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Michael doesn’t say it often. Or ever, really. He might say “I love this band,” or he might even tell the other guys he loves them, in a casual “love you, bro!” kind of way. But he doesn’t get sentimental. He doesn’t let on to the depth of how much he cares about his boys.
It’s different with Luke and Calum than it is with Ashton. With Ashton it’s a mutual respect, a push and pull of constant tension that keeps them bringing out the best in themselves and the band as a whole.
With Luke and Calum, it’s something else entirely. When Michael looks at them, his heart clenches painfully and he’s overwhelmed with the need to crush them. His body is just so full of love and affection, it’s the only way he can think to release it, to show them how he feels since he can’t ever figure out how to say it.
He’s not sure why it’s different, or if it means anything that it’s different. He just knows that his chest gets warm when they smile at him, and he’s filled with indescribable pride every time one of them hits the perfect note in a live show or gives a well-spoken answer during an interview. And not just professional things. He’s proud of them for being amazing dog dads, for learning to make cookies without burning them, and for always being kind to their barista no matter how tired they are in the morning.
Sometimes Michael wonders if maybe it’s a brotherly response – he doesn’t have any siblings, so he doesn’t really know what it’s like. But other times, like now, he gets confused.
He’s confused because he’s looking at Luke, sitting with his horrible hunched over posture on the sofa, legs splayed so his shorts ride up his long thighs just a bit. Luke’s wearing his current favorite hoodie, which isn’t really anything special – it’s faded black, big enough to fit his shoulders and arms and therefore a little baggy on the rest of him, and Michael can’t help but think how fucking cozy he looks, like a giant human-shaped pillow that Michael would love to wrap himself around.
He’s driving himself a little crazy thinking about it, and how badly he wants to do it, pretending to scroll through his phone while he really just keeps flicking his eyes over at Luke. Fortunately, Luke is oblivious as always, focused on watching whatever video game Calum is playing on the giant flatscreen in the dressing room. His eyes flutter closed from time to time, eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, and Michael can tell he’s going to drop soon.
All three of them usually do around this time, the slow part of the day between all the morning interviews and soundcheck later in the afternoon. Ashton often manages to stay awake, off meditating or doing yoga or some other hippie bullshit Michael will never understand. The rest of them, though, take the rare opportunity for a nice, long nap in a quiet space where no one is there to bother them.
They’re almost never alone, together. Somehow there’s a difference between sleeping on a bus with half their crew, or sleeping in a hotel room, completely alone, and sleeping with just Luke and Calum nearby. Michael always gets his best sleep when he knows if he opens his eyes, Luke and Calum will be there, but no one else will disturb them. It’s the only time it’s just the three of them, safe and secure together.
“You really fucked up that shot,” Luke mumbles under his breath, gesturing weakly at Calum. “Getting sluggish.” He slumps down even more on the sofa, curving his neck to rest his head against the top of the back cushion. His curls dip into his eyes and Michael is riveted.
“Mm tired,” Calum grumps back at him, smashing at his controller with his lip curled in irritation. There’s the sound of an explosion, and Calum sighs, defeated, then tosses his controller off to the side. Michael sees his face soften when he finally looks back over at Luke, whose eyes have slid shut, arms crossed protectively over his chest. If he’s not already asleep, he will be soon.
Calum seems as enraptured by him as Michael, and he just watches Luke’s chest rising and falling for a few seconds, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Lukey,” Calum whispers, crawling around the L-shaped sofa until he’s on his hands and knees with his mouth next to Luke’s ear. “Can we cuddle?”
Luke doesn’t answer, doesn’t even open his eyes, but he uncrosses his arms and opens them out wide, leaving ample space for Calum to settle against his chest. Calum’s smile widens briefly, and he drops happily into the open space, folding his legs so his knees rest on top of Luke’s thigh, tucking his head in the space between Luke’s shoulder and chest, and sliding one hand into the front pocket of Luke’s hoodie. He sighs contentedly and closes his eyes, twisting his head back and forth a bit to find a comfortable spot. His dark curls start to stick out at odd angles, drawn out by static electricity and maybe just some unknown magnetism to Luke.
Michael can relate. He’s feeling it too. He watches it all with wide eyes, his body sending him all sorts of mixed signals. One second he feels warm and soft, touched by seeing his boys snuggled together. The next, his stomach twists in jealousy, and he wants to march over and tear Calum off Luke by the neck of his shirt, then settle into the gap left in Calum’s absence, claiming his rightful place against Luke’s warm, broad chest.
That’s not quite it either, though, because Calum looks pretty inviting too, face slack and soft, lips parted just a bit as he starts to drift off and his breathing gets slow and deep. He’s wearing a hoodie too, the fucking green one the fans flip their shit over for some reason, but maybe Michael’s starting to understand. Maybe he’s always kind of understood.
He really fucking loves these boys, is the thing. His soft, beautiful boys, bound together on the sofa so tightly, like they can’t stand even a centimeter of air between them while they sleep, even though they spend their entire waking lives with each other already. They’re like this all the time, really, Luke and Calum. Always hugging and touching, whether it’s a fond moment or one where they’re snipping at each other about moronic things that don’t matter in the slightest.
