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“Why the hell are you hiding in the bathroom?”
To be fair, Calum wishes he could have hidden somewhere else; the studio bathroom is clean enough, but it’s also not a good hiding place because people were bound to come through here at some point.
He watches Michael move to one of the urinals. “I’m not hiding,” he says.
“I would’ve believed you if I’d found you smoking or something,” is what Michael’s back says to him, and, okay, that’s true. And it would have made him think of something else.
But that’s the whole issue. His brain completely stopped working, he can’t be blamed for not making the smartest rushed decisions with no functioning brain.
“I’m still not hiding,” he defends, or tries to, but he’s probably not too convincing with the way he slumps further against the wall, nails clinking against the tiled floor where his fingers are tapping nervously.
Michael flushes and moves to the sink, raising an eyebrow at Calum in the mirror. “You’ve been there for at least five minutes.”
“That’s barely any time for hiding.”
“Okay, if you don’t wanna tell me, fine,” Michael sighs with an exaggerated roll of his eyes as he dries his hands. It’s a trick to make Calum feel bad, and he won’t fall for it. “But we actually do need you to get started on this song, so can you come back?”
Right, they’re here to work. He can focus on work. He heaves out a sigh and a theatrical groan to show Michael he’d rather stay here and hide, but gets himself off the floor, swiping what little dust might have gotten onto his pants.
When he looks back at Michael, it’s to find him with an all knowing look on his face, lips in a thin line like he’s trying to to laugh. Or smile. Or talk. Fucker totally knows why Calum’s hiding, and he’s going to make Calum say it.
“Alright, let’s go,” Michael says, going to open the door. Calum catches his wrist. “Yeah?”
“Fuckin’–” Calum sighs, feels his cheeks fill with heat. He feels like a teenager. “You helped him out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael says, and the smile slips through the cracks.
“Ashton,” Calum stage-whispers like anyone else could hear.
“Oh, you mean I helped him dye his hair, gotcha.”
Calum wants to slap the smug look off his face. Instead, he whines, says, “You should have told me! I would have prepared better!”
“Oh you’re so fucking dramatic,” Michael says, and then he’s laughing for real, and he’s opening the door and waiting for Calum to follow.
A pout and a missing heartbeat later, Calum is out onto the hallway. He doesn’t think he’s being dramatic, Michael is totally projecting here. Calum has never been dramatic a day in his life.
He just thinks he should have been warned that Ashton was going to show up to the studio looking hotter than ever. That’s one hundred percent reasonable.
He takes a deep breath before reentering the main room behind Michael, but it still catches in his throat when he lays eyes on Ashton again.
Sitting on the carpeted floor, he’s wearing tight ripped skinny jeans and a black shirt that’s probably just as tight. On any given day, that alone would have been enough to make Calum’s brian short-circuit; he’s never been able to resist an all black wearing Ashton, never been able to resist the arms that seem to keep growing in size every day. Just, never been able to resist Ashton, plain and simple.
But now, Ashton’s got hair to match the blood moons on his arms, the soft strands deep red and framing his pale face beautifully. The colour is bright and fiery, and it’s making Ashton’s gorgeous hazel eyes pop almost unnaturally when he looks up at Calum with a beaming smile too bright for the winter.
Okay. Maybe a warning wouldn’t have helped. Even if Michael had been so kind as to tell him beforehand, there’s no way he could have pictured the raging beauty in front of him.
“You okay there, Cal?” Ashton asks with a honey filtered voice that goes straight to Calum’s… everything. Everywhere, it spreads through him, and shit, no, Calum is not okay.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” His own voice sounds rough to the ears. “What are we working on?”
Better to just move on with the day so that he can go home and think about Ashton properly sooner, get rid of all the tension building up inside him.
He sits next to Ashton, and that makes the temperature rise a little with their arms touching, but it’s better that way. He can just pretend he’s too close to look at him, and that’s what he does. He barely turns to him all afternoon, instead focusing on Luke because Luke is ignorant to the whole thing which means he’s nice.
