Work Text:
The first thing Caleb notices when he walks into the Sunrise Records in the mall is the lack of folk-rock playing. Bertrand, one of the managers of the store, has a love for it, so Caleb's gotten used to the crackling sound of Simon and Garfunkel during his shopping trips. Instead, noise rock blares throughout the store, the vibrations making Caleb's teeth feel loose. He sighs. He only has a half hour break, he doesn't have time to leave and come back later.
He beelines to the country section of the store, ignoring the dull pain in his knee as he hustles. He pointedly doesn't look over at the counter, just in case it's someone he doesn't like, like the dark haired girl who called him a pussy for buying a Taylor Swift album. He shifts through CDs until he finds a copy of Modern Day Drifter, and he gingerly picks it up. The cover was the same one his mom had bought him when he was a kid. He takes the CD to the counter.
On the other side is a boy that makes Caleb's stomach hurt. He's pale with deep bags under his eyes and high cheekbones, like a skeleton, but his loose smile makes him look very much alive. His cheeks are marked with acne scars, and he has an off-kilter septum piercing, and he is one of the most beautiful men Caleb has ever seen. It makes him feel sick.
"Hey mate, is that everythin' for ya?" The guy asks, and holy fuck he has an accent.
"Uh, yeah." Caleb stutters out, and puts the CD on the counter backwards, so the guy can scan it. The Brit strokes his short mohawk with one hand, reaching over with a handheld scanning gun to scan the case.
"What kind of music is this? Never heard these songs on the back." He asks, and Caleb is almost surprised by how soft his voice is against his harsh exterior.
"Oh, it's uh, it's country." He answers, and the Brit's nose scrunches.
"Not my move, brother, but you look the part." Caleb looks down at himself, still in his work uniform with a worn flannel over it. He doesn't think the Bass Pro Shops uniform is too bad.
"Thanks, I guess?"
"Wasn't a compliment, mate. Twelve eighty-nine."
-
Caleb's knee is throbbing by the time he gets back to his apartment. It's close enough to his University's campus that most of the other tenants are students, but far away enough that there isn't a ton of partying. It's great. He struggles to get into the elevator, ever so glad that his complex has one in the first place. Once he gets in the door, Caleb feels himself relax.
The main space is empty, which isn't a surprise to him. His room mate, Nigel, had moved in about three weeks ago, and he had literally never seen the guy. He wasn't even sure the other student knew his name. Nigel would leave him post-it notes when there was something to do, but he was never home. Caleb assumed he had a girlfriend or a party streak. It was easier for him anyway.
Caleb hung his keys up on the hook by the door before laying himself on the couch, carefully placing his right knee over a pillow. He let himself relax further as he unwrapped his CD from the cellophane it came in. His CD collection was quickly growing, even if it was nothing like what it used to be. It was one of his only regrets leaving home.
After he left basic training, Caleb had never returned home, knowing his family would never accept his decision to leave the army. It was for the best, anyway. There were other things they would never accept him for. Caleb takes the CD out of the case to look at the art, but just puts the disk back on the top of it, too spent to get back up to put it in his CD player.
He decides he'll eat later, and pulls a blanket over himself, pressing his face tightly in the junction of the cushions, letting sleep take over.
-
Caleb wakes up to music playing, and a few more lights making the room brighter. He blinks a few times, letting his eyes adjust, and then sits up. He sniffs the air, an odd scent filling his nose. Tentatively, he stands up, then hobbles over to where one of Nigel's pink sticky notes is hanging. Written in nearly illegible handwriting, the note reads "hey. saw you were asleep, put ur disk in so u'd wake up to it. hope its ok. thiers a shepaerds (shepards?) pie in the fridge if you want it. its got no meat or cheeses but it does have coriander - just in case u dont like it. sleep well :)"
Caleb re-reads the note a few times while the dinner turns in the microwave. It's nice to think that Nigel thought of him, even if he hasn't met the fellow. A little odd to think that he was cooking while Caleb was asleep on the couch, but hey, it's his apartment too. Who's Caleb to say he can't?
After he eats Nigel's food, which is weird enough to think about- no one cooks for Caleb but himself- he knocks on the boy's door to thank him. He waits for a minute of dead silence before heading to bed.
-
The hot British guy is standing in front of Caleb, and Caleb cant help but stare. He's obviously not working today, having swapped his black Sunrise sweater for a tattered Misfits shirt, the sleeves torn off showing his elegant half sleeve off. Caleb doesn't tear his eyes off of the black flowers and skulls until the Brit shakes his hand an inch in front of Caleb's face.
