Archive of Our Own

“Well? Don’t you want to ride the metaphor?” 

The nonsensical question comes free with a quirk of Luke’s eyebrow and a coy tilt of his head, hand outstretched towards The Chair. 

The Chair That Spins. 

The very same one that Luke has been trying to get Calum to sit in for literal days now.

Every time they come into the studio, Luke begins his charade of ‘subtly’ sneaking glances at Calum, then at The Chair, and when he thinks Calum isn’t looking - but still knows that Calum is, in fact, aware of his antics -  Luke will slowly inch The Chair towards wherever Calum happens to be.

Sometimes Calum takes refuge on the sofa in the corner, safely plonking his ass in a stable chair that Luke can’t fuck with, and watches out of the corner of his eye as Luke tries various different tactics to bring The Chair closer to Calum. 

Luke will pretend to get up to stretch out his arms, shaking out his wrists and rolling his neck, as his Converse-clad foot slowly toes the wheely chair over towards Calum, only gaining a few inches before Calum looks over and Luke shuffles away with an overly innocent pout on his lips and a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Other times, Calum will purposefully sit as far away from The Chair as he possibly can, hiding on the sofa on the other side of the room to set a challenge for Luke. And it’s wildly entertaining, seeing how Luke will put on a show of lazily sitting in The Chair and wheeling it closer, like he’s looking over Michael’s shoulder at the screen, listening and nodding at all the right times to make it look like he’s fully engaged in the conversation at hand. Only Calum sees the small glances Luke throws his way, cheeky dimples teasing Calum as if to say, look how far I’m getting with this chair. You thought that sitting all the way over here would save you? Well, you were wrong! Ha!

Calum doesn’t even have anything against The Chair itself. It’s honestly a pretty good chair, as far as wheely, spinny, potentially hazardous chairs go. He just refuses to sit on it purely on the basis of principle. Luke has found something to ‘annoy’ Calum with, and it’s Calum’s duty to be as ‘annoyed’ as possible. (Even when he’s never been more endeared by anything in his whole life.)

It’s fun to have a little ruse going between them again, something to fall back on after not seeing each other in person for so long. All these old habits that started years ago, and are hard to break, because they’ve accidentally become a staple part of how Luke and Calum interact. 

It also happens to be a great way of ganging up to annoy Michael and Ashton as much as possible. That’s always a bonus.

They’re all in the studio again today, working some more on Carousel. Calum chose the safety of the couch in the corner, and Luke immediately sat down next to him, like he always does. It took a while for Luke to even get to the business of Chair Antics, but when he did, it wasn’t exactly what Calum had been expecting.

Luke bounded up from his spot beside Calum with purpose. He was on a mission, evidently, as he marched up to The Chair and pushed it back over to Calum’s side of the room with little fanfare, then promptly offered Calum a chance to ‘ride the metaphor’. Whatever the fuck that means.

“The metaphor?” Calum asks. He tilts his head curiously and blinks up at Luke, who is still pulling a face that feels weirdly reminiscent of a showman working at a carnival. There’s always a whole rack of wonderful prizes to choose from, and all you have to do is play this very easy game! It’s always fun! Everyone’s a winner!

Calum isn’t convinced.

“Yeah. The metaphor,” Luke says, finally dropping his showman façade and plonking back down onto the sofa next to Calum with a long-suffering sigh.

Michael and Ashton are sitting over at the desk, heads bopping in unison as they play back some of the drums that Ashton had recorded for Carousel the other day, leaving Luke with nothing better to do than to antagonise Calum with The Chair, and he really is throwing his heart and soul into it today.

“The lyrical metaphor. Of a carousel, y’know?” Luke pokes at Calum’s shoulder a few times, then quietly huffs in defeat when he doesn’t get much of a reaction out of Calum; other than the look of mild annoyance that he puts on, just to disguise the pure fondness threatening to burst out of his chest. “The whole thing of, like, being on a carousel? Myyy life’s just a carousel spinning arouuund.” Luke sings the last bit quietly, in a gruff, cartoony kind of southern accent. Calum chuckles in response, and Luke grins proudly, happy to have made Calum laugh.

“Oh, the metaphor! Of course, I get it now,” Calum says, nodding his head. The nodding quickly turns to shaking. “Still not getting on that fuckin’ chair, though. I don’t want to get spun around until I puke.”

Luke leans closer, slouching down so he can rest his chin on Calum’s shoulder and look up at him with the biggest puppy dog eyes he can muster. Calum stares resolutely ahead. He won’t give into that pout. Not yet.

“But Cal, the metaphor,” Luke whines quietly, mustering all the broken-heartedness he can. “I promise I won’t make you puke. I’ll stop whenever you want. Please?”

