed on the top of the island while Calum wiggles the bottle in front of his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“Neither do I! This was your idea.” 

With a heavy sigh, Luke cards his hand through his hair and straightens, squaring his shoulders and plucking the dye bottle out of Calum’s hand. “Fine,” he says petulantly. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll do all the hard work.”

It may seem counter-intuitive, but a complaining Luke is a content Luke. As long as he’s not panicking about his album announcement, Calum’s happy.

***

“Hey Luke, do you want some of my special punch?” Calum teases, holding out the ladle he’s using to stir their socks into the Lemonade Sky dye out at arm’s length, yellowed water sloshing dangerously over the edges and onto Luke’s patio. 

Squealing, Luke lurches backwards to avoid dying himself Lemonade Sky. “Dude, stop, you’re gonna get my shorts!”

They realized fairly quickly this endeavor was going to be messy, so they relocated to Luke’s patio, stripped off their shirts, and donned bright yellow kitchen gloves before going anywhere near the bucket of dye. Calum has never been more grateful for privacy fencing, and that’s saying a lot. His life is not boring.

“Calm down, your shorts are black.” Still, Calum drops the ladle back in the bucket quickly, because he’s wearing faded, baggy jeans that are the perfect canvas for Lemonade Sky. 

“How long?” Luke asks, scratching his hand across his chest and then looking down in confusion when he feels the rubber glove against his skin instead of his fingernails. Fucking adorable, and Calum shakes his head as he gives the socks one final stir.

“The bottle says they need to stew for at least half an hour,” he says, dropping the ladle and carefully sliding off his gloves. He quickly pulls up his jeans, which fell low on his hips in the arduous throes of tie-dying, but he couldn’t pull them up sooner without risking stained belt loops.

“Want something to drink?” Luke asks, shaking his hands wildly until his gloves fly off into a patch of landscaping rocks near his bare feet. “I got a free sample of some kind of nasty sparkling water.” He’s squinting into the setting sun and it makes him look incredibly perturbed about the sparkling water offer.

Calum grins at him, even though he probably can’t even see it with the glare. “You’ve really sold me on it, Luke, please get me some nasty sparkling water.” 

Luke smiles proudly and offers Calum a thumbs up as he disappears into the house. Calum eyes their socks, floating in the bucket of yellow. They might actually pull this off.

He drags a couple of chairs from the deck onto the patio so he can babysit the socks while he enjoys his sparkling liquid abomination. He’s invested now.

Luke reappears with a can in each hand and Petunia at his heels. He sits down and tosses Calum one can, then opens his own can and sets it on the patio next to his feet without taking a drink. Petunia sniffs it suspiciously. “Smart girl,” Luke purrs, leaning down to scratch her behind the ears.

How bad can it really be? Calum pops the tab and goes for it, taking a long drink. It’s completely drinkable, if not exactly good. “You’re so dramatic, Luke,” he says, tipping his head back to take another drink, when it hits him very suddenly and he sputters, “Holy shit!” His mouth feels like it’s on fire and there’s a taste on the back of his tongue that can only be described as dank. 

Luke laughs helplessly, hugging his arms against his bare stomach. “I warned you,” he gasps through his laughter.

“But you still fucking gave it to me to drink!” Calum screeches, flipping his can upside-down and dumping it out on the patio. He watches in satisfaction as the puddle dribbles in all directions, liquid spreading thin and staining the patio, but no longer existing in a form that anyone will be forced to consume intentionally or accidentally. The world is a safer place. “And you brought a can for yourself!” He points accusingly at the can by Luke’s feet.

“Wasn’t planning on drinking it,” Luke says with a shrug. 

“Fucking hell.” Calum collapses back in his chair, hating how much he loves what a nonsensical and frustrating human Luke can be. 

“When are we doing game night?” Luke asks, ignoring Calum’s obvious distress.

“What is in that?” Calum asks, unable to get over it. He can still feel the skin on the roof of his mouth melting off. “Cyanide?”

“Close. It’s lemon cayenne,” Luke replies. He reaches across the small gap between their chairs and pokes Calum in the side, exactly where he knows Calum is the most ticklish. “Game night?”

Stop!” he whines, pushing Luke’s hand away with such vigor he nearly tips his chair over sideways. He absolutely cannot be involved in a tickle fight while tie dyeing socks. Not even the privacy fence should be subjected to that show.

“I’ll stop when you tell me when we’re doing game night,” Luke admonishes, holding the back of Calum’s chair steady with his free hand. 

“Fine, Thursday?”

“Can’t Thursday,” Luke says plainly, withdrawing his hand from Calum’s side and rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got therapy.”

He just throws it out there like that. I’ve got therapy. Like Calum is just supposed to know. Another thing Calum missed when they were apart, apparently. Kind of a big thing to miss. Or maybe not big, exactly, but...meaningful.

“Since when do you go to therapy?” Calum asks, not accusingly, just curious. Because lord knows they could all benefit from a bit of therapy, but it’s just not something Luke’s ever explored before.

“Since I made a self-reflective solo album and realized there are reasons I am the way I am and maybe I could be happier if I took some time to explore that.”

Calum pauses, digesting this information. It’s rare Luke speaks like this about a serious topic, decisive and confident. “Are you? Happier?” Calum asks. “I mean, is it helping?” 

This could actually explain a lot. Things have been different since coming back together after their time apart, and Calum just sort of assumed that was all on him, for, you know, being in love with Luke. But if he really thinks about it, there is the slight, minuscule possibility that some of it has been Luke, too. Luke being happier.

“I think so,” Luke says softly. He turns to Calum and smiles humorlessly. “Can you believe I’m the reason I wasn’t happy?”

“What?” Calum breathes, fighting his natural urge to make a joke. A joke might be what Luke wants right now, but this is a rare insight into the deep recesses of Luke’s mind. Calum wants to absorb every little bit of information Luke is willing to offer, the same way Luke’s patio soaked up the lemon cayenne poison.

“Self-sabotage, dude. Didn’t think I deserved to be happy.” Luke flaps his hand absently, as if he’s waving off the younger, stupider version of himself.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Calum says, and Luke laughs guiltily. 

“Tell me about it.”

“You said didn’t. Didn’t think you deserved to be happy.”

“Yeah.” Luke sets his elbow on the arm of his chair and props up his head with his chin in his hand. “I’m working on it. Trying to let myself be happy.”

“You think you deserve it now?”

Luke’s mouth twists, biting at the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “I do,” he says finally. “It’s been nice, not getting in my own way as much.”

Something clicks into place inside Calum’s chest, and when he takes his next breath it comes more easily, tastes sweeter.

***

Luke posts his album announcement while Calum sits next to him on his couch. He’s vibrating with anxious energy as he taps at his phone, but as soon as he’s done, he flips his phone face down on the arm of the couch and looks at Calum with hopeful eyes. “Stay and watch a movie?” 

“Yeah man,” Calum replies easily, resting his head against Luke’s shoulder. “I need to wait for my socks to dry anyway.”

***

It’s the most beautiful day possibly ever. Part of that might be because Calum is high (it’s Ashton’s birthday, of course he’s high), and part of it is because Luke is next to him, lying on his back with the sun shining on his face, bare arms propped behind his head and pink tinted sunglasses over his eyes. But most of it is definitely just that it’s a really beautiful day.

It’s sunny, warm but not too warm, and there’s a gentle breeze wafting through the park, sending the scent of grilled hamburgers and hot dogs past Calum’s nose every few minutes. This is it. This is the plan for the day — sitting lazily in the park, enjoying the weather, listening to music, getting high, eating and drinking and laughing together. 

There are a dozen or so of them camped out on a patchwork of blankets in the grass, friends milling around and socializing while Calum stays rooted to his spot on his blanket between Ashton and Luke, legs stretched out in front of him while he props himself up on his elbows.

Ashton’s been up and down, chatting with everyone, flipping burgers, switching up the tunes, but Luke has stayed put, shuffling around into different positions every now and then to get comfortable, but never leaving Calum’s side. But Calum’s not leaving Luke’s side either, which presents a conundrum. Which one of them is actually being clingy here? Or is it somehow both? Or neither?

The cool thing about being high is that Calum doesn’t really care that much as long as they’re together one way or another. He’s just enjoying being able to watch Luke soak up the sun, listening to Luke’s hiccupy laughter and the slow, lazy way his mouth wraps around the words he’s saying.

“Aren’t you hot?” Luke kicks his bare foot against Calum’s shin.

“I’m fine,” Calum replies, wrinkling his brow and looking over his outfit. He’s wearing ripped jeans and a baggy black T-shirt, it’s not like he’s dressed for a winter trek through Alaska or something.

He can see Luke’s eyes on him through the pink lenses of his sunglasses, fluttering in the bright light. “You look kinda sweaty,” Luke says, craning his neck off his arms to get a closer look at Calum’s face. He plops back down with a heavy exhale. “You know what might help with that?” he continues, not bothering to acknowledge the fact that he’s completely imagining that Calum is sweaty. 

Calum is not sweaty. He is not. He presses the back of his hand against his forehead, bumping the bill of his red hat akimbo. Okay. He’s a little sweaty. “What?” he asks, the usual mix of annoyance and fondness he almost always has when talking to Luke skewing a little too close to fondness thanks to the weed. “Are you gonna tell me to take my shirt off?” This is sort of A Thing with them. Luke’s always trying to convince Calum to take his shirt off, and at this point Calum almost feels obligated to keep it on at all times just to spite Luke.

“Maybe,” Luke says, voice cracking as he dissolves into laughter. His tongue darts out of his mouth for a second, wetting his bottom lip, then it disappears back into his mouth as his teeth bite into his lip. He’s still laughing, and he’s beautiful like this, where Calum can look down at him, smiling into the sun with the wind in his hair. “I’m just saying. You’d be more comfortable if you lost the shirt. Better view for me, too,” Luke adds, looking at Calum with that same over-exaggerated leer that’s been burned in Calum’s brain since Luke did it during the Live back in March while teasing Calum about broadcasting his workout to the masses. The sunglasses only make it worse.