"Mate?"
"Huh?"
"What, ya never seen a tattoo before?" The punk asks, and Caleb's heart squishes at the way he pronounces tattoo. Like it's tadoo. It shouldn't be adorable.
"Oh, sorry. I just... What can I help you with?" He half asks-half sighs. The other's face changes, as though he's trying to bring himself down from something.
"We all have those days, brother. I was asking if you sell boot laces? One of mine is 'bout to snap." Sunrise says, and Caleb looks down to the punk's boots. He has them ladder laced, a fresh purple lace in one and a heavily frayed yellow one in the other.
"Um, we don't sell the Doc Martens brand laces, but we have some that are similar. I can show you."
He leads the way, and the other man thumps behind him, seeming to be purposely walking heavy. They walk in silence for a stretch of time, before the Brit speaks up.
"How do you feed the fish?" He asks, and Caleb stops in his spot, abruptly enough that the Brit bumps into him.
"What?"
"The fish. Yanno, on the way in, you got all those fish in the big tanks, and the koi in the big thing by the fake bears." He says, like it's obvious.
"Oh, we uh, we do feedings for the koi throughout the day on the hour marks. People like to watch. And they just uh, the managers... they feed the others. Yeah." Caleb stumbles over his words, and the punk's pierced lip curls up.
"Mate, I know I look like I'mma bite your head off, but there ain't no reason to be panicky around me." Sunrise reassures, which honestly does make Caleb feel a little better.
"Um, thanks. It's uh... mostly just... me though." He shrugs. They walk for another minute until they reach the laces. The Brit analyzes the wall for a second before pulling a similar yellow lace set off a hook. He squats down, holding the laces next to his boot to measure the thickness.
"Is there a reason for the colours?" Caleb asks, leaning against the wall, watching the punk. He nods, his spiked hair not moving at all.
"Yeah, it's an old lace code. All the colours got meanings when they're laced like this. Red is Nazi shit and white is supremacist shit, so you gotta stay away from that."
"And what are your colours?"
"Questions, questions, eh? The yellow is anti-racist, and purple is to identify queer folks." He stands back up, playing with the laces in his hand.
"Oh. Cool." Caleb says, and Sunrise beams at him.
-
Caleb gets home from class to three sticky notes stuck onto the kitchen counter. He sighs, and hangs up his jacket. September was coming in fast, and the weather was worse than he would have expected from Michigan. The cold stung his nose and made the hollow ache in his knee worse, and it fucking sucked waiting for campus transportation in the cold.
As he hung his jacket up, Caleb brushed his hand over his room mate's coat. It was a dark denim, and absolutely destroyed with patches. Most of them looked handmade, with shaky stitches and smudged paint, and the collar had spikes of random sizes pushed into it. It was weird for Nigel to leave any of his shit out of his room, so Caleb reveled in the piece for a minute too long before going to read what Nigel wrote.
"My band has a gig at one of the bars downtown 2nite so your gonna here me coming in late- we dont go on until half twelve. sorry :( hope youre day was good! theeres soup in the fridge with coconut, but im pretty sure youre white by the music you listen too so it might be spicy. im white too but my asian friend made it. help yourself"
Caleb sits down with the soup a few minutes later, slowly spilling it out of his spoon back into the bowl. He didn't have much of a social life, not that he ever had one growing up with boot camps and JROTC and his family life. When he left training, he had assumed he'd be able to find himself surrounded by people that were, in some way, like him, but the only friend he's made so far is Kopano, who he has nothing in common with. With a sigh, Caleb pulls his phone out and shoots a text to his friend.
Me - 20:34
Hey K man. Wanna get drinks or something?
The Beast Kopano!! - 20:35
out with friends!! you can come if you want!!! theyre in a rock band
theyre cool!!
plz come
Me - 20:40
idk you know im not great with people
The Beast Kopano!! - 20:41
its only three of yhem!
them*
all of them are cool too!
isabela might not like you
not because youre not cool!!!
your ejust quiet
you're*
Caleb took a minute to weigh his options. Either he could eat the soup in front of him that was rapidly getting cold, play a few days in Stardew Valley, and go to bed, only to be woken up by a drunk room mate in a couple hours, or spend a few hours out and be tired enough he wouldn't be woken up later. He rubbed his hand over his forehead.
Me - 20:52
what bar?