Calum peeks at Luke’s pleading face from the corner of his eye, then flicks his eyes over to The Chair. It is a pretty comfy looking chair, and it has armrests, so at least Calum will have something to hang onto for dear life when Luke tries to spin him into outer space.

“You’ll stop whenever I want? You’re not gonna torment me with The Chair?” Calum eyes Luke cautiously, and Luke grins devilishly.

“Of course not,” Luke replies in a tone that has warning stickers all over it. Calum shouldn’t be trusting anyone with that much mischief in their eyes. And yet.

Luke suddenly shakes off the evil grin and he dips his head, fluffy blond curls falling over his eyes. Calum thinks about brushing them away, but doesn’t. He just watches as Luke runs his painted fingertips over the outer seam on Calum’s jeans, finding a loose thread and rolling it between his thumb and index finger as he quietly mutters his next confession.

“I also may have been hyping up your ass to The Chair.”

Calum chokes on a laugh. “What? ”

Calum can hear the smile in Luke’s voice when he adds, in a jokingly sultry kind of tone, “You’re ass is great, Cal,” then he looks up from behind his wave of blond curls and Calum kind of loses his breath a little because Luke’s eyes are so blue and the freckles on his nose are so kissable and he’s just joking about how great Calum’s ass is with this strange look in his eyes and it’s all a bit much for Calum right now. 

So Calum quickly lifts his chin and drags his gaze away from Luke’s face, assessing Luke’s messy hair instead, and he shifts his arm along the back of the sofa so he can reach to thread his fingers through the curls at the nape of Luke’s neck, scratching gently at the dark roots starting to come through under the bleached tips.

“My ass is so great that you told a chair about it?” Calum says through a laugh, fingers still working through Luke’s soft hair, which must feel good because Luke’s eyes slide shut and he hums in response.

“Well, if all goes to plan, the chair is gonna get real up close and personal with your ass, so I figured…” Luke trails off as Calum drags his nails along a particular spot that makes Luke tilt his head back into Calum’s hand, lips parting slightly as he just fucking presents his neck for Calum’s wandering gaze, like Calum has the self-restraint to not stare at the way Luke’s throat bobs when he swallows and the flecks of stubble decorating his jaw. 

That would probably feel great under Calum’s hand. Or his lips. Or maybe even his tongue. Under his anything, really.

“I thought I’d get the chair all excited for your amazing ass first,” Luke continues, slowly. He opens his eyes and rolls his head to the side to look up at Calum, making Calum’s hand fall from his hair to rest on his shoulder instead, and there's a warm feeling hiding behind the shades of blue in Luke’s eyes that is so… so something. It’s very something. Luke smiles at Calum crookedly, slow but deliberate when he adds, “Then it’ll be more willing to give you a nice ride.”

Calum shivers at the edge in Luke’s voice, the rougher undertones catching on the softer dips of his accent. Calum sits up a little straighter and throws his gaze back to the chair so he doesn’t have to acknowledge the swirls of warmth that Luke seems to be creating in his stomach, and he quickly tugs a smile onto his face. It’s a fond smile, he knows, but Calum doesn’t know what else he’s meant to do. It’s this or lick the stubble on Luke’s chin. So yeah, the fond smile will probably do for now.

“Okay, so. You told the chair, in great detail I hope, about my amazing ass,” Calum clarifies. Luke nods his head vigorously. “And now you want to… spin me around in it?” Calum holds up his fingers and moves it around in a spinning motion, looking back at Luke with an eyebrow raised questioningly. Luke grins brightly in response.

“Yep! This is the grand finale to my elaborate plan.”

“Elaborate plan,” Calum deadpans.

“Yes. It was very elaborate. Very eloquent, too, I think.” Luke makes quick work of standing up and hauling Calum along with him, and Calum isn't phased at all by the rapid movements as Luke manhandles him into The Chair. Warm hands on his shoulders, calloused fingertips brushing his collarbones, guiding him until Calum plonks down in the chair, and he leans back to settle in and yeah, it is just as comfortable as Calum thought it would be. 

Calum smiles placidly up at Luke, but the placidity doesn’t last long when he sees the smirk on Luke’s face.

“Luke. Please. Don’t make me puke.” Calum isn’t above begging when he sees the cartoon-villain grin spreading across Luke’s face, hands on his hips as he proudly surveys his work so far.

“You better hang on. I think the chair is getting pretty excited about your ass.”

It’s at this moment that Ashton’s focus falls on the pair of them, and his voice sounds across the room. “What the fuck are you guys doing?”

Luke’s grin simmers down into something more neutral as he explains, “I’m tormenting Calum. What the fuck are you doing?”