“Are you asking me if I want to cyber?” Calum deflects, hoping the memory of their desert road trip is still lingering somewhere in the cloudiness of Luke’s brain. Calum remembers every detail of that, and every moment he’s had with Luke since. He’s not testing Luke, exactly, but he wouldn’t mind a bit of reassurance that these moments are important to Luke too.

And maybe they are, because Luke laughs, curling onto his side and nearly taking out the open can of White Claw in the grass next to him with his elbow. Calum’s hand shoots out to steady the can and Luke grunts gratefully. 

“We still need to finish your song,” he says suddenly, looking at Calum intensely over the tops of his sunglasses. It only lasts for a second, though, and then he’s giggling again. “Then we can cyber.”

“Cyber?” Ashton’s suddenly there, voice loud in Calum’s ear, and for a second Calum is annoyed that any of his senses are being taken over by anything other than Luke, but then Ashton’s infectious laugh pierces the air and Calum can’t help but smile at him. 

“Are you guys hackers now or something?” Ashton continues, settling in on Calum’s other side.

“Obviously,” Calum says, just as Luke mumbles, “Fuck no.”

“We’re talking about cyber sex,” Calum clarifies, hoping to provoke a reaction from Ashton. 

“No, we’re talking about finishing Calum’s song,” Luke cuts in. 

“What song?” Ashton asks, tugging on the brim of Calum’s hat. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Calum replies, giving Luke a pleading look. He’s not opposed to finishing the song, maybe, and it’s possible he might even be able to tolerate finishing it with Luke’s help, but he’s still not sure it’s something he wants to share with everyone. There’s really no point in finishing it at all if he doesn’t share it. 

He’s in the process of mentally talking himself out of ever finishing the song, but then Luke smiles at him softly and flips back over onto his back, and Calum’s consumed by the way Luke’s dimples press lightly into his cheeks, more distinct on the left cheek than the right. “His song about cyber sex,” Luke jokes, letting Calum off the hook. He actually got it. He understood Calum’s look and he threw him a bone. Of course he did. 

Usually it’s the other way around, Calum noticing and checking in with Luke, but that’s only because Luke isn’t as good at hiding his feelings. Maybe Calum is getting worse at hiding them lately, or maybe Luke’s getting more perceptive. Both of those things should scare Calum, but they don’t, at least not right now, in the middle of this beautiful day with his mind pleasantly fuzzy and Luke smiling up at him.

“I like the sound of that,” Ashton muses, quite seriously. “We’ve never done a cyber sex song before. Cyber sex though? Isn’t that an outdated term? What are the kids calling it?”

“That’s the whole point,” Calum says.

“Yeah,” Luke pipes up. “It’s retro. Retro is in.”

Ashton hums, nodding thoughtfully, and Calum leans down to whisper in Luke’s ear. “We’re actually going to have to write a cyber sex song for 5SOS5 now, aren’t we?”

It earns him a wide grin and a choked giggle, and Luke turns his head toward Calum’s, cheek-to-cheek as he presses his joy into Calum’s skin.

It’s a fucking beautiful day.

***

It’s Luke’s birthday, and Calum is pissed off. 

First, Michael posted a cute little Instagram story. A picture of Luke sitting on the floor of the studio from that day he was wearing the baby blue Converse with his smart trousers, leaning back on his arms with his legs crossed in front of him, looking so...ah, everything, that Calum can hardly stand to look at it, with the caption “Happy birthday, handsome.”

Then Ashton posts a couple hours later, and it’s almost the same picture, but Calum can immediately tell it’s a bit different — Luke has his head tilted in this one, in a way Calum is trying very hard not to interpret as come hither. And the caption. Classic Ashton word vomit; something to do with Luke’s kind blue eyes. What the hell?

Calum’s not pissed about the posts. Luke deserves a little public love on his birthday. No, he’s pissed because now he feels pressured to come up with something of his own to post, and he just can’t. Nothing sounds right. Everything is too forced or too cheesy or too flippant or too hey-did-everyone-know-I’m-in-love-with-Luke-because-if-you-didn’t-before-you-sure-do-now.

He’s also pissed because those pictures make him want to climb onto Luke’s lap and do unspeakable things to him. Because those pictures remind him of how hard it was for him in the studio that day to not do exactly that. Because those pictures remind him that he still wants do that, and he still hasn’t gotten to do that.

It’s nearly dinnertime, and Calum’s pissed off, and his stomach is growling, and he can’t possibly think of a clever birthday post for Luke while he’s hungry. He decides to order a pizza, with the reasoning that once his stomach is full of delicious melty cheese, he’ll be magically inspired, overflowing with ideas for how to publicly wish Luke a happy birthday.

Which reminds him, he should probably privately wish Luke a happy birthday. He FaceTimes him while he waits for his pizza from the comfort of his back patio, where he can watch the sun set and let it distract him from his dirty-ass pool. 

Luke’s already smiling when he answers, curls slightly frizzy, and he’s wearing the fucking glasses. “Hey hot boy,” Calum greets him before Luke can get a word in. “Happy fuckin’ birthday!”

“Thanks Cal!” Luke replies, smile widening. He tilts his phone to show Petunia sitting next to him. “Say hi to Calum, Petunia!” She couldn’t care less, not even bothering to lift her eyes to look at the phone when Calum coos at her.

“Hmm, sorry she’s being a bitch.” Luke shrugs, swinging the screen back to his face. Damn him and his face. He’s just sitting on the couch, looking like this.

“This is how you’re spending your birthday?” Calum asks, not exactly surprised, because Luke’s “official” birthday party is tomorrow night, but also...kind of surprised, because it’s Friday night, and someone should have scooped him up for a fun birthday outing. Why hadn’t Calum done that? Oh, right, because he’s too busy losing his mind over being in love with his best friend to actually be a good fucking friend.

Luke shrugs again, quirking his lips and squinting one eye shut. “No point in going crazy tonight,” he says, scratching at his chest. Calum can’t see his hand, but he can track the movement of Luke’s T-shirt rippling with every scratch. He can, and he does. “I’m just resting up for tomorrow night.”

“Gonna get lit?” Calum teases, tilting his head to catch the waning warmth of the sun on his face. Luke makes an unintelligible little noise of acknowledgement. They both know Luke’s going to get wasted tomorrow night, the only question is where on the spectrum of drunken Luke behavior he’ll fall. Calum’s hoping for drunk enough to take his shirt off but not so drunk he ends up crying. That’s the sweet spot, and Calum takes great pride in keeping an eye on him and making sure that’s where he lands every time they party together.

“Only if you do too.” It’s entirely unnecessary. They also both know Calum’s going to get wasted tomorrow night. It’s practically a tradition at this point.

“You should come over tonight,” Calum suggests, trying not to sound too eager. “I just ordered a pizza. You deserve to have pizza on your birthday.”

“What about cake?” Luke asks, although Calum can tell by the sparkle in his eye he’s already won him over.

“Us together is all the cake you need,” Calum cracks, coaxing a laugh out of Luke so violent the screen goes blurry as his body shakes.

“I want real cake too,” he says after he regains his composure, pouting, so Calum has the most perfect view of his bottom lip. It’s no wonder none of them can bear to say no to him. Well. They can, and they do, excessively, but it’s never real. They say no, but Luke always gets what he wants in the end.

“I don’t know about cake, but we could probably throw together some cookies or something.” Calum racks his brain to try to remember the contents of his pantry and refrigerator. He probably has everything they need, and if not, well, this merits an Instacart emergency. Luke needs dessert on his birthday.

“You want to bake cookies?” Luke asks, incredulous. “Do you even know how?”

Calum attempts to look disgruntled while in reality he’s only actually made cookies a handful of times, and only one of those times did they wind up cookie-shaped. “Of course I know how to make cookies, Luke. You’re literally the only human being on this planet who doesn’t know how to make cookies.”

“That can’t possibly be true,” Luke replies, and his voice is defensive but he’s looking at Calum reverently. Apparently all it takes to impress Luke is knowledge of the Nestle Tollhouse chocolate chip cookie recipe. “I can’t believe you know how to make cookies. You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Well if you come over, you can have some of my cookies.” He knows he’s in trouble as soon as the words are out and Luke’s eyes widen comically. 

“Very generous of you, Cal,” he replies with a smug grin. “I don’t know what that’s a euphemism for, but I’m positive I’m up for whatever it is.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Calum whines, glad the sun has dropped low enough Luke probably can’t see the blush on his cheeks.

***

“No, Luke, you have to pack it in really hard. Really fill it.” Calum watches carefully as Luke scoops brown sugar into a measuring cup, resisting the urge to reach out and snatch the scoop and the cup out of Luke’s hands to do it right himself.

“You are making this shit up, Cal!” Luke whines, dropping the measuring cup into the bag of sugar in frustration.

“I’m not! Why would I make it up?” Calum’s voice is on the edge of hysterical and he’s trying so hard not to laugh because it will only undermine his point.

“To fuck with me!” Luke says, wielding his sugar scoop like a knife. “You’re just winding me up with dirty sugar jokes and bad baking instructions. Are we even making cookies, or are you just randomly having me dump shit in a bowl?”

“We’re making cookies!” Calum insists, hands in the air as he dodges Luke’s sugar scoop swashbuckling. “This is actually a real thing, I swear.” Luke pins him with a threatening look and it catches Calum off guard, because Luke’s eyes are cloudy and dark and his jaw is taut and Calum knows he’s putting it on, a breath away from laughter, but fuck. He doesn’t see Luke like this often.

Luke has a temper. It doesn’t come out a lot, but when it does, it burns hot and fast. It’s almost always triggered by someone or something hurting someone Luke loves. It’s never self defense, it’s always an offensive maneuver on behalf of someone else. He’s loyal and protective and he’ll sacrifice himself in the blink of an eye if it means no one else gets hurt.

All of this means that usually, when Luke looks like this, Calum has to worry about him. Has to be prepared to talk him down, or to back him up, whatever is needed to keep the situation under control. He doesn’t get to enjoy it. He doesn’t get to admire the steely glint in Luke’s eye or the way he looks like he’s more than capable of picking Calum up and pressing him against the refrigerator and kissing him hard while Calum wraps his legs around Luke’s waist.