-
This is not his sort of place. Caleb walks in to find the bar lit up entirely by neon red, and the seats filled with people wearing pitch black. The music makes his eyes water, though he's impressed by the voice of the girl screaming on stage. He feels under dressed in a Nebraska hoodie and work jeans, but very few people bat an eye at him. In the corner booth near the back, he can see Kopano gesturing wildly to tell his friends a story. Caleb awkwardly makes his way over.
"Hey." He says, and scratches his arm. Kopano's face breaks into a smile, and he reaches up out of his seat to clap a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Hey buddy! This is Caleb!" Kopano announces, and the small girl that's sitting close to where Caleb is standing moves over so he can sit in the booth.
"Uh, hi."
"And this is Trash Mouth!" Kopano booms, and the girl beside him scoffs.
"I cannot believe that is the name of this band. I find somewhere to play the drums and it is in Trash Mouth. Good God." Her voice is heavily accented and she's intimidating to Caleb already, despite not purposely doing anything to make him feel like that.
"You knew that getting in, love." Caleb's head jerks at the voice he hears. Stuffed in the corner of the booth is the cute Sunrise Records punk. He suddenly wishes he stayed home, but the guy looks over, and Caleb tries his best to look away nonchalantly.
"Hey! Bass Pro Shops! Not your scene, mate? You look uncomfortable." Sunrise comments, reaching a hand over the Asian girl between them. She's looking down at a book with a reading light clipped to the top.
"Caleb would never leave his room if not for a great friend like me!" Kopano jeers, shaking the table after with his hearty laugh. The girl beside him raises a sharp eyebrow, but doesn't comment.
"He's right. No where is really my scene, Sunrise." The last word leaves his mouth, and he can see the expressions of everyone change. Kopano looks bewildered in his over the top obvious way while the girl beside him gives way to amusement mixed with disgust. While the girl next to Caleb doesn't look up, a small grin pulls at the corner of her lips. The Brit looks absolutely fucking delighted.
"What did you just call me?" His voice is squeaky, and Caleb flushes, looking down at the black table in front of him.
"Sunrise. Y'know, like the store." He murmurs, hoping that the punk doesn't hear him.
He does. A sharp squeal comes from the back of his throat, and he near jumps in his seat.
"That's the bloody cutest thing in the world!" Sunrise near shouts, and the weight that came on Caleb's shoulders when he walked in starts to ease.
-
They move to another table twenty minutes later. The booth is too crowded for three people to sit all on one side, so Sunrise and him find a two-person table shoved against the wall, and carry their drinks over. Caleb is slowly sipping on a club soda, while Sunrise is a couple beers in.
"Are you sure you don't want one? You look old enough." Sunrise says, swirling the pint around as though it was going to entice Caleb. He chuckles, and shakes his head.
"No, I'm okay. I'm twenty, and it messes with my medication anyway." Caleb admits. Across from him, Sunrise snorts.
"Yeah, I'm twenty, too. American bartenders can't tell the difference if the fake comes from another country. My picture ain't even me, it's just some sad chap that I yanked it from that works for my mum. If anyone here asks, I'm thirty one." Sunrise's mouth is always curled into this infuriating grin, and Caleb wants to do something about it so bad.
"You don't look that old at all."
"Yeah, but if the picture ain't got all the piercings and the hair, you're basically unrecognizable anyway." The Brit shrugs, and takes another sip. "Now, I'mma ask you a question that you don't gotta answer, 'cause we don't know each other well, and I don' wanna get into your business too quick if you're uncomfortable with that."
A million thoughts seem to rush through Caleb's head at once. It feels like he's coming onto him, but it could be literally anything else too. Caleb doesn't know how to talk to cute boys, let alone cute boys that are openly queer and also incredibly attractive.
"Uh, shoot." He says.
"What meds you on? 'Cause I'm on Zoloft and I can drink a little." Caleb is taken aback by the question, how open and honest Sunrise is about being on an antidepressant. Caleb grew up in a household where mental illness didn't exist, or you were a total loon. Either way.
"Oh uh... I'm on Prozac and Celebrex, and Celebrex is super bad with alcohol." Sunrise nods at him, pierced eyebrows drawing in slightly.
"Uh... Celebrex is for..."
"It's for pain stuff. I crushed my knee in military training a while back and can't afford to get surgery." It's been a while since Caleb spoke about it, and Sunrise's face contorts.
"Oh, military. Suppose you're one of those right-wing wankers, then?" He moves to stand up, and Caleb jolts to grab Sunrise's pale hand.