Ashton gestures vaguely at Michael and the laptop and buttons. “Work. Music. Important things.”

“Yeah,” Michael chimes in. “Things more important than tormenting Calum! At least, I think they’re more important,” he mutters to himself, head bent down towards his screen.

“Yes, they’re definitely more important.” Ashton reassures him, already turning back to Michael’s laptop. “This is more important than any kind of tormenting Calum shit. Also, Mike’s almost finished putting this demo together, so we’ll play that for you guys soon.” He throws a quick grin over his shoulder, shaking his head and rolling his eyes when he says, “Enjoy your tormenting.”

Calum turns back to see Luke, still hovering beside the chair with a gleeful smile on his face.

“Tormenting does sound a little extreme, doesn’t it?” Luke ponders as he bends down and hoicks one of Calum’s legs up, apparently set on folding him up into the chair himself.

“Dude, just lemme me-” Calum swats away Luke’s hands, bracing himself on the arms of the chair so he can fold up his legs beneath him, curling up into the smallest ball of flannel and beanie that he can manage. He wraps his arms around his knees to secure himself and nods up at Luke, trying to tamp down his smile so he can properly commit himself to the bit. “Ready for take off, Captain.”

“Fuck yeah, I get to be Captain!” Luke straightens up and puffs out his chest, which just strains his already thin, white shirt across his chest even more. The rips just below the neckline stretch out to the point that Calum is surprised they aren’t tearing apart completely. Not that he would complain about the view if they did. The more chest hair on display, the better.

Luke continues his Captain’s monologue with his chest puffed out the entire time, and Calum listens dutifully. “Okay passengers, please keep all your limbs inside the vehicle at all times, we will be moving at speeds never-before known to man, so maybe, like- hang on, I guess?” Luke breaks character a little, shoulders dropping as he looks down at Calum. “Don’t go flying off the chair, please. No funky shit. I don’t wanna accidently decapitate my first passenger today.”

Calum laughs brightly, giving up on the bit for now. Luke’s crooked smile and thread-bare shirt are becoming an intoxicating mixture for Calum. He can't really control how his mind and his heart and the blooming warmth in his chest react to this lethal combination.

“I promise not to willingly take a dive off the chair, Luke. How would I get another go on your ride if I end up decapitated and bleeding out on the floor?” Calum pouts and tilts his head, and Luke gives him a wide but close-lipped smile in response, dimples flashing in and out as his lips curve upwards.

“Exactly. I’d hate for you to miss out on a second go on this fucking amazing ride.” And there it is again. That subtle roughness slipping into Luke’s words, raking its nails down the back of the vowels and dragging the consonants apart, just barely, but enough for Calum to be able to feel the texture of Luke’s voice somewhere around his sternum.

"Yeah, that really would be tragic," Calum says a little too sincerely, shifting around to get in the most comfortable and safe position as Luke leans over him and grips one hand on the back of the chair, one on the armrest. He really is getting ready to spin the shit out of this chair. Oh god. 

"You ready?" Luke asks one more time. He's leaning close enough for Calum's gaze to catch on the white fleck on his tooth when Luke grins broadly. Calum hunches down into a ball to hide his smile and he nods as best he can, voice muffled by his flannel when he replies.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's spin."

"Okay!" Luke is already kicking back into his Carnival Showman mode as he starts off slowly pushing the chair around, gradually gaining speed. 

The room passes by in flashes. Calum gets a blur of the potted plant beside the sofa, a smudge of what must be Michael and Ashton hunched over the control panel, then a large, paintbrush-like swipe of Luke’s ripped shirt as Calum spins around and around.

Luke stays true to his word and doesn’t spin Calum around fast enough to make him puke, which is no small relief for Calum. He just gets to curl up into a ball and smile to himself, enjoying the ride and watching the world blur around him like it’s slowly morphing into a Monet painting with every rotation of the chair.

Then, all of a sudden, there’s music blaring from the speakers - a soundtrack to accompany the visuals of paint splatters that the room has gradually turned into. Calum’s smile only grows as he listens to the demo of Carousel playing over the speakers, and Calum purposefully unfocusses his eyes until everything spinning past him is reduced to smudges of colour.

The warm wood of the walls. The small, flashing lights on the control panel. The swaths of white, wrinkled fabric, shifting as Luke pushes the chair around each time it passes him.

And then, Calum listens. To the demo, to Michael singing along happily, to Ashton drumming his fingers against the desk, to Luke’s vague humming that naturally harmonises with his recorded vocals. It all blends perfectly with the raw piano chords of the demo, layered beneath the drums and smooth guitar.

Calum watches everything spinning past in a blur, and he listens to the unpolished demo, and soon enough, everything feels like it’s being pulled apart at the seams and re-stitched into one master painting in Calum’s mind.