It passes all too quickly, the cloudy expression replaced with a bit of mischief as Luke reaches for the bag of chocolate chips. “We’ll see about that,” he says, confident.

Calum watches smugly as Luke’s eyes skim the recipe on the package, waiting for the moment he sees it. 

There. Luke’s eyes widen slightly and his mouth drops open. “Fucking hell!” he yells, dropping the bag of chocolate chips heavily on the counter. They land with a crack and Calum winces. “Packed brown sugar? Really? Packed?”

“Yes, Luke,” Calum replies with calm condescension. “Packed brown sugar. I told you.”

“Goddamn it,” Luke whispers, shaking his head as he reaches into the bag of sugar to retrieve his cup, moping as he slowly fills it with brown sugar. “How do I pack it?” he asks with a resigned sigh, looking at Calum wearily.

Biting his lip against a grin, Calum manages to say, “You push it in really hard.”

Luke’s head drops back and he looks up at the ceiling, eyes blinking closed for a long moment before he turns to stare at Calum. “Would you like to demonstrate?”

“Demonstrate pushing it in really hard?” Calum echoes. Luke’s not really asking, he’s just being a bitch about it, but Calum’s not one to turn down an opportunity. “I’d fucking love to.” He steps up to the counter and wraps one hand around Luke’s on top of the measuring cup to hold it steady. They’re close now, hip-to-hip, Calum’s arm brushing against Luke’s shoulder with his reach. “Use the bottom of the scoop,” he instructs, enjoying the excuse to gawk at Luke’s hands, silver fingernails matching the silver bracelet around his left wrist.

Luke rolls his eyes, which Calum senses more than he actually sees, but Luke does as he’s told, pushing on the sugar with the bottom of the scoop. “Like this?”

“Harder. I’m not joking; really push it in there. Don’t be shy.” Calum covers Luke’s other hand, helping him press the scoop firmly against the mountain of sugar.

“Jesus Christ, Cal,” Luke groans. And that’s really something. Something Calum would like to hear again. And again and again. In a very different context. 

“You asked for a demonstration,” Calum says, voice edging on manic as he tries to control the mess of thoughts in his mind. 

“The things a guy has to put up with just to get cookies on his birthday, Jesus.” Luke complains, but he lets Calum’s hands guide his movements, successfully packing the sugar into the cup. 

“I didn’t mention this earlier because I was trying to entice you to come over, but you probably shouldn't get your hopes up that they’ll actually be any good.”

“What?” Luke asks sharply, wrenching his neck in Calum’s direction as he dumps the sugar into the mixing bowl. “You said you knew how to make them!” He’s so fucking offended and it’s so fucking cute. 

“I do,” Calum replies haughtily, hands on his hips. “Just not very well.” 

Hunching over with his elbows on the counter, head in his hands, Luke starts laughing uncontrollably. Calum laughs with him, and it’s Luke’s birthday, so he doesn’t wait for Luke to come looking for him. He just curls over on top of him, laughing into Luke’s shoulder, heart fluttering when Luke shifts even closer, letting his head fall against Calum’s chest as his laughter fades into a breathy wheeze and he wipes at his eyes.

Calum wants to be able to have a moment like this for every one of Luke’s birthdays, forever.

***

The cookies are aggressively fine. They take them out of the oven a bit too early, so they’re just gooey messes of butter and sugar and chocolate, but there’s nothing wrong with that. 

Luke tears a cookie apart with his fingers, delicately ripping away one bite at a time, licking his fingers between each one. He’s content, lounging on Calum’s couch with his plate of cookies, and Calum feels so warm. Luke’s happy on his birthday, and Calum is some small part of that, and that feels really good.

But that reminds Calum of something less good. “Shit, I’m running out of time to post something about your birthday.”

Luke looks up from his plate, slightly perplexed. “You don’t need to post something for my birthday.”

“I know that.” Calum picks at his fingernails, clearing chocolate residue from the crevices. “I feel like I should though. Michael and Ashton did."

“So?” Luke screws his face up in disgust. “Posting about it on social media doesn’t mean they love me more or something.”

He’s getting wound up, leaning forward and fidgeting with his cookies in agitation instead of eating them, and suddenly it clicks for Calum. This isn’t about Luke’s birthday, at least not entirely. “I know it doesn’t,” he says softly. “The posts are for the fans more than anything. That part doesn’t really matter as long as we’re here for each other.”

Luke nods along, pushing the cookies around his plate with his thumb, but he doesn't say anything.

“Remember what we did for my birthday?” Calum asks, nudging Luke’s leg with his toe. “I can’t remember if anyone in the band posted anything, but I remember us getting wasted and playing MarioKart until 4am.”

“You just had to keep picking Bowser,” Luke scoffs, but it cracks into a laugh as he lets himself fall into the memory, lets himself off the hook for not posting about Calum’s birthday even though Calum never thought twice about it.

“Should we turn it on tonight? Make a birthday tradition of it? I swear I won’t pick Bowser.”

“Oh yeah?” Luke glares at him, and Calum’s never been happier to have Luke annoyed with him than he is right now. “Who will you pick then? Fucking Wario?”

“Maybe,” Calum replies with a cheeky smile.

“Fuck that. Let’s watch a movie."

“Can we snuggle?” Calum asks hopefully. 

“So clingy.”

“Me? You’re the clingy bitch. I’m just indulging you because it’s your birthday.” Lies, blatant lies.

“Sure,” Luke replies smoothly, setting his plate of cookies on the coffee table and opening his arms for Calum. “If that’s how you want to play it.”

Calum falls into him happily, and they shift around until Calum is comfortably nestled into Luke’s side. The weight of Luke’s arm around his shoulder is so familiar, and yet being this close to him, feeling Luke’s collarbone pressing against the side of his face, watching the material of Luke’s shirt ripple on his chest as he breathes, Calum’s stomach flips at a near-constant rate. It never settles for more than a few seconds at a time, but he tries his best to ignore it as he scrolls aimlessly through Netflix, waiting for Luke to yell for him to stop on something, but Luke just keeps letting out these little sighs.

“Why are you sighing?” Calum lets the remote hover on Downton Abbey. The cover shot of Maggie Smith’s judgy face seems appropriate.

“I don’t know if I’m up for a movie.”

“It was your suggestion!"

“I know, but it was mostly a joke. I don’t think I can focus on a movie.” There’s something in Luke’s voice that digs at Calum. He sounds almost..seductive. Calum should probably call it out, play it off as a joke — that’s what he’d usually do. But maybe because he can’t see Luke’s face, and maybe because it’s Luke’s birthday and Calum’s weak, he doesn’t do what he’d usually do.

Instead, he asks, “Why not?"

Luke stutters on a breath, Calum can hear it in his throat and see it in the mistimed lift of his chest. “Honestly?”

“Mmhmm,” Calum mumbles, pressing a steadying hand flat against Luke’s chest. “Are you thinking about the album?”

Luke laughs, a sharp exhale mixed with a wry groan. “Yeah, always, but that’s not the problem.”

“What’s the problem, then?”

Luke doesn’t hesitate. “I’m horny.”

“Motherfucker.” Calum pulls his hand away from Luke’s chest and stuffs it in his own armpit.

“Sorry,” Luke says, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s your fault, with all the cookie dirty talk.”

Sitting up as much as he can without shaking Luke’s arm off his shoulders, Calum protests, “That wasn’t dirty talk, Luke, that was official instruction.”

Luke’s smiling at him, tight-lipped and amused. “Oh, official, alright then Mr. Tollhouse. Sounded like porn dialogue to me.” 

The image flashes in his brain, and Calum cackles. “You’re right. The beginning bit with the story that leads to the fucking.”

“I know I’m right. So, sorry if I can’t stop thinking about my bodily needs right now.” Still with that smile. Like he’s up to something.

Calum rolls his eyes, but his brain is screaming at him. “Bodily needs, shut the fuck up.” 

“Make me,” Luke challenges.

Yeah, he’s up to something. It’s like the studio all over again, but this time, they don’t have any limitations. No clock to watch, no potential witnesses. So Calum lets it ride. “Are you asking me to kiss you?”

“Maybe. Or—” he sighs. “If I can’t get laid tonight, at least maybe I can blow off some steam. Make out a bit maybe? Or whatever?”

The way he’s talking, the way he’s looking at Calum. Unbothered, but eager. It’s fucking mindblowing. Calum licks his lips, and Luke’s eyes drift down to his mouth. Jesus. “It’s your birthday,” Calum says slowly. “If that’s what you want, you can have it.”

“That’s what I want,” Luke replies defiantly, raising his eyebrows.

“Come here, then.”

Even as he says it, Calum’s not sure whether he actually thinks Luke will follow through.

He’s not surprised when Luke’s lips connect with his. He’s relieved. Luke’s lips are hot and soft and he tastes like chocolate. His hands are on Calum immediately, resting against the back of his neck. Luke probably wasn’t kidding about being horny, because he’s not tentative. After a few seconds of polite kissing, he slides his tongue between Calum’s lips and Calum has to sink his fingers into Luke’s chest, grabbing at his T-shirt to steady himself from pushing back too hard, too fast.

Once they start kissing, they can’t stop. Usually they stop. Why aren’t they stopping? Luke’s tongue has been in Calum’s mouth on a few (drunken) occasions, but never for more than a quick minute. Long enough to draw whoops from their friends, maybe, but then one or both of them would start laughing, and they’d break apart. They were nice kisses, but they weren’t kisses with intent.

They weren’t kisses where they got lost in it, eyes closed and hearts hammering. They weren’t kisses where Luke’s hands fumbled desperately under Calum’s shirt. They weren’t kisses where Calum breathlessly grazed his lips and his tongue and his teeth across Luke’s jaw and down his neck while Luke made the kind of obscene noises Calum had never heard him make before. Hearing them now unlocks something inside Calum, a desire to know all of the special Luke things he’s been missing without even knowing it. 

“You sound so fucking hot,” he says into Luke’s neck, unable to hold it back anymore. Luke will understand. He’ll like hearing it.

Luke wraps his hands in Calum’s hair and tugs him gently away from his neck, back to his lips, and kisses him hungrily before he pulls back and looks at Calum. “You’re fucking hot.” Calum barely processes the words because he’s so caught up in Luke’s face. His lips are swollen and pink, and his eyes are different somehow. Still bright blue, still so full of goodness and love, but something else too, something that’s new to Calum. 