"Um, I'm not. It's uh... it's one of the reasons I left. My family was. Right-wing, I mean. I don't..." He trails of as Sunrise settles himself back into his seat. Caleb tries to pull his hand away, but Sunrise intertwines their fingers, leaving their wound hands on the table. His fingers are cold and covered in chunky rings, and Caleb can't look away.
-
They're lying in a field a week later. Sunrise has a motorcycle, which Caleb thinks is the coolest thing ever, which is how they ended up down some random country road. Caleb is sure this is trespassing, but the punk's couldn't-give-a-fuck attitude is becoming an influence on him.
Caleb doesn't know what the fuck he's thinking. He's been hanging around this over the top punk anarchist boy for a week, and he doesn't know his name. Every time Caleb asks, Sunrise tells him to call him whatever he wants. Cute, but frustrating.
"So, what is this again?" Caleb asks, looking at the Tupperware Sunrise had all but thrown in his lap.
"Lunch." He says, raising his eyebrow. He does that a lot.
"What's in it?"
"Food. Blimey, Cal, you're tryna kill me." Sunrise complains, opening his own container. Privately, Caleb smiles at the nickname.
Wherever Sunrise goes, silence leaves. Everything about him screams. His clothes would be able to do the talking for him, but his mouth loves to. His voice booms and his laugh echoes, his boots thud with a heavy step and his chains jingle as he moves. It makes Caleb feel like, in a way, he's wrapped in Sunrise's world when he's with him.
"Um, can I ask why you do the whole punk thing?" Caleb asks, moving his fork around the meal. It's a stir fry on white rice, and he's pretty sure there's tofu in it. His father had a lot of strong opinions on that. Caleb digs in.
"I mean... why not?" Sunrise jokes, but something in his face changes. "I grew up in a rubbish family, but we were rich as all hell. My parents never saw the issues that I did with the middle class and the minorities, so they sent me to a boarding school to change my opinions." He stops for a moment, and Caleb says nothing, letting him take his time.
"The other boys there were some cruel mother fuckers. It... It was a really dark time for me. When I graduated, I applied for a student Visa here, sold all my expensive shit to pay for it, changed my last name, and left. I guess that the way of lookin' came to me, I was shopping from thrift stores for a new wardrobe after I sold everything, and uh... I dunno. It's a good way to express things, I think." He gestures with one hand to his appearance.
"I'm sorry that shit happened." Caleb says, shifting closer.
"Everyone deals with something." Sunrise notes, and throws an arm over Caleb's shoulder. He leans into the punk's side.
"So what do you think of me? With how I dress?"
"Do you want the truth or me to sugarcoat it, love? This could go either way." Sunrise asks, smirk playing on his lips. Caleb wants to kiss it off, but a sick feeling pulls at his stomach. He looks away.
"The truth."
"You dress like someone who hasn't figured himself out yet, still running away from bein' mama's boy."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
For a moment, they sit accompanied only by the sound of the world around them, and their breathing. Caleb tries not to think too hard. Sunrise is right. Caleb doesn't know himself.
He's afraid he won't like the person he finds.
-
He wakes up not too much later, by the look of the sky. He's leaning back against Sunrise's chest, who has his arms around Caleb, playing with his phone in front of him. It's a weird way for them to sit, given that though Sunrise is taller than him, Caleb's probably got eighty pounds of muscle over the punk. Still, he feels safe as he opens his eyes.
"Hey." Sunrise's voice rumbles in his chest.
"Hey." Caleb doesn't move to get up, and Sunrise locks his phone, throwing it into the grass beside them. His hand reaches up to brush at Caleb's hair, which is just starting to grow out of the buzz cut he's had as long as he can remember. It's nice, the feeling of someone slowly stroking their hand through his hair. His scalp tingles in a nice way, like each touch Sunrise gives him is slowly quieting the voices in his head saying that this is wrong.
"You snore."
"I know."
"It's cute." Sunrise leans down, and suddenly Caleb is on fire. He bolts up from the punk's chest, slamming the crown of his head into the punk's nose as he goes.
"Fuck!" Sunrise yelps, his hands reaching up to cradle his face. Blood drips off of his hands, and Caleb keels over a few feet away, trying to stop his lunch from coming up. He's shaking, his arms not feeling strong enough to support the rest of his body as he stares at the grass.
On one level, Caleb knows he's not wrong, he knows he's not sick for having these feelings; but the taunting voice in the back of his mind refuses to stop telling him what a fuck up he is. What a fucking pervert he is. What a creep he is. How he should have never left basic training and followed his orders like a good solider, like a good son, instead of becoming a fucking psychology major.