Flicks of paint to match the soothing inflections of Luke’s voice in the first verse. Some heavier brushstrokes when the drums kick in during the chorus. Thick lines that define the bassline in the next verse, followed by finer details to fill in the smooth guitar of the bridge. Swipes of lighter shades to match the layered, harmonising vocals just before the outro, and voila. The painting is almost done. 

Then it’s all over, and the chair slowly comes to a stop. 

Calum can hear Michael saying something about the drums to Ashton, and Ashton saying something about the production to Michael, and even though Calum is only catching a few words here and there, he can tell by their excited tones that they’re just throwing compliments back and forth. As they should. They’ve all made something to be proud of.

Luke’s hand lands on Calum’s shoulder, making sure he’s steady before he extends another hand to help haul him up.

“See,” Luke smiles. “Didn’t make you puke.”

Calum blinks up at him, still trying to get his bearings. The spinning may not have been fast but everything still feels like it’s swaying around Calum, tearing apart at the edges and blurring into something else completely, like the rips in Luke’s shirt.

“Don’t count your eggs before they’ve hatched, mate. There’s no guarantee that I won’t puke yet,” Calum replies as he unfolds his legs and grabs hold of Luke’s hand, letting Luke do all the heavy lifting to get him back on his feet.

Luke manages to get him upright, but then Calum is giggling and immediately pitching forward towards Luke’s chest, bracing a hand over the rips in his shirt so he doesn’t topple over completely. Luke starts laughing too, dropping his hold on Calum’s hand so he can stabilise him at the waist instead.

"I mean," Luke starts, then has to fight off another round of giggles so he can finish, "If you haven't puked by now, then I'm pretty sure you're gonna be fine." He tries to give Calum what is probably meant to be a reassuring pat on the back, but his hand gets all tangled in Calum's unbuttoned flannel, and he ends up having to flick the fabric out of the way so he can slide his hand underneath it instead. Calum can feel the warmth of Luke's fingers pressing against his waist. He tries his best not to spontaneously combust.

Calum shakes his head, which makes the world tip violently to the side. He can feel the brush of Luke's breath against the shell of his ear when he chuckles at Calum, hauling him upright again by the grip on his waist, bringing him back to eyelevel with Luke's lips. Which is fine and all. Doesn't bother him the slightest. 

"Well, if I eventually puke, I hope you'll be kind enough to hold back my hair for me," Calum says, grinning happily as he leans his weight against Luke fully, resting his head on Luke's shoulder. Luke grunts quietly as he holds Calum up, but doesn’t make any move to push Calum off.

“I don’t think your hair is long enough for me to actually hold back yet. Maybe I should be rescuing your beanie from the puke, not your hair.”

Calum hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, I ‘spose you’re right.”

“Hey, Cal,” Michael’s voice cuts in. Calum lifts his head off Luke’s shoulder so he can look over at him. “Get over here,” Michael demands sweetly. “Please. I need your brain.”

“Yeah yeah, okay, I’m coming.” Calum gives Luke a final pat on the arm as he extracts himself from his grip, holding his hands out and spinning around on the spot to test out his own stability. He doesn’t fall over immediately, so that hopefully that means he should be able to walk in a straight line now. 

Luke retracts his hand from its hiding place under Calum’s flannel and lets him go with a casual whack on the ass, which doesn’t phase Calum in the slightest. He knew Luke was going to do that as soon as he turned around, just like Luke knew from the very first day at the studio that he was going to spin Calum around in The Chair.

Because that’s just how they function together. Intertwined plans, never saying no. It’s hard to change those habits now, and Calum isn’t sure that he even wants to. What they have going on is too comfortable to give up now.

So Calum just raises his eyebrows at Luke over his shoulder, and Luke shrugs and twists his lips to the side in response, as if to say, what else was I gonna do? You were asking for it.

☼ ☼ ☼

The world is swaying again, but at least it’s not just in Calum’s head now.

It’s actually the chair this time. A different chair, the swinging seat in the courtyard; Luke managed to wrangle Calum into this one as well.

Calum knew as soon as they finished up recording in the studio and stepped outside with drinks in hand. He saw the very moment that Luke’s gaze fell to the swing, and then danced back over to Calum with pure glee in his eyes. The little shit. He’s going to be the death of Calum.

“You know how you wanted to go for another ride earlier?” Luke had asked as he pulled Calum along by the hand, leading him to the swing and securing him with a hand on his shoulder when they sat down together.

Of course Calum wanted to go for another ‘ride’, and maybe he’s had a few too many drinks and it’s his tipsy brain doing the talking now as he reclines on this beat-up swing with Luke sitting beside him looking devastating in his ripped shirt and glassy smile, but Calum is thinking about all kinds of things he could be riding right now. It’s a short list, and the swing definitely isn’t at the top.