Every new piece of Luke that he uncovers just makes him greedy, makes him want more.

He holds it in, though, lets Luke lead, and it seems for a while like Luke wants more too. He’s not being shy, and Calum feels this weird sense of pride for Luke taking initiative. Being bold. He didn’t know what to expect in this kind of scenario; has never really let himself think too hard about it, but damn. This is something. This is Luke, taking charge. But also taking care. He’s careful with Calum, even as his fingers dig into Calum’s waist, trying to pull him closer. He’s gentle about it somehow, guiding but not forcing. Calum has no intention of resisting.

They’re moving closer, even closer, on the edge of pressing their bodies together in a horrible, wonderful way, when Luke’s phone alarm trills loudly and they both stop abruptly, tongues still in each other’s mouths. They slowly break apart, and Luke fumbles to silence his phone.

“Petunia,” he explains. “I need to get home and let her out.” 

He sounds so normal. Not that he should sound abnormal, necessarily. But it feels like something should be different. Or maybe Calum just wants something to be different. It was just a friendly birthday makeout. Vaguely, Calum is aware that is definitely not a real thing, but he doesn’t currently have the capacity to dissect it any further. He’s turned on and stressed out and riding a sugar high that has his blood fizzing. His brain is far from peak operating capacity.

“Right, okay. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Wow, apparently sounding normal under these conditions is actually very easy. Easier than addressing that anything isn’t normal, that’s for sure.

“Yeah, come over whenever,” Luke says, dragging himself off the couch. He looks down at Calum, mouth slightly agape and forehead creased, but he still sounds so normal when he says, “Thanks for the, uh, kissing.” He makes a dopey face, and it’s so perfect and him that everything feels okay. Calum decides this doesn’t need to be a big deal.

“Anytime,” he replies honestly, but he smirks aggressively so Luke can decide it’s a joke if that’s what he needs it to be. “You’re a better kisser than I expected.”

Offended, Luke narrows his eyes at Calum as he heads toward the door and slides his shoes on. “Why wouldn’t you expect me to be a good kisser?”

“You’re pretty and nice,” Calum says with a shrug. “You don’t need to be a good kisser.”

“I resent that,” Luke replies, bending down to tie his shoelaces and giving Calum a perfect view of his ass. Possibly on purpose, who even knows with this guy.

“Just saying,” Calum says, needling him further. “With an ass like that you don’t have to try.”

Luke straightens and glares at Calum, but it’s the most nonthreatening glare imaginable, because it’s Luke, and he can’t completely hide just how pleased he is about the ass compliment. “You know I’m a perfectionist.”

“Sure, about music. Didn’t know it also translated to other areas. Clearly didn’t translate to packing the brown sugar.”

“Perfection takes time,” Luke replies, opening Calum’s front door and hovering at the threshold. “This was my first try. I just need to practice.”

“I don’t know,” Calum argues. “You haven’t had much practice kissing me and you still killed it.” What point is he even trying to make? It’s not even about that. It’s just an attempt to try to get something, anything out of Luke about the kissing, and how he feels about the kissing. If he feels something about the kissing, maybe that’s...something.

“Then imagine how good I’d be if you let me practice more often!” Luke chirps, smirking at Calum as he shuts the door behind him. He’s probably so fucking proud of that exit. Probably thinks he’s really made some points, really left Calum with something to think about.

He’d be right.

***

It’s Luke’s birthday party, but when Calum walks through the door, Luke is holding a gift bag out to him.

“No, Luke, I’m supposed to be giving you presents,” Calum condescends, still eagerly grabbing for the gift bag.

“It’s not really a present,” Luke says, waving him off. “It’s self promo."

Calum sticks his hand in the bag and comes back out with a pink hoodie. His face lights up when it hits him. “Is this Luke merch?” He tosses the bag on the counter and shakes the hoodie out to get a look. It’s massive, just how he likes them. There’s a trippy, colorful graphic on the back, including a blurry photo of Luke. 

Sometimes Calum thinks about how many photos of himself are floating around out in the world that he’s never seen before, and probably will never see. It’s a disconcerting feeling, knowing there are versions of him existing in the universe that he’ll never encounter. 

But now it’s hitting him that there are millions of Lukes out there too, and somehow that’s not just disconcerting, it’s sad. It feels like Calum is missing pieces. He wants to be able to gather them all up, piece them together to make up the whole of Luke, just for himself. This isn’t something he can think about right now, though, when it’s Luke’s birthday and they’re supposed to be celebrating.

“It is official Luke Hemmings merch, hot off the presses,” Luke confirms, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone. “I took the liberty of picking the one I thought would look the best on you.”

“Aww.” Calum reaches out to pinch Luke’s cheek, managing to get by with a quick one before Luke bats his hand away. “You thought pink?”

“I thought you’d like a hoodie since you’re always cold. It was either pink or black, and I thought pink would be nicest.”

“I don’t know if I own a single pink shirt.” It’s nothing against pink, it just never occurred to Calum that pink would be a particularly good color on him. It’s strange to consider this is a thought Luke’s had. That Luke has spent time considering what colors look good on Calum. That maybe, just maybe, Luke simply wants to see Calum in pink.

“Well, you do now. And you better wear it. Whore my album out for me,” Luke commands. 

“Happily,” Calum replies, pulling the hoodie on over his T-shirt. “This is sick. You’ve never looked hotter than you do in that picture.”

“You can barely see me, dickhead.”

“Exactly.”

Luke glares at him and flips him off. “It’s my birthday; you’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“Yesterday was your birthday, and I was very nice to you,” Calum winks, and he doesn’t know exactly what kind of reaction he’s hoping for, but he’s pleasantly surprised when Luke looks him straight in the eye, smiling broadly.

“Yes you were. I was hoping you might be that nice again tonight.”

Oh. Really?

“You can’t bribe me with hoodies to get me to make out with you.”

“Can’t I?” Luke asks, pinching the sleeve of Calum’s hoodie to tug him toward the back patio. “I’m also planning on getting you drunk."

“None of that is necessary.”

“So you’ll make out with me no matter what?” Luke leans down and digs a can of White Claw out of a giant cooler, offering it to Calum with one hand while he fishes for a can for himself with the other. Calum’s shocked when he sees he’s been given a can of mango. Luke always hoards the mango.

“This is mango,” Calum says, accusatory. “You’re still trying to bribe me.”

Luke looks up at him with a crooked, guilty grin. “Maybe.”

***

It’s dark, and almost everyone is drunk. It’s not a huge party, but even a not-huge group of drunk people still rates fairly high on the scale of loud and obnoxious. Luke’s not take-his-shirt-off drunk yet, which is a bit of a disappointment, but also kind of nice. Instead he’s relaxed and a little buzzed, a permanent smile etched on his face as he holds court in a chair across the fire pit from Calum.

People flit in and out, stopping a few minutes for Luke to soak up the birthday attention, but no one stays too long. It’s mostly just Luke and Calum, hiding from the noise. They’re still not quite used to a full night of dealing with people and socializing, even with a bit of alcohol in their blood. It’s just easier to stick with what’s familiar: each other.

There’s no actual fire in the fire pit, so Calum has his feet up on the edge, lounging back and enjoying the view of Luke’s shadowy face and slightly unfocused eyes. Something about Luke in this state always makes Calum feel warm and happy. Maybe it’s because when Luke’s in this state, Calum usually is too. Hmm. Maybe Calum isn’t actually in love with Luke. Maybe he’s just been drunk for the past year. Or ten.

“So,” Calum says, stretching his neck side-to-side and fighting off a yawn trying to crawl out from the back of his throat. “A month until the album comes out.”

“Yep. Fuckin’ crazy.” 

“You seem...okay.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t be?” Luke asks with a thin smile.

“I don’t know dude, you were freaking out about the single so much. And I know how you are.”

“Yeah.” Luke sighs, but it’s light. Content. “I actually feel good. A little anxious about it, but mostly just excited.”

It’s a good thing. A really good thing. But Calum doesn’t know what to make of it, because it really isn’t Luke’s style. Is this just how he’s going to be now? Has something about him fundamentally changed in the process of creating and releasing this album? Something else Calum missed? It’s probably the therapy. Once again Calum is blown away at Luke, the baby of the band, being the only one to take the steps he needs to get his shit together.

“I’m excited about it too,” Calum says, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s nowhere near cold outside, but a breeze in the dark still makes him shiver. He’s thankful for the pink hoodie. “Excited to hear it. Excited for you to be less busy.”

Luke’s been ramping into promo mode for the album, and lately has been popping out of the studio early to do interviews or head off to photoshoots. His free time is becoming nonexistent, and Calum misses spending time with him alone, not in the studio or at parties. Although if last night is any indication, alone time with Luke might be getting a bit dangerous these days. Good dangerous? Just dangerous? Who the fuck knows. Calum does know he wouldn’t mind finding out. 

He should probably be thinking it would be a bad idea to find out, but he just can’t get there. He knows Luke. Luke knows him. They are unbreakable, no matter what happens.

Luke laughs, rubbing his eye and then letting his hand settle over his lips, fingers pushing into the pink swell on either side of his perfect cupid’s bow. It may be dark, but it’s not so dark Calum can’t see it all in the glow of the deck lights.

“It’s been kind of nice, being busy,” Luke says, words muffled by his own hand in front of his mouth as he taps his fingers mindlessly against his lips. “It’s forcing me to learn how to talk to people again. Easing back out into the world.” He drops his hand and smiles at Calum. “It makes me feel really ready to be busy with the band again.”

“Shit. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet or not."

“You are,” Luke replies, quick and firm. Like he needs it to be true. Fine, then. 

“You know what I mean. I’m ready, but I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it.”

“You’re already doing it. We’re doing it. Making an album, getting back to work. The other stuff will be easy by the time we get to it.”

“Since when are you the one doling out comforting advice?”

“Since I’m the one who’s already been through it for a change.”