Michael remains ignored except for when he has to talk to him, unable to deal with the teasing look on his face.
When they’re done, Calum is itching to leave. He has to do something about it if he wants to be able to look Ashton in the eyes ever again.
But he’s barely stepped foot outside and waved Luke and Michael goodbye when there’s a hand on his elbow, electric even through the jacket Calum’s wearing.
“Wanna get coffee with me?” Ashton asks, and Calum doesn’t think before turning to face him in his surprise.
It’s safe to say by now that Calum should have been ready. But seeing Ashton’s face like this, so close and open, makes him want to scream or tear down a building, maybe an entire city. And the red is so impossible to ignore, and fuck, it really suits Ashton so well. It is oh so unfair.
He aches to run his fingers through it, see if it’s as soft as it looks.
“Sure,” he says, because he’s not going to turn down an opportunity to hang out with Ashton even if it kills him. Because he’s bound to explode by the time he gets back home.
They make their way downtown together. It's a little cold, and Calum wishes he had a coat as thick as Ashton’s, but at least it dulls his senses enough so that he’s able to converse with Ashton rather normally.
The coffee shop is small, intimate and warm as they step inside. They’ve gone so many times together that Calum finds himself relaxing at the familiarity, the back of Ashton’s red hair not so frightening for a second.
Ashton orders for them both, an iced coffee for himself and the first thing he lands his eyes on for Calum, as always.
They drink them in the room upstairs. It’s always much less crowded, makes it easier to chat and not have to scream and risk someone recognizing their voices. That’s happened before, and they’ve learned to be less boisterous when out and about.
“Once the fans know you have red hair, it’s gonna be so much harder to blend in,” Calum says. He didn’t mean to acknowledge the hair, but his brain to mouth filter is slightly damaged. It’s already filled with the mostly unidentified Never-To-Be-Divulged Ashton thoughts.
“Oh, right,” Ashton says with a frown. He runs a hand through it, like he’d forgotten it was there for everyone to see. “Guess we’ll have to hide.”
“Would be a shame to hide that.”
Ashton blinks, and really, Calum needs to shut up. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. His hands are starting to sweat again, and he can’t look away from Ashton. “So you think it looks good?”
“You know it does.”
“Well I don’t know, you left as soon as you saw me earlier.” Ashton shrugs, but Calum is surprised to see he actually seems a little self-conscious, as if Calum’s opinion mattered that much. “Thought maybe it was so bad you got scared and ran away.”
“Come on, you don’t need me to tell you you look good,” Calum says, kicking at Ashton’s foot underneath the table. “You know you always do.”
A dust layer of pink creeps up on Ashton’s face, and he shrugs, looks down into his coffee with a secret smile. “Always nice to hear it from you, ‘s all.”
It’s not Calum’s fault his heart goes into overdrive at what this sounds like, and it’s not his fault he chokes on his next sip and blurts out, “Well you’re fucking hot, Ash.”
Immediately, he wants to hide again, but all he can do is remain frozen in place and watch Ashton’s eyes get wider as his own do the same.
Sure, they’ve all told each other they look good, complimented the rest of the band on new haircuts or choice of clothing. They’re best mates, of course they do. But Calum can’t recall one time when they’ve called each other hot in a way that sounded anything other than exaggerated or playful.
Calum did not sound like that. He can hope all he wants, but the way Ashton is staring at him with a look of realization on his face can’t be mistaken for anything other than what it is. He’s figured him out, just because Calum’s an idiot, and now he’ll let Michael call him dramatic if he wants because he wants to burn himself to death with Ashton’s stupid hair so he can escape the embarrassment he can feel creeping up.
“Uh,” he starts, using all his willpower not to look away and make this worse for himself. “I mean– you asked?”
Ashton lets out a short, breathy laugh, all the tension releasing from his body. “No, I didn’t.”
“What?”