“Are you actually gonna puke this time?”

Luke leans closer when he asks the question, his teasing tone all blurry at the edges. Calum loves the way Luke talks when he’s drunk. He loves the way he talks all the time, actually, but drunk Luke really is a sight to see. Or, y’know. A thing to hear. Whatever.

Calum tugs the corner of his mouth down and gives Luke a dutifully annoyed look, but it’s hard to make it convincing when Luke is just sitting there, looking painfully alluring in his worn-out white shirt and his messy hair and sweet grin. Even the fairy lights strung along the top of the swing have it out for Calum, distracting him with the way Luke’s eyes sparkle and reflect the light back, and the warm crimson of the sunset bleeding out on the horizon is washing one side of Luke’s face in a soft, warm glow. Kind of makes Calum want to stroke Luke’s cheek. It looks so soft and squishy in this light.

“No. I’m not gonna puke.” Calum manages to keep a straight face. 

“I dunno, man. You kinda look like you could hurl any second now.” Luke tugs one leg up onto the seat so he can twist around and sit sideways, facing Calum, his other foot staying on the ground so he has some leverage to keep swinging the seat slowly.

When Calum looks past Luke and all the potted cacti and plants in the courtyard, he can see the last rays of the dying sunset flaring out over the sky in the distance, throwing the desert into cool darkness and painting the sky a vibrant peachy colour. There’s some birds still flitting around, their silhouettes performing what looks like a choreographed dance as their shrill cries echo back and forth through the air.

Luke slides into Calum’s field of vision when he leans closer, pausing the seat swinging and squinting up at Calum’s face.

He’s up to something. Calum is not impressed.

“Maybe I should…” Luke lifts his free hand and brushes a knuckle along Calum’s cheek, shivers erupting down Calum’s spine as Luke’s hand makes its way towards the back of Calum’s head. He threads his fingers through the curls peeking out the bottom of Calum’s beanie, tugging gently, and Calum fights off a groan as his eyes slide shut. It’s not his fault that he’s a little drunk and Luke has so many tantalising slivers of his chest on display and is touching Calum like this.

Then, Calum does gasp out loud. Not because having his hair played with feels nice, but because his head is suddenly very cold .

And his beanie. It’s in Luke’s hand.

“Motherfucker!” Calum exclaims. “Why’d you steal my beanie?”

Calum is, in fact, enraged by this, but he also has absolutely no energy to tackle Luke and get his beanie back. Let the bastard have it.

“I’m saving it!” Luke explains, cautiously holding it close to his chest and leaning back for a moment, waiting for the attack from Calum that never comes, and once he deems it safe, he unfolds the beanie from his chest and tugs it onto his own head, squashing his fluffy curls down. Calum tries to bite down his smile but god, that is so cute.

“Saving it from what?” Calum asks, switching his drink to his other hand so he can reach out towards Luke, slowly and carefully so he doesn’t think this is a sneak attack to get his beanie back. He’s suddenly decided that his head is warm enough as it is now.

Luke looks at him with wide eyes, alarmed, until he sees that Calum is smiling at him softly. No danger at present.

“I’m saving it from your puke, like I said I would.” 

Calum laughs. It’s bright and it’s loud because Luke’s proud confession over the safety of Calum’s beanie is just so fucking cute, and Calum would love to just lean in and kiss that sweet smile off Luke’s lips, but there’s something in the back of his mind telling him that he shouldn’t, so he just reaches up and adjusts the beanie for him, tugging it down to keep Luke’s ears warm, swiping hair out of his eyes so Calum can see them.

And the way those blue eyes are looking at him now. There’s flashes of that heat from before building in them, which is kind of intense. Calum doesn’t usually get this look from Luke. Only sometimes, when they’re a little drunk or a little high and the rules become fuzzy and looks aren’t meant to matter as much.

But this warm, focussed, almost eager look. Being directed at Calum.

Huh. That's something new.

“Thank you,” Calum says, a little too sincerely. “For saving my beanie.” 

Calum maps the starbursts in Luke’s eyes, tracing over the shadow of his eyelashes fanning out across the tops of his cheeks, covering his freckles. He can feel Luke doing the same thing, a hazy smile curving his mouth as his eyes dart all over Calum’s face, pausing on his lips for a long moment before being forced up to meet his eyes again.

Calum isn’t sure what to think or do right now. He usually tries not to think, especially when it comes to these moments with Luke, so maybe he should do that now. Just gloss over it. Move on.

“Anything for your beanie, Cal,” Luke adds, before Calum can say something, anything to dismantle the hungry look that he knows must be showing in his brown eyes now.