And that’s what’s so odd. Luke’s the youngest, and he’s a second-guesser. There’s not much he does first in life compared to the rest of the band. He’s usually the one being reassured. Calum loves being there to do that for him. It makes him feel needed, like he’s making a positive difference in Luke’s life in some way.

“What do you think my favorite song on your album will be?” Calum asks, changing the subject because he doesn’t want to think too hard about Luke not needing him.

“Baby Blue, I reckon,” Luke says. He has it ready at the tip of his tongue, like he’s thought about it before. Calum likes that a lot. “It’s got a good bass riff. Or maybe Slip Away. I think you’ll, you know. Get that one.”

“Hmm.” Calum silently repeats the titles to himself, files them away to reference later. “When does the elephant video come out?”

“A couple weeks,” Luke says, ignoring Calum’s habit of calling the Motion music video the elephant video. It’s still funny as far as Calum is concerned. “And I’m shooting videos for a couple more songs around that time too.”

“Jesus Christ, it’s going to be years before I see you again,” Calum whines. In fact, he’ll continue to see Luke at the studio regularly and often, but he knows pouting about it will make Luke smile.

“You should come along,” Luke says, perking up in his seat and leaning forward to sling his elbows over his knees. “Keep me company. It gets a little lonely doing all these things on my own when I’m used to having the rest of you around.”

He’s looking at Calum hopefully, bottom lip between his teeth. He hasn’t realized that Calum doesn’t need to be talked into it. 

“Just tell me when,” Calum says. “I’m sure I can fit it into my packed schedule of nothing.”

Luke closes his eyes and tips his head back, smiling up at the sky. “I’ll have to dig it up. I’ll text you.”

“Are you falling asleep on me? This isn’t how your birthday parties usually go.”

“You’re right. I guess I’m mellowing out in my old age.” Luke’s eyes stay closed, and Calum stares at him, outlined against the dark blue sky with the shadows of the hills behind him. It’s one of those moments where Calum realizes how fucked up his life is. How strange and surreal it is that he’s sitting in the backyard of his best friend’s multi-million dollar house in the Hollywood Hills at the age of 25. It’s important to him not to forget that this isn’t normal.

He’s still staring when Luke’s eyes suddenly fly open, startling Calum so much his legs flop off the side of the fire pit ledge and land on the deck with a heavy thud. “Wanna see an early cut of the elephant video?” Luke asks, eyes bright.

“You have one? And you didn’t tell me immediately?”

Luke flips Calum off with a tight grin on his face. “Fuck you, there’s been a lot going on.” He stands up slowly and stretches his arms over his head. Calum’s eyes drop to his shoes. Yep. Still tied. “C’mon,” Luke says, already heading toward the house. “I’ll show you. It’s fucking rad.”

***

They sit next to each other on the teal couch in Luke’s studio, Luke’s laptop on the coffee table in front of them. It’s quiet up here, just an occasional faint burst of laughter floating up the stairs from the party below.

Luke presses play and falls back on the couch. Calum learns forward, face close to the screen. First, he’s confronted with Luke walking through the desert in a suit. “Whoa, look at you, all dapper!” he comments, eyes glued on Luke’s suit-clad frame walking towards him.

“I know, I know, keep it in your pants.”

Calum opens his mouth to respond but then the video abruptly shifts to a pixelated cut into psychedelic graphics and Calum laughs gleefully. “What the fuck? That’s sick!” 

It keeps happening over and over; a shot of Luke looking amazing, cut short by a trippy effect or a quick cut to another scene, and Calum keeps laughing harder as the video progresses. “I can’t believe you did this,” he says, right around the time a distorted shot of Luke in a striped shirt morphs into a spacey image of Earth that does, indeed, look like the cover of a vintage Trapper Keeper or a Journey album.

“All you Cal, all you,” Luke replies serenely, obviously pleased with Calum’s enthusiastic response. He kicks off his Converse and tucks his feet up under him, legs crossed. He’s still wearing the smart trousers, although tonight he’s paired them with a white T-shirt instead of a tank top. 

When the video ends, Calum feels like he hasn’t entirely comprehended anything he saw, but he loved every second of it. 

“You’re insane,” he says, closing the laptop and falling back on the couch to gather Luke in a sloppy hug. “I can’t believe you’ve done all this.”

Luke hugs back the best he can, letting his hand slide down Calum’s back, but he laughs off the compliment, and Calum doesn’t want to let him. “Really,” he says, quietly, urgently, resting his head against Luke’s and tucking his legs up so they fall against Luke’s lap. “What you’ve done is incredible.” Being this close to him, head filled with the tune of his song and the images of his video, Calum is just overwhelmed with love and pride. He wants to squeeze Luke so hard he can’t breathe, because he doesn’t know any other way to adequately convey this overwhelming feeling that’s consuming him.

He doesn’t, but only because Luke beats him to it. He doesn’t say anything, he just tightens his hold on Calum, one hand coming to rest on the back of Calum’s head and pressing it tightly into his neck.

Calum doesn’t know what to do. So he does the thing he wants to do. He lifts his head and looks up at Luke’s face, at the way he’s smiling softly but with narrowed, skeptical eyes, waiting to see what Calum’s next move is going to be. Calum closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Luke’s. He’s still not saying anything, but his breath is loud and the hand that’s on Calum’s back presses against him harder, an infinitesimal shift, really, but one that feels like an earthquake against Calum’s skin. 

Throwing caution to the wind, Calum presses his lips against Luke’s. He remembers how Luke kissed him last night, bold and needy, and he tries to be just as brave. Luke mumbles against Calum’s mouth, maybe it’s words or maybe it’s just one of those special secret sounds, but when Calum tries to break away to check, Luke holds him in place with the steady hand on the back of his head. Shit. They’re here again, already.

Luke’s even greedier this time, licking into Calum’s mouth almost immediately, and Calum’s arching his neck to try to get a good angle but it’s not quite right, and so he climbs into Luke’s lap, no hesitation. It’s gotta be the White Claw, there’s no reasonable explanation for why he doesn’t even think before he does it. It’s awkward, balancing on Luke’s crossed legs with his own feet flat on the couch and his knees knocking against his elbows, but it gives him delicious leverage, and now Luke’s the one arching into him, fingers scraping at Calum’s back to bring him closer. 

It works, knocking Calum off balance enough that his legs fold and his hips slide forward down the slope of Luke’s legs. “Fuck,” they both groan simultaneously against each other’s lips, unable to quell the visceral reaction of feeling their half-hard cocks against each other. They both laugh immediately afterwards, pulling their lips apart to tuck their heads against each other’s shoulders. Hiding from each other, in each other.

“What are we doing?” Calum asks, even as his hands are tugging at the hem of Luke’s shirt, pulling it free from his smart trousers so he can touch him properly, cool fingers on hot skin. 

Luke shudders at the feeling, but he holds Calum close and leans into the touch. “Kissing,” Luke says simply. “We already discussed this.”

“I guess we did.” Calum can’t argue. Technically this had been part of the plan since he walked through Luke’s door several hours ago. “Do you...like it?” he asks, pressing a kiss against the skin where his lips rest, right at the juncture of Luke’s neck and shoulder.

“Do you?” Luke asks, tilting his head to give Calum space to maneuver. That seems like an answer in itself. “Has my technique improved since last night?"

“Not sure yet,” Calum says, finally drawing back to look at Luke. His face is tranquil, an edge of excitement in his eyes, but nothing that would suggest he’s even remotely put out by their current position. It’s possible Calum has never looked at Luke from this exact angle, which makes it even stranger that it doesn’t feel strange. “I think I need to do some additional research,” he says, tracing his thumb across Luke’s bottom lip.

Luke’s eyes widen, and he stays starkly still until Calum lets his hand drop, then he’s on Calum in a split second, messily fitting his mouth against Calum’s and taking Calum’s hands to press them back up under his own shirt. His skin is still so hot, eternally sunkissed. Calum reaches for the spot on Luke’s side where he guesses the puzzle piece sits, fitting his fingers against his ribs tightly enough to feel each one while Luke kisses him deeply, pushing against Calum so hard he tilts backward, hastily pulling his hands free from Luke’s shirt to brace himself on Luke’s knees before he topples off the teal couch entirely.

“Sorry,” Luke mumbles, hands securing Calum tightly around the waist as he readjusts his legs underneath him, uncrossing them so Calum is perched less precariously. 

As soon as Luke’s settled, Calum wiggles forward onto his hips and digs his hands in Luke’s hair. It’s too done. It needs to be fucked up a little. Luke doesn’t seem opposed to the idea, letting Calum’s fingers muss the styled curls while he kisses along the underside of Calum’s jaw, hands running dangerously up and down Calum’s thighs. “Luke,” Calum warns, working his hands down the sides of Luke’s neck, over his shoulders, down his chest, until he’s back at the hem of Luke’s shirt.

Tilting his head to look up at Calum, Luke licks his swollen bottom lip and bites it into a cheeky smile. “I’m good if you’re good.”

Is it that simple? Maybe it is. “Luke,” he says again, incredulous. “I’ve been wanting to get in your lap for months. I’m so good.”

“Really?” Luke’s smile tilts into something different altogether, something sweet and open, something that tastes like mango when Calum kisses him long and hard in response. Luke’s hands start their journey up Calum’s thighs again, and Calum tugs at Luke’s shirt experimentally, beyond delighted when Luke’s immediate response is to raise his arms so Calum can whip it off of him in one fell swoop.

They have to stop kissing for a second while the shirt slides between them, and it’s in this exact moment that Calum understands how horribly, irreparably attached to this he is now. He’s not going to be able to stop doing this. Well, he can, but he would hate losing it. He doesn’t ever want to not be able to kiss Luke. He doesn’t want to go back to just staring at Luke, consumed in daydreams.

But then the shirt is out of the way, and Luke is looking at him with dark, expectant eyes, and his hair is so perfectly tousled, Calum wants to pat himself on the back. Luke’s perfect like this, a little vulnerable and a lot assertive, the unbearable combination of cute and hot assaulting Calum everywhere he looks. Haphazard freckles on strong, broad shoulders. An unassuming laugh on full, shiny lips. Fondness welling in his lustful eyes beneath long lashes.