"I'm sorry." He sobs, the words sounding like a growl in his chest. He puts his forehead to the ground.
"God damn! Never been rejected like that before!" Sunrise laughs, voice nasal. Caleb looks his way, and watches as the punk slowly slides his septum piercing out.
"I'm so fucking sorry." Caleb croaks.
"I shoulda asked before I made a move." Sunrise says, wiping his bloody hands on the grass. Caleb falls back and sits properly again, pulling his knees close. Sunrise passes him his water bottle.
"I don't-"
"Drink." Sunrise grunts, and Caleb immediately obeys. The water makes him feel better, like it's bringing his temperature down. It feels like it hits his stomach and another wave of nausea hits him, but he knows he won't throw up. Sunrise watches him with dark eyes, and Caleb feels shitty again.
"Mate, I didn't... I thought we had something going there, if I-" Sunrise starts, and Caleb cuts him off, waving a hand.
"No! No, we do! We do... have something here." Caleb gestures between them, "I just... I've never..."
"What, never kissed a bloke?"
"I've never been with anyone. I just- I never... God, I'm just so fucked up." His throat feels like it closes, and Sunrise wraps his skinny arms around him.
"That's okay. Let's get you home, okay?"
-
They don't go home. They go to a house that's pretty close to student housing, in a small neighborhood. Caleb doesn't want to let go as they pull in the drive way, his arms locked around Sunrise. He lets go anyway.
"This is Ran's and Isabela's house. They have a spare bedroom that I crash in sometimes when I'm too knackered or drunk off my arse." Sunrise says, looking back at Caleb with a soft expression.
"Okay."
-
Ran answers the door.
She doesn't say anything and steps out of the way.
Sunrise unties Caleb's boots for him and leaves them on a mat on the door.
He leads him to a bedroom.
And Caleb sleeps.
-
Caleb sees Sunrise in the campus library a few days later.
He leaves.
-
Nigel's left a note for him again. Caleb shuffles over to it, exhaustion heavy in his bones. He's felt like shit since everything that went down between him and Sunrise. How Sunrise walked him to the bus stop, asking again and again if he wanted a ride home. How Caleb said no. How he didn't even have the guy's number.
He went to talk to the school's therapist about his issues. Of course, they stem from his family life. What doesn't?
The pink sticky note is stuck on the fridge, and Caleb squints at it. "I've had a rough week. IK we dont hang out but do you wanna tonite? ill order pizza and we can watch seinfeld or friends or whatever shitty american sitcom u want. just need a friend rite now. be back around 7."
Caleb needs a friend right now too.
-
He's sitting in the apartment at six-forty five, anxious as hell. By the food Nigel's made for him, Caleb's made an assumption that the guy is a vegan, and he went out and bought some vegan-type binge snacks so they can eat like shit and wallow in pity. He's pulled Netflix up on the shitty Goodwill TV in the living room, and he's nervously chewing on his nails until he hears a key go into the door.
Caleb looks over the end of the couch, ready to meet his infamous sticky-note room mate only to meet eyes with Sunrise. The punk looks just as shocked as Caleb feels, ice in his veins. Sunrise takes his jacket off and Caleb recognizes it.
"Nigel?" He asks, tentatively.
"Yeah." Sunrise confirms, closing the door with his boot. They continue to stare at each other for a minute until Caleb snorts.
"Your fucking name is Nigel?" He tries to hide the amusement building behind his ribcage. Nigel raises his eyebrows and then lets himself chuckle.
"Yeah. Got the fucking short end of the stick there, eh?" He jokes, lifting his foot up high to untie his boot.
"I don't know what I expected. Darren or Justin or... I don't know, not Nigel." Caleb comments, sliding down the couch to look at him.
"Fuck, you can keep calling me Sunrise for all I care." He shrugs. Caleb takes him in for a moment. Ripped black jeans. A Crass shirt that was probably white at some point. Corgi socks.
"I missed you." Caleb admits, looking at his hands, "and I want to hang out again, I'm just... new to letting myself feel like this." Nigel crosses to sit on the arm of the couch.
"I missed you, too. You can take all the time you need, and we don't need to talk about anything tonight." He slides down and pushes himself close against Caleb, pulling part of Caleb's blanket into his lap.
"Okay." Caleb smiles, and drops his head on Nigel's shoulder.
And it's as simple as that.