Heavy eyelids blinking slowly at Calum. Head tilting towards the light enough to illuminate the side of Luke’s face. Shadows of curls falling onto his forehead and his jawline drawing a sharp shadow along the side of his neck.

And his voice. Luke’s fucking voice. 

Calum is going insane.

He scrambles to put some words together so he can jump ship before he accidentally sets something on fire here. 

Not that it would necessarily be a bad kind of fire. 

It would probably be a very nice fire, Calum thinks, looking at Luke’s lips. But it’s still a fire. A dangerous situation. Potential for pain.

“I’m going to use you as a pillow, Lucas,” Calum slurs a little in his rush to change the subject. He quickly throws on a casual, crooked smile, and the look on Luke’s face falters for a moment. Just a flicker of uncertainty before he pulls on a matching, crooked smile of his own.

“That sounds delightful.” 

Calum immediately starts manhandling Luke’s folded up leg into a better position, stretching it out straight across the far edge of the swing. That leaves enough room for Calum to curl into a ball with his back pressed against the back of the seat, laying down and resting his head on Luke’s thigh. 

Calum can see the burning skyline reaching the end of its wick now. The dark reds have turned to heavy shades of indigo, almost disappearing in the midnight blue of the sky, and the bird song has quieted down as well. With Calum’s blurry vision and the fairy lights in the way, it’s hard to see the stars that must be shining above them by now.

“Oh,” Luke says, softly, resting his hand on Calum’s shoulder when he’s settled. His hand is surprisingly warm, sending a wave of sparks down Calum's arm. “Okay. That’s fuckin’ adorable. How did you even figure out that we’d fit like this?”

Calum’s voice is slightly garbled when he replies. His face is literally half smooshed into Luke’s thigh right now, the soft material of Luke’s pants squishing up against his cheek. Heavenly.

”Because, I do thorough reconnaissance work when it comes to potentially being able to use your body as a pillow.”

And there it is. Luke hitching laughter, bubbling out from his chest and making his leg shake slightly, and Calum can feel the way he tries to tamp down on it so he doesn’t jostle Calum too much. 

This, Calum can handle. He knows how to deal with Luke laughing. 

“That’s fuckin’ ridiculous. You have never planned anything this elaborate in your entire life, Cal,” Luke bullies him through his laughter, and Calum smiles into the warm fabric of his pants as he starts playing with Calum’s hair again, just like Calum knew he would.

“You’re right. I only thought of this like, two minutes ago. And it’s fuckin’ genius,” Calum adds drowsily, eyes closing, getting lost in the soothing feeling of Luke combing through his hair. 

There’s a specific way to how Luke touches Calum, especially like this. The way his fingers are insistent but delicate, always careful as they brush the curls away from Calum’s face, tugging with just the right amount of force for it to feel nice as he twists the strands between his fingers, running through to the ends before he starts all over again.

“Yeah, this is some proper galaxy brain shit, even for you, Cal,” Luke says, his blurry voice sounding oh-so-painfully soft as he runs his fingers through Calum’s hair, over and over, and Calum smiles contently, focussing on the warmth that Luke’s touch brings out in him.

Calum didn’t realise how much he missed having Luke next to him. It’s been months now, of not being able to see Luke face to face, not being able to touch him or be close to him, and Calum was trying his damn best to convince himself that he was coping just fine with it. The craving for physical contact and reassurance was just a passing phase, surely. He’d get over it, eventually. 

Yet here he is, only a few beers in tonight, and he’s already got his face pressed against Luke’s thigh, regressing into a clingy teenager all over again so he overdose on his Luke Time just to ease the constant ache in his chest from missing him so fucking much.

And he did. He really did miss Luke. Not just the connection to another human, the soft touches and stupid jokes. He missed Luke’s soft touches, and Luke’s stupid jokes.

Luke’s fingers slowly come to stop in Calum’s hair, and Calum turns his head expectantly, blinking blearily up at him, wondering what made him stop.

There’s a smile dancing over Luke’s lips and a far away look in his eyes when he looks down at Calum. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, then closes it again, searching for the right words before he starts speaking. He has to fight off a smile before he can actually get the words out. 

“I like your face.”

Calum grins on instinct, because this is the sweetest and most ridiculous compliment that Luke could have possibly given him, and the best part is that Luke isn’t even joking. There’s a fondness in his gaze that says he’s being genuine, even if the phrasing is a little blocky and sounds like he should be joking.

“Your moles are adorable,” Luke adds, before Calum can find an adequate way to bully Luke's sweet comment. 