He’s leaning in to kiss him again, pressing his hips down hard, and Luke gasps into his mouth, but then —

A quick, sharp knock on the door. “Luke!” Michael’s voice is loud and lethargic, a telltale indicator of his level of inebriation. “Are you in there, dickhead? It’s cake time! Come on! I’m hungry!”

They stare at each other for a second, wide-eyed and silent, save for their labored breathing. “You heard him. It’s cake time,” Luke says wryly, scrunching his nose and grabbing at Calum’s ass. 

Calum yelps in surprise, then curls over Luke, laughing, because what the fuck else can he do right now. “Right. Cake time.”

Resigned, he climbs off Luke’s lap and holds a hand out to him to pull him up off the couch, then grabs Luke’s shirt off the top of a lamp and holds it out to him. Luke accepts it, sighing deeply as he tugs it on over his head. 

Not all is lost. At least Luke ended up taking his shirt off at this party after all.

***

Fuck Luke and his fucking emotional vocals and his fucking heartbreaking lyrics and why the fuck did he just drop this song and expect Calum to be okay?

Well. Because clearly it’s not about Calum at all. But fucking still.

He should have at least gotten a warning not to listen to this for the first time in the car on the way to the coffee shop. Now he’s crying in the Coffee Bean drive thru, trapped between a Hummer and a Prius. And it’s not just a delicate misty eye, or a few stray tears slowly dripping down his face. No, it’s a full-on stream of them, they won’t fucking stop, and every time he tries to make them, his heart catches in his throat and he chokes on a sob.

It’s not really about the song, Calum realizes, wiping his face with the sleeves of his pink hoodie. The song is haunting, and probably could make Calum cry on its own. But the song just happened to be the thing that tapped into all the feelings Calum has been repressing, the love and the longing and the frustration and the sadness and the hope and the fear, all because of Luke.

Those are all emotions Luke is conveying with his voice in Place in Me, and it rips Calum apart for so many reasons. Fuck Luke. He’s the reason Calum is a mess in the Coffee Bean drive thru on a Thursday morning, in more ways than one.

The Hummer in front of him drives off and he pulls up to the window, hoping his watery eyes and distraught state aren’t immediately evident to the poor soul serving him his iced latte. 

“Iced oat milk latte?” A girl with bracelets lining her wrist and piercings all the way up her ears holds a cup out to Calum.

He suppresses a sigh, taking the drink and forcing a smile. He’d ordered almond milk, not oat milk, but he’s not going to make a fuss about it. “Thanks. Can I get some napkins too, please?” He’s not about to blow his nose on his Luke hoodie.

After collecting his napkins, he pulls into a parking spot, the song still playing loudly over his car speakers, and sends a text to Luke.

Calum: They fucked up and gave me an oat milk latte at Coffee Bean this morning. Now I’m crying over that AND your song.

Calum’s just shifting into reverse to back out and hit the road when his phone lights up with a response.

Luke: Sorry dude, been there. That was actually the inspiration for the song.

It makes Calum smile through his tears.

***

This might be a problem.

Objectively, Luke has always been nice to look at. When they were teenagers, he was cute in an awkward sort of way. His blue eyes were always hard for Calum not to stare at, and his delicate upturned nose was nice, and he was a bit bashful about how he carried himself, shoulders slumped and head ducked while he tried to pretend he wasn’t quickly becoming taller and broader than the rest of them. It was endearing how much he didn’t want to be the biggest one, how much he didn’t want to draw attention to himself any more than necessary.

There’s a strange phenomenon that happens when you spend most of the hours of your life with someone. You can’t quite capture all the small changes that happen over time, and then one day you look at that person in just the right light, or you see a specific old photo of them, and abruptly realize, shit, everything is different. 

Calum has never really had that moment with Luke. He knows that over time, Luke transformed into something that cute doesn’t really capture. He’s still cute in a lot of ways, but there are so many times now where Calum looks at him and just thinks fuck, what’s happened to him? It’s not just that he’s more comfortable inside his own body. There are also tangible physical changes — the cut of his jaw, the angle of his chin, the muscles he pretends he doesn’t have lurking prominently under his clothes.

They’ve all changed over time, but Luke transformed.

This has never been quite so apparent to Calum as it is right now, as he watches Luke run his hand down his chest and toss his head back, light catching in his bleached curls and reflecting off a fresh coat of silver nail polish as Baby Blue plays in the background. (Luke was right, Calum loves the song. Or he would, if he could focus on it for more than a few seconds at a time.)

It’s rare for Calum to be able to just sit and watch Luke do something like this. Normally when they shoot videos, they’re filming together, or if only one of them is filming the rest are preoccupied with hair or makeup or marking. Calum has never seen anything like this. Luke has never really done anything quite like this for a band project anyway. Sure, he’s been chained up in a cave in leather pants, but that felt so fake. It was an aesthetic choice to fit the theme of the video.

But this...this is just Luke. Luke in his smart trousers and barely buttoned button down, a bit of makeup highlighting his already beautiful face, curls tumbling over his forehead. But just Luke is running his hands over his skin, sometimes delicately but sometimes not so much, and he’s making these faces and it’s never been more apparent to Calum that yes, he would very much like to fuck his best friend.

He’s supposed to be providing moral support or something, but instead he’s hiding in the corner of the studio trying not to let his soul vacate his body. Luke looks over at him often between takes, like he wants to check to make sure Calum hasn’t fled. He probably should have fled the second he felt that telltale twinge low in his stomach at the mere sight of Luke coming out of his dressing room. But he was confident he could handle Luke being simply beautiful.

He is not, however, equipped to handle...this. 

The director calls for a break to adjust lighting, and Luke ambles over to Calum’s dark corner with an unassuming smile. “What do you think?” he asks, hooking his foot around the leg of a folding chair a few feet away to drag it closer before sitting down. 

Raising his eyebrows, Calum bites back a smile and says, “Pretty slutty, don’t you think?”

Luke looks surprised for a split second, like he might argue, but then he just smiles placidly. “Yeah, well. You do what you gotta do to sell your album, am I right?”

“If that’s the case, you can do better. You haven’t even taken your shirt off yet.”

“That’s the next scene,” Luke replies matter-of-factly.

Choking on a laugh, Calum side-eyes him hard. “Sure it is.” 

“I’m not kidding,” Luke says, voice ticking up to a higher register, like he’s already prepared to be frustrated with Calum.

“You’re doing a shirtless scene.” Calum’s voice is flat and disbelieving, partially because it’s something he’d expect to be way, way outside of Luke’s current comfort zone, but also because he’s not sure he wants to live in a world where he accidentally accompanies Luke to shoot a music video that may as well be porn. That’s a cosmic joke he wants no part of. Although there is a not-small part of him that’s just stoked Luke feels comfortable running around shirtless for this video, and not just for personal reasons.

“Uh-huh.” Luke nods, and there’s a take that look in his eye, like he knows this is fucking with Calum on some level and is damn proud of it. Honestly he should be. Calum is feeling well and truly fucked with. 

“Technically I’m wearing a shirt. But it’s unbuttoned,” Luke adds, gripping the lapels of his shirt and holding them open for emphasis. Calum stares into Luke’s eyes, electric baby blue against the light dusting of black liner around them.

Oh, okay. Maybe that’s not so bad. He’s already made it this far, maybe Calum can live with a few flashes of torso.

“It’s going to be rad, I’m under water for the whole thing,” Luke continues breezily. Oh. No. “It’ll be a goddamn nightmare to film but it’ll look sick when it’s done.”

“This video is going to be sexy as hell,” Calum observes, resigned. 

Luke perks up at that, leaning forward in his chair. “You think?” Calum scoffs incredulously and Luke takes it as encouragement. “I did get kind of turned on filming that last bit,” he says quietly, voice dripping with barely-restrained elation, like he’s sharing a bit of juicy gossip. Is he really trying to talk to Calum about this right now?

“Yeah, I suppose touching yourself like that might get you worked up,” Calum replies, the unspoken It sure got me worked up hanging in the air between them.

“Just following direction,” Luke snipes, a self-satisfied grin playing at his lips. Well, he definitely knows this is having an effect on Calum. Not that Calum’s done a particularly great job of hiding it. He’s not even really trying to hide it. Why bother, when Luke knows exactly how Calum’s body responds to him after their multiple recent hook-ups. No point in pretending.

“That so?” Calum asks, feigning disinterest, but his eyes are sweeping over Luke’s body, everywhere but looking him in the eye. His mind is racing, trying to work through how he can feel so soft for Luke and, well, so hard for him at the same time. He knows Luke can see it; he wants Luke to see it.

“I was supposed to be making euphoric faces,” Luke says, making air quotes. “How do you think I did?”

“I felt pretty euphoric watching,” Calum says unhelpfully. 

“You know what I was thinking about to inspire my euphoric faces?” Luke’s hand is on Calum’s thigh suddenly, fingers digging against the seam of his jeans.

He looks at Luke, pleasantly surprised by the casual public groping. “What were you thinking about?” He finally flicks his eyes to Luke’s, allows himself to stare right into Luke’s eyes and let the want bleed out of his own expression into the space between them, lay it bare where Luke can see it all, but his breath catches when he sees that want reflected back at him from Luke’s eyes.

“I was thinking about my birthday,” Luke says, almost casually but with something dark and secret lurking in his tone. His hand tightens against Calum's inner thigh, digging in hard enough that Calum can feel the outline of his thick rings. “And you on my lap.” 

“Oh. Fuck.” Calum looks down, sees silver fingernails pressing against the fabric of his jeans, and he doesn’t just want, he needs.

“Yes,” Luke agrees, curls bobbing in Calum’s peripheral vision as he nods. “Fuck.”

***

Luke’s right about the underwater bit being a nightmare to film. For Luke it’s a nightmare because he has to hold his breath and try to look peaceful and pretty while forcing himself to stay underwater as long as possible. For Calum it’s a nightmare because he can barely see Luke. He just gets an occasional glimpse of his disembodied head floating over the surface of the water, and a few eyefuls of Luke standing on the deck of the pool, dripping wet with his minimal clothing clinging to his skin and water droplets running from the ends of his hair down over his chest.

That’s a nightmare of an entirely different sort.