“I didn’t ask, just said I like it when you do say anything,” Ashton says, and oh, he looks smug now. Calum doesn’t like that one bit. He feels like a deer caught in headlights, and he isn’t ready to run away.
“Well, it’s sort of like you asked, you know, like when someone’s fishing for compliments and–”
“You think I was fishing for compliments?”
Calum groans, feels himself warm up in the face. “No! No, I’m just saying, I only said it cause you said– it sounded like–”
This time, the laugh Ashton breaks into is light and airy, and it catches the attention of the people sitting at the nearby tables. It makes Calum blush harder, and wow, he really is acting like a stupid teenager, this is ridiculous, but Ashton is so beautiful when he’s laughing, and he wants to lean forward and kiss the crinkles by his eyes and grab his face and kiss him and run fingers through his hair and–
Jesus Christ, this is a lot, and Ashton’s laughter is dying down but the smile on his face isn’t. “God, you’re an idiot, but I love you.”
The words pour out of Ashton so easily, so fondly, landing straight into Calum’s heart.
Before he can do so much as blink let alone process anything, Ashton is getting up and putting his jacket back on before he’s tugging on Calum’s sweaty, sweaty hand. Calum barely remembers to grab his own jacket, clutching it with his free hand while Ashton rushes them downstairs and out of the shop.
The noise of the street barely registers, but the cold does, seeping into his veins through his bare arms. Ashton doesn’t let him stop to cover them, pulling Calum up the streets spiritedly. He seems in a hurry, and Calum doesn’t dare stop him or ask where they’re going, not when he’s already struggling to keep up with the pace or with what’s going on.
Ashton enlightens him soon enough. He glances to his right, letting out a victorious ah! and pulling Calum into the small alleyway. It’s probably a private property, but Ashton doesn’t seem to care. He just drags Calum behind a bunch of dumpsters before turning to him.
“For the record,” he starts, slightly out of breath, cold induced pink high on his smiling cheeks, “I think I’m an idiot, too, it wasn’t personal.”
And Calum doesn’t have the time to catch his own breath before Ashton is stealing it, leaning forward and slotting their lips together. Calum feels the warmth of it first, spreading all over his face and then down his chest.
Then, he feels the soft pressure of Ashton’s lips against his, barely moving. He leans back immediately, just enough to look into Ashton’s eyes a little cross eyed, to still feel Ashton’s bottom lip grazing his.
“Oh,” he breathes out, a smile forming on his face. “Yeah?”
Ashton nods, one of his arms snaking around Calum’s waist, bringing him close, offering more body heat. “Yeah. Hell yeah.”
Then he’s kissing Calum again, more intently, more daring. Calum accepts it with his entire being, melting into it fully. His hands fly to Ashton’s hair carding his fingers through it like he’s dreamed of all day, all week, his whole life. It’s soft, and so is the sound Ashton makes at the back of his throat.
Ashton tastes like coffee, which is not what he’s ever imagined but he should have, it makes the most sense in the world. So does the way Ashton’s hands stroke his arms, to warm them or just to feel them, and so is the way they fit together like puzzle pieces, built to seamlessly blend into each other.
He can’t believe this is happening because Calum basically couldn’t keep it in his pants. Because of hair. He is so ridiculous.
“What’s so funny?” Ashton says, leaning back when Calum starts chuckling into the kiss.
“Nothing, just– I was gonna say I blame Michael for this, been blaming him all day for not telling me this is what you ended up doing with your hair, but I think I’m gonna have to thank him instead.”
“Oh, that sucks.”
“It does, doesn’t it? Fuck,” he lets out. He can’t stop laughing, but it’s okay because Ashton’s giggling now, too, and fuck if it’s not the best thing Calum’s ever heard.
(Calum doesn’t thank Michael, but that night, after Ashton has fallen asleep next to him, all sweaty and peaceful, he spends way too long on the phone retelling his day in soft spoken words, and he thinks his best friend understands anyway.)