Calum sits up a little more so he can see Luke’s face better, bracing a hand on Luke’s thigh where his head just was. He can see some stars swimming around the midnight sky in his peripheral vision now, but he focuses on the constellations of Luke’s freckles instead.

There’s a little voice starting to whisper in the back of Calum’s mind now, and it’s telling him that there’s no one else that he’s like this with.

Calum has never felt this kind of comfort with anyone else before, this amount of fondness and happiness. 

No one else. Just Luke. 

That’s a little strange, isn’t it? Calum will have to turn that thought over a little more, some other time when he’s less drunk and less tired, and has the emotional capacity to deal with these thoughts. 

They always seem to feel like a spark in a haystack. And in moments like this, with these thoughts and ideas circling his head, Calum always comes to the same conclusion: that some kind of fire is inevitable, no matter what he does or doesn’t do.

That thought doesn’t scare him as much as it once might have. This time, when his gaze dips to Luke’s lips and he wonders what they would feel like against his own, Calum feels a thrill of excitement zap through him.

He’s never felt that before.

Even when he’s been drunk, high, beyond any reasonable train of thought when it comes to Luke; he’s never felt so carelessly happy about wanting him so badly. It’s like a breath of fresh air now, in the middle of the desert. Calum never knew that just a few hours drive from home could take him so far.

Calum tilts his head to the side curiously, watching the way Luke is smiling at him. It’s a little lopsided, one dimple deeper than the other, more crinkles appearing around one eye than the other. Always so perfectly imperfect. 

“My moles? That’s so… specific.”

Luke nods, eyes shining.

“You’re moles are cosy. Like, they’re the right amount of random for it to make sense, y’know?” Calum does not know, but he’s happy enough to sit here and let Luke reach up a hand to carefully cradle Calum’s face, running his thumb over the three moles on his cheek. Then his other hand is smoothing Calum’s squashed curls back from his eyes, fingertips lightly running over his left eyebrow, tapping gently on the mole that Calum knows is hiding there. “This one might be my favourite.”

Calum smiles at the look on Luke’s face, the fondness mixed with concentration, brows pinching as he drags his thumb down Calum’s cheek, sliding across the short stubble and stopping just under Calum’s lips, pressing lightly. 

“This mole is also pretty high on the list.”

And it’s happening again. That warmth, spreading from Luke’s sharp gaze straight to Calum’s chest, slipping between his ribs and winding its way along his sternum until he can’t breathe without feeling that simmering heat somewhere in his stomach.

“You made a list?” Calum murmurs the question without thinking, before he does something stupid. Like kissing Luke’s lip piercing scar. Even if it’s right there, and the way Luke is biting his lip is pulling a stretching it out a little, making it more noticeable than usual.

“Yeah, I make lists for all kinds of things,” Luke starts, already cocking his eyebrow suggestively before he even gets to the punchline. Calum has no hope of guessing where the fuck he’s going with this, and he doesn’t get to find out either, because Luke stops short when the sound of Michael’s laughter spilling out from the studio door gets closer. It’s soon followed by Ashton’s loud giggle, footsteps closing in.

Luke’s eyes flit over to watch as company arrives, more drinks in hand, and Calum watches a kind of soft haziness fall over Luke’s face. Calm and placid. Nothing like the sharpness that kept creeping into his eyes just before.

Michael’s voice echoes across the courtyard when he basically yells, “Are you guys having swing cuddles without me? Rude! ”

Calum smiles and shakes his head, pushing himself up so can sit fully upright again. Luke shifts to make room for him, both his feet landing on the ground, legs spread invitingly, and Calum can’t help himself. He flings one of his legs over Luke’s so that they're intertwined, an interchanging pattern of Luke’s Converse and Calum’s Vans.

“Hell yeah we are. And you’re not invited,” Calum says smugly as he burrows down into Luke’s side, grinning when Luke immediately loops his arm around Calum’s shoulder to hold him close.

“Sorry, Mike. There’s only room for two on this swing,” Luke says, with the sound of a shrug working its way into his voice, and a cheeky laugh escapes him when he nuzzles his face into Calum’s hair. His other hand finds its way back to Calum’s thigh, and he finds the same thread he was pulling on earlier and starts rolling it between his painted fingertips again. 

Michael makes some annoyed noises and starts rambling indignantly to Ashton, who is clearly too high to give a single fuck about it, but he still grunts in acknowledgement occasionally, and Calum is left smiling down at his and Luke’s overlapping legs with his head resting on Luke’s shoulder.

☼ ☼ ☼

Calum can’t sleep. He’s not sure why. 

He’s lying here in bed, staring at the shadows and moonlight dancing over the ceiling, thinking about how he isn’t sleeping, but not getting to any conclusions as to exactly why he’s not sleeping, and now that he’s actively thinking about how he’s thinking, he’s got himself stuck in a Loop Of Thinking and he can’t turn his brain off and it’s all just so fucking annoying.