And he keeps looking at Calum, just like he did during the first scene. Every look feels like a question for some reason. Calum finds himself nodding every time, a blanket yes, a blind reassurance regardless of what Luke might be asking.

He’s pretty sure he knows what Luke is asking, though, and he’s proven right when, after the director finally calls a wrap, Luke’s wet hand encircles Calum’s bicep and drags him along to the dressing room.

It’s easier to take Luke’s shirt off this time. They don’t even need to stop kissing. They only stop when the dressing room light switches off and they both let out startled yelps at the sudden darkness.

“Sorry!” An unfamiliar voice filters through the door and the light flips back on. “I thought everyone was gone. We’re closing up in a few minutes."

Luke sinks his head against Calum’s shoulder and mutters, “Damn.” 

He’s in Calum’s lap this time, and Calum doesn’t know exactly how he thought this was going to end, but he certainly didn’t think there would be an unsatisfying ending to a scenario where Luke was writhing on top of him. He was wrong. So, so wrong.

Luke takes Calum’s face in his hands and kisses him, one hurried press of his lips against Calum’s followed by a longer one, like he can’t really stand to stop, and Calum’s chest clenches. When Luke finally draws back, Calum pulls him back in immediately and squeezes him tightly. “The song is incredible,” he whispers against Luke’s chest. “I love it.”

Luke’s chest bobs as he chuckles, swiping his fingers through Calum’s thick curls and tugging lightly on the ends. “I can tell.” 

***

Calum: Do you need to tie-dye again?

It’s around 10 a.m., less than 12 hours until Luke’s album is officially out in the world. Calum is asking more for himself than for Luke. He’s filled with nervous energy, eager to hear the album and itching to see Luke basking in the attention and affection that damn well better be flooding him the second the album drops. He could use a distraction. Tie-dye optional, Luke required.

Luke: I still haven’t fully cleaned up from the last time.

Calum: That will just make it easier.

Luke: IDK man. I don’t think tie-dye is the vibe I need today.

Calum: What’s the vibe you need?

Luke: I don’t know if I can think about anything but the album.

Calum: Do you want to listen to it? With me?

Luke: You’re just impatient.

Calum: Yeah, and? I’ll bring over some fancy wine or something.

Luke: It’s not even noon.

Calum: I’ll get you a cold brew then.

Luke: Okay. 😊

It actually is nearly noon by the time Calum makes it to Luke’s, and it seems like Luke’s been waiting for him. He answers the door immediately, swipes the cold brew cup from Calum with one hand, and tows him toward his record player with the other.

“Good morning,” Calum says to Luke’s back, outfitted in a white T-shirt covered in intentional holes. “It’d be really easy to rip that shirt off you.” 

“Should we do that instead?” Luke tosses over his shoulder. “I’d like to see you try.”

It’s mostly a joke, but it probably is the one thing that could get Calum’s mind off Luke’s album. “Later,” he gripes, pushing against Luke’s shoulders to aim him at the record player.

Luke turns around, shaking Calum’s hands off him. He’s clutching his cold brew like a lifeline. “I’m really nervous about you hearing this.”

“I’m really nervous to hear it,” Calum admits softly. “Not because I don’t think it will be good,” he rushes to say. “I know it will be. Just. You know. Feelings.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, nodding vigorously in agreement. “I do know. So can we like...not look at each other while you listen or something?”

Fighting a smile, Calum covers his eyes with his hands. “Do you want me to just sit here like this?”

There’s a rattle as Luke sets his cold brew on the coffee table, and then his fingers, wet with condensation, wrap around Calum’s wrists and pull his hands away from his eyes. “Stop,” he protests, cocking his head and boring his eyes into Calum’s pleadingly.

“What do you suggest then?” 

Luke’s hands are still on his wrists. He steps closer, and Luke falls into him, a standard issue hug under extremely non-standard circumstances. 

“Cuddle?” He submits the request to the pocket of Calum’s T-shirt. “Just...don’t look at me.”

“Yeah, okay,” Calum agrees. “Put your record on.”

He does, pacing back and forth in front of the turntable for the first verse of Starting Line while Calum eases onto the couch.

“C’mere,” Calum prods. “I’ve already heard this one. Sit down before I accidentally look at you during a song I haven’t heard before.”

“Be nice, I’m feeling very vulnerable right now,” Luke replies matter-of-factly, but he listens, sitting down and leaning into Calum, resting his head on Calum’s chest, arms sliding around Calum’s waist.

They don’t talk while the record plays, and Calum keeps his word, mostly. He looks at Luke a lot, but because of their position, he can’t see Luke’s face — just his messy hair, dark blonde roots showing through the bleached blonde ends; his hand, fingernails still shining silver, on the waistband of Calum’s jeans; his knees, wrapped in ridiculous brown plaid pants, pressed against the top of Calum’s thigh.

Every so often, his hand lifts off Calum’s waist to swipe at his eyes, but it always lands right back where it started, warm and sure. Even without being able to see him, Calum can tell he’s crying the good kind of tears, the culmination of pride and release and every emotion Luke felt while making the album lifting off his shoulders.

The album is perfect, just like Calum knew it would be.

When it ends, they don’t talk about it. They just look at each other, Luke’s eyes still red and puffy, Calum’s shining with tears he absolutely will not shed until he’s home alone, and then they’re kissing again.

They kiss for a long time, tender and unhurried, soundtracked by the fuzzy crackle of the vinyl spinning on the turntable. 

***

“Lonely and sweaty? Really?” Calum’s propped up against the side of Luke’s car, waiting for him to reappear after wrapping up his livestream performance.

“I was,” Luke says defensively, peeling off his suit jacket and throwing it at Calum. He’s wearing a white tank top underneath, so tight Calum can see the outline of the puzzle piece tattoo on his side through the fabric.

“You were certainly sweaty.” Calum averts his eyes from the tattoo and cracks open the car door to toss Luke’s jacket in the backseat.

Fanning himself dramatically with his hand, Luke says, “Thanks for noticing.” 

Oh, that’s just the beginning of the things Calum noticed while watching from the corner of the studio. He’d noticed so much, and it was overwhelming, and he needs to say something about it. He absolutely needs to, or he will lose his damn mind.

“Hey, Luke?”

“Yeah?”

“You sounded amazing. You were so good.” He really had been. Immense pride was one of the many things stirring in Calum’s blood as he watched Luke perform. His voice was insane, not just hitting the notes, but nailing the dynamics, the emotions behind the words, the performance of it all.

“I was awkward.” Luke’s silhouetted by the late afternoon sun slicing through the leaves of the lush trees behind him. He looks luminescent, all golden hair and golden skin in the warm light.

“Yeah, a little,” Calum agrees. “But you always are. It’s part of your appeal.”

Luke scoffs, and Calum steps closer and clasps him on the shoulder, holding him firmly.

“You sounded amazing,” he repeats, looking Luke in the eye, daring him not to accept the compliment. “And you look—” he trails off, hesitating because this is a big thing, and he wants to be clear. He doesn't want there to be any question in Luke’s mind. 

Luke watches him, cocking his head impatiently or maybe eagerly; what’s the difference really, other than a good mood or a bad mood. “Yeah?” he finally prompts.

Calum takes a deep, steadying breath. “The thing is, I’m mad at you.” 

There’s no heat behind it, and Luke softens immediately. “Why?” he asks, lips tilting into a crooked smile. 

“Because,” Calum starts, stepping closer, putting his other hand against Luke’s waist. “You were in there singing all this emo shit, but you sounded so good and you looked so good, all I could think about was getting you alone and getting my hands on you.”

Luke stifles a disbelieving laugh, but he looks pleased, smile breaking into a full-on grin. “Calum,” he chides, “were you thinking about fucking me while I was singing about hopeless depression?”

“Thinking about you fucking me, actually,” Calum replies easily, probably too easily, but it’s Luke, and he’s never really felt like there was anything he couldn’t tell Luke.

“Oh, nice.” Luke’s lips purse and he raises his eyebrows like he’s impressed with Calum’s honesty, fully on board with his fantasy, or possibly both. Hopefully both, that would be ideal.

“Yeah,” Calum agrees. “Felt like a real asshole getting turned on in that situation, but it’s not my fault you’re so beautiful and I love you so much.”

Luke’s mouth is opening to respond, but he stops as he processes the end of the sentence, eyes blinking rapidly, then he tries again. “I’m sorry, you want to fuck me —” he pauses, noticing Calum about to protest. “I mean, you want me to fuck you — because you think I’m beautiful and you love me?” He doesn’t sound surprised, exactly, it’s more in the neighborhood of hopeful clarification. Does Luke have a pit in his stomach too? Have they been in this together far longer than Calum realized?

“Yeah,” Calum says plainly, shrugging. They tell each other they love each other all the time, and they have for years. He might mean it a bit differently now, but it doesn’t feel any different to say it.

“Rad,” Luke says, face slowly lighting up in a smile. “Me too.”

“You too?” Calum’s forehead wrinkles in confusion, and he can tell it’s exaggerated and ridiculous because he’s overcompensating for the fact that his heart is hammering in his chest and the pit in his stomach is suddenly getting a steady drip of warmth filling it slowly. “You— want to fuck me?”

“Sure, that, absolutely,” Luke replies agreeably, eyes swooping over Calum’s face, wide and eager. “But also, I think you’re beautiful and I love you too.”

And yeah, they tell each other they love each other all the time, but Calum can tell Luke means it differently now. It feels different to hear it.

“Rad,” Calum replies, smiling so hard he can feel the muscles in his cheeks straining.

“So should we, like—” Luke’s hands land on Calum’s chest, fingers grazing down the front of his shirt delicately. “— do that, then?” He looks down at Calum mischievously, and if Calum weren’t extremely concerned with the logistics of car sex, he’d drag Luke into the backseat in a heartbeat.

“Should we fuck?” Calum asks, amused. “Right now?”

“Well maybe not now,” Luke says, sliding his hands under Calum’s shirt and running his nails gently along the small of his back. Calum shivers and resists the urge to just fall against Luke, press their bodies together and see what happens next. “Back at mine?” Luke suggests, dipping his head to meet Calum’s eyes boldly. Calum’s so fucking proud of him, all the time. It’s unbearable.