Neither of them are good at hiding their fond smiles in those snippy moments. Luke doesn’t even try, and Calum, so good at keeping a straight face in literally any other situation, loses the fight against his grin within seconds, always easy for Luke and only Luke. There’s something unbearably beautiful about that to Michael, and he desperately wants to be a part of it. Of them, of whatever special thing they have that allows them to love each other so openly and freely.
He’s so lost in his thoughts and the mess of his feelings that he startles and drops his phone into his lap when he hears Luke say his name, quiet and rough with exhaustion. “C’mere Mike.”
Michael tries to respond but his voice comes out raw and garbled from disuse, his intended “what?” sounding more like hhhhgt.
Luke chuckles, a nearly-silent exhale through his nose and a small quirk of his lips, and he crooks a finger to urge Michael over to the sofa. His eyes are still closed against the harsh fluorescent lights, and Calum seems to be fully asleep on top of him. Michael isn’t sure what possessed Luke to invite him in on this moment. He hasn’t in what feels like forever, long past trying to convince Michael to join them after being turned down dozens of times in a row. Is Michael’s desperation to be included in this exact moment palpable?
They used to cuddle a lot, the three of them, but as they’ve gotten older, Michael has distanced himself physically, probably to make up for how intensely he feels the emotional bond. It was confusing, and instead of trying to figure it out, he just backed off; separated himself with inches, then feet.
He has regrets. Every time he sees Luke and Calum share a lingering hug, every time they nap with their heads on each other’s shoulders, he wonders why he has to be so fucking stupid and anxious and scared. Why he can’t just be like them, loving each other the way that feels right and not overthinking it or questioning what it means.
It’s gotten to the point where Michael feels like he’s intruding. He never asks to join in, worried he’ll be an unwelcome bother. But for some reason, Luke’s giving him a chance right now to do exactly what he’s been missing for the past five years. Damn, five years. It really has been a long time.
It’s no wonder, then, that Michael’s body is already lifting up out of his chair and crossing the room to the sofa before he’s fully decided that’s what he wants to do. It’s out of his control now that the option is available to him.
He tumbles down heavily next to Luke, grunting dramatically and intentionally shaking the sofa under his weight. He wants to make Luke laugh again, because then the moment will feel less heavy and charged. It works. (It usually works. Luke’s easy laugh is one of Michael’s favorite things about him.) Luke’s eyes flit open to look down at Michael, soft and adoring, and he laughs quietly. Michael feels on top of the world.
Calum protests under his breath about the disruption, and Luke laughs a little harder. His shaking chest rouses Calum further. “Calm the fuck down and go to sleep,” Calum says.
Michael snickers and flicks Calum lightly on top of the head with his finger. Maybe it’s just an excuse to feel Calum’s hair, thick and soft, the complete opposite of Michael’s own bleach-parched, lifeless hair. Calum flinches but doesn’t retaliate.
The warm weight of Luke’s arm settles around Michael’s shoulders, and he lets it press him down further into the sofa, into Luke’s side, until he’s exactly where he wants to be, head against Luke’s chest, the soft cotton of his hoodie rubbing Michael’s cheek, and the tickle of Calum’s curls against Michael’s forehead where their heads nearly meet over Luke’s heart. It’s a little different than Michael remembers. Luke’s grown into his frame, his chest firm and soft instead of angular and sharp against Michael’s jaw. The difference isn’t so bad. It might even be better than ever.
It’s nice here. Quiet. Warm. The cadence of Luke’s heartbeat and steady breath under Michael’s head is reassuring. Luke’s hand traces absentminded patterns over Michael’s forearm, and he’s probably doing it to Calum too, because that’s just how he is. Michael had almost let himself forget what this was like, letting Luke do what Luke does best – showing his love through gentle touches and pleasantly suffocating closeness. Michael feels it welling up in him, a calming pulse through his veins that relaxes all his muscles and slows the swarming thoughts in his brain.
It’s not just Luke, though. It’s Calum too, the way he can feel Calum’s exhales ruffling his hair, the scent of his minty gum almost a sensation on Michael’s skin, a light prickle that raises goosebumps on Michael’s neck. He snuggles in tighter to Luke’s side to shake off the chill.
He wants to put his hand in Luke’s hoodie pocket, where he knows he’ll find Calum’s. He wants to bind them together in a circle instead of a dotted line. He pushes his fingers in slowly at first, experimentally. They brush up against Calum’s, and he feels Calum’s fingers twitch. He’s about to pull his hand back out when Calum captures Michael’s hand, trapping it between his own hand and the soft layer of cotton covering Luke’s stomach. Rising and falling, rising and falling. All three of them at once.
Michael closes his eyes, basking in the greatest contentment he’s felt possibly ever. Luke’s hand starts working its way up his arm, over his shoulder, until his fingers are brushing through Michael’s hair, combing it gently away from his face. The rush of cool air on his cheek and temple is refreshing and relaxing all at once. Luke’s fingers keep moving, loosely twisting strands this way and that.
Michael could die like this and he’d be happy.
But then, Luke leans down, careful not to jostle them, and places a soft kiss against Michael’s forehead. Michael’s eyes flicker open just in time to see Luke’s lips against Calum’s forehead a moment later, light and delicate; to see the way Calum’s mouth shapes into a smile when he feels it, and to feel the way Calum’s hand squeezes Michael’s softly, just for a moment, as Luke leans back against the sofa and tightens his arms around his boys.
The circle is complete. Michael doesn't intend on breaking it again.