“What about the party?” They’re finally going to properly celebrate Luke’s album with a full-on party. The entire summer feels like it has just been one party after the next with all the birthdays and events, but this is the party that matters the most. This is the one that acknowledges everything Luke has accomplished. 

“Not for hours,” Luke replies breezily. “Plenty of time.”

“Do you know how blown away I am by you? By the fact that you made this album by yourself? By the way you’ve grown and become this whole, like, healthy, functioning human while most of us sat around and did nothing?”

“Ashton made an entire album by himself too,” Luke points out, forehead creased in confusion at the abrupt subject change. Which is fair. Calum shouldn’t be thinking about this right now, not when sex with Luke is on the immediate agenda. But he’s overcome with the need to make sure Luke understands this. It’s more important to him than anything right now, which is insane given the current circumstances. 

“Don’t do that,” Calum says. “This is about you. Your accomplishments stand on their own regardless of what anyone else did.”

“Can we go back to talking about fucking?” Luke pleads, lips pushing into a pout. Incredibly on brand for him, but Calum can’t hold it against him.

Quickly Calum flicks his eyes side to side, then covertly glances over his shoulder, making sure they don’t have an audience. “Whatever you want, hot boy,” he says quietly, leaning in and capturing Luke’s pouty bottom lip in his mouth. 

***

“How are we going to do this?” Luke asks, hastily cracking the back door open for Petunia.

In all honesty, Calum’s not sure his brain can handle the question. Luke is going to fuck him. Like, soon. Very soon. Imminently. How is he expected to form a coherent thought? “This was your idea, genius.” 

Luke grabs Calum by the wrist and determinedly pulls him down the hall toward his bedroom. It sort of seems he already knows how they’re going to do this, which is all very exciting for Calum and his dick. He says as much to Luke as Luke heaves him onto his bed. Jesus Christ, Calum didn’t think he’d be this into being manhandled, but it’s a fun novelty. He’s never been with anyone quite so capable of doing it. He’s been missing out.

“I don’t mean, like, logistically,” Luke says, peering down at Calum from where he’s towering over him at the foot of the bed. “I mean emotionally.”

Calum props himself up on his elbows and stares up at Luke blankly. “Huh?”

Tugging one of Calum’s shoes off his foot without untying it, Luke says, “Like is this the sort of sex where we tenderly look each other in the eye and think about our feelings—” the shoe drops to the floor and Luke reaches for the other. “— or is this the sort of sex where it’s all about coming as hard as possible.” There’s a dramatic thud as Calum’s other shoe drops to the floor.

Interesting question. Such a Luke question, really, to be thinking about it like this before they’ve even started. “Can’t it be both?” Calum asks. 

Bending down to pull off his boots, Luke grunts skeptically. “I don’t know if I can do that, Cal. It’s two different modes.” He crawls onto the bed next to Calum, easing onto his stomach and resting his head over folded hands. 

“Modes,” Calum repeats, flipping onto his side so he can stare at Luke’s profile. A few delinquent curls are tangling in his eyelashes and Calum brushes them back carefully, watching Luke’s eyelashes flutter at the sensation of Calum’s fingers in his hair. “Are you like a sex robot or something? I need to select the desired setting for my ideal fuck? Where’s the button?” He starts pushing his finger against Luke’s skin, behind his ear, along the side of his neck, under his shoulder blade. 

“No robot roleplay for our first time,” Luke groans, stifling a laugh as he scoots closer to Calum and nudges his head into Calum’s chest until he collapses with Luke on top of him. 

Digging his fingers into Luke’s hair, Calum decides to cut to the chase, or they could very easily spend the few free hours before the party talking in circles without ever even getting naked, and that would be tragic. “What are you worried about?”

“After.”

“Hmm.” Calum keeps running his fingers through Luke’s hair, slowly loosening the styled curls, urging them to come undone. “Let’s get after over with now, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“That sure was nice,” Calum says loudly, intentionally flat and awkward. Luke laughs into Calum’s neck and he smiles at the ceiling as he continues, “Pretty cool how we love each other and we just fucked and it was really great, we should do that again sometime.”

“Should we?” Luke asks, genuinely curious. 

“Yeah, if you want,” Calum replies easily. “Preferably, like, forever.” 

“Forever is a long time.” He doesn't say it like it’s a problem. He says it like it’s a promise, pressing his head into Calum’s hand.

“We’re gonna be stuck with each other forever one way or another anyway,” Calum reasons. “Might as well make the best of it.”

“By fucking.” Luke’s fingers tap against the top of Calum’s thigh, exploring the snags and threadbare patches on his distressed jeans.

“And loving.” It’s an important clarification. It’s strange being in love with your best friend, because of course Calum loves his best friend. There isn’t another word for love to encapsulate the distinction he’s trying desperately to make sure Luke understands. Why is that? Why has no one invented the word?

Luke hums thoughtfully, tugging at a loose thread along the edge of Calum’s pocket. “Fucking and loving.”

It’s because he’s Luke’s best friend, because he knows him inside and out, that Calum can tell Luke understands. It’s the way he says it, and the way he kisses Calum’s neck after the words are out, and the way his chest is rising and falling against Calum’s ribs, calm and steady.

“Yeah. That’s nice.” Calum tries to do for Luke what Luke did for him, tries to inject three simple words with all those unspoken things. It’s silly that he’s trying, because it will happen whether he tries or not, because Luke knows him inside and out too.

“Yeah,” Luke says emphatically, like he’s come to some sort of decision. “Okay.”

“Feel better?” Calum smiles as he says it, because he already knows the answer.

“Yeah. If we’re going to do this again, I feel less like this time has to be any certain way.”

“Oh yeah, dude,” Calum reassures him. “We’ll get so many chances to do it any way we want.”

Luke shifts up onto his elbow and looks down at Calum hopefully. Blue Eyes in the light of the late afternoon Lemonade Sky. “Does that include robot roleplay?”

Yeah, Calum thinks, you can have it all. You can have your beautiful best friend looking at you sweetly, making you feel all soft and fond, and you can simultaneously have your obnoxious best friend making awful sex jokes that prevent any one moment from feeling too heavy or loaded. And that’s really what it’s all about, isn’t it?

“Does robot roleplay count as cyber?” Calum asks. 

“I dunno,” Luke ponders brightly. “I bet it does!”

Months have gone by since their road trip to the desert, since Calum dumped coffee on himself while Luke joked about cyber sex. Months have passed, and aside from the fact that they kiss each other sober now, nothing has really changed. It’s a comforting thought somehow, and Calum smiles to himself before he reaches up and pulls Luke in close, kissing him with intention.

***

As it turns out, it can be both.

Luke must think so too, because when he comes he sounds like a malfunctioning voice memo, breathlessly moaning, “Fuck, fuck, it can be both, I love you, fuck.”

Calum doesn’t bother to say I told you so.

***

People start showing up at Luke’s before either of them are fully dressed. Calum is just about to pull his oversized T-shirt back on, and Luke is standing in his closet in his black boxer briefs, perusing the smart trouser section slowly, when the doorbell rings.

Calum slides his arms through his sleeves and goes to answer the door. It’s Ashton, of course. “Hey bro,” he greets Calum brightly, pushing past him into the house. “Where’s the man of the hour?”

“Getting dressed.” Calum shuts the door firmly and traipses after Ashton. “So many smart trousers to choose from, you know how it goes.”

Ashton nods, but Calum can tell he’s not really listening. He’s thinking hard, eyes narrowing as his gaze settles on Luke’s living room ceiling. Calum’s not sure what exactly has given it away, but Ashton’s figured it out. He hasn’t figured out that he’s figured it out, but he’ll get there in a second or— 

“So this is a thing that’s happening now?” he asks, eyeing Calum victoriously as it hits him. “You and Luke?”

“Yeah.” Calum doesn’t really know what else to say. There’s nothing to add. Nothing Ashton doesn’t already know anyway.

“Aw.” He’s looking at Calum like he looks at dogs he passes on the street, and it’s really fucking disconcerting. “Sweet. That’s sweet.”

“You think it’s sweet I just had my dick in Cal’s ass twenty minutes ago?” Luke’s voice reaches the living room a second before he does, a sly smirk on his face as he rounds the corner.

“Sure I do,” Ashton says, dimples digging into his cheeks as he smiles widely, apparently unaffected by the dick-in-ass talk. “All expressions of love and commitment are sweet if you ask me.”

Luke doesn’t seem all that bothered about not managing to get a rise out of Ashton. He sidles up next to Calum and grabs for his hand, pressing his warm fingers between Calum’s cool ones.

That’s where his hand stays all night.

***

Michael finally convinces them all to do a full-band Twitch stream from the studio. It’s been forever — over a year, even — since they’ve all been together, at the same time, for fans to see them. It makes Calum a little anxious, but more than anything he’s excited. He can’t remember the last time he was so excited about a band activity. He’s glad to be getting back into things, yes, but just the idea of being seen with Luke, spending time with him, showing him off to the masses, warms Calum’s blood pleasantly. That’s the part that makes it feel special.

It’s not like he can, like, make out with Luke on the band livestream, as much as he would like to. It’s a delicate thing. But he knows, and Luke knows, and that just makes it feel so much different.

It feels like they’re being obvious, whispering and giggling together in back while Michael and Ashton commandeer the song-ranking process, but that’s the whole thing, isn’t it? They’re not being obvious at all, because they’re acting like they always have. 

Acting like they always have, because Calum’s always been at least a little bit in love with Luke, and Luke’s always been a little bit in love with him.

After they finish the stream and eat their tacos, Luke beckons Calum over to sit next to him at the piano. He tucks one foot under his leg, yellow tie-dyed sock on full display. Calum slides in next to him on the piano bench and experimentally presses a few keys with tentative fingers. 

Behind them, Ashton is arguing aggressively with Michael over the tier placement of Lover of Mine, but Calum barely registers it because Luke is draping himself over him, one arm slung over Calum’s shoulder and the other settling across his waist. He tips his head close to Calum’s ear and asks sweetly, “Can we try to finish your song today?”

“I think we already did,” he replies with a low chuckle. “But yeah. Let’s write it down.”