Maybe it’s the strangeness of the bed he’s in, the unfamiliar lumps in the mattress, or the stillness of the desert. He’s still not used to it. To anything here actually, and his mind is refusing to shut down because of it. Too much to process. Too much to adjust to, after being nowhere but home for so damn long.

Even the song writing, being back into the studio and submerged in the music making process, is a headspace that Calum has found more difficult to fall into than he expected. It’s thrown him for a loop, and apparently stolen his ability to fall asleep as well.

Calum rolls over onto his side for the millionth time in the last half hour, reaching a hand out for his phone on his bedside table. If he can’t sleep, maybe he can find something else to distract his brain enough to make it stop thinking about thinking. Which is literally so stupid. Why are brains so annoying?

Calum flings out his hand, but obviously misjudges where he left his phone on the bedside table, because he misses it completely and instead knocks the small alarm clock off. 

It goes flying across the room and lands on the hardwood floor a few feet away with a resounding crash, sounding louder than an fucking atom bomb in the silent early hours of the lodge.

“Motherfucker,” Calum grumbles, maybe a little too loudly, because who the fuck puts an alarm clock in a holiday lodge? Holidays are for sleeping in. No one wants a fucking alarm clock getting in the way, this is so annoying.

The floorboards are cold under his feet when Calum slips out of the sheets, flicks on the lamp, and pads over to the wreck of the alarm clock. He stands over it with his hands on his hips, glaring down at the pieces that have been spewed across the floor, the face of the clock and a few batteries scattered around its dismembered body. It almost feels like it’s glaring straight back at Calum, which makes him irrationally angry for some reason. 

Calum is going to have to clean this up now. All he wants to do is sleep. His feet are getting really cold on the hardwood floor.

Just about everything fucking sucks right now.

Calum is just about to let out a deeply annoyed sigh, which will hopefully alleviate some of the frustration writhing around in his chest, but it gets cut short when he hears a knock on his door.

Wait, no, it’s not on his door. It’s coming from the wall. A pattern of three knocks, evenly spaced.

Calum cocks his head and walks back over to the wall beside his bed, momentarily distracted from the carnage of the clock’s unfortunate (but well deserved) demise, listening to the knocks coming through the wall. He's only confused for a moment before he realises who it is on the other side, and he smiles broadly. Of course.

The knocking. He remembers.

The knocks sound through the wall again, three in a row, and Calum huffs out a laugh of disbelief as the memories sneak to the surface and flood through his mind.

During all these years of touring together, Luke had figured out a neat system of communicating with Calum when he couldn’t use words. Sometimes, it was knocking through their shared bunks on the bus, quietly letting each other know that they were awake without disturbing anyone else. Other times, it would be a tap on the knee during an interview, or various taps and pats on each other's arms during shows.

Each amount of knocks or taps - or even head nods, if they couldn’t use their hands - has a different meaning. And three knocks, depending on the circumstances, could mean I’m here, What’s wrong? Are you okay? or any combination of the three. It’s a check-in.

If the reply was two knocks, then it could mean No. Something is wrong. I don’t feel good.  

But if the answer was three knocks back, then it meant Everything’s okay. I’m good.

Calum waits a moment before he taps out his reply, three gentle knocks on the wall. He pauses, then adds another two knocks. It’s an in between kind of answer, because Calum is annoyed that he can’t sleep and his clock is in literal pieces on the floor behind him, but he’s also happy that Luke has found a way of distracting him from his tortuous Thinking About Thinking cycle.

There’s a long pause while Calum waits for some kind of reply, but no more knocks come, so he crawls back into bed and lays on his back with the blankets pulled up to his nose. 

He’s startled by his phone when it lights up with an incoming message, a quiet buzz on the bedside table. Calum pulls the blanket away from his face, leaning over to snatch up his phone - a little carelessly, now that there’s no clock in the way. 

Luke: what are you doing over there?

Calum: murdering clocks.

Calum: hbu?

Luke: i'm listening to you murdering clocks. it’s very loud.

Luke: WAIT. how many have you killed?? i only have one clock in my room 🤨

Calum: well that’s one too many

Calum: is it one like the alarm clock i just killed?

Luke: yes ???

Calum: FUCK THAT. i’m adding it to my hit list 🔪⏰

Luke: oh rad. thank you so much 🥰

Luke: you are welcome maim and destroy it as you see fit, anytime you want to!

Calum: NICE

Calum: i’m coming for ur clock right now then 🤺

Luke is lying in bed, clutching his phone to his chest and cackling when Calum sneaks down the hallway and into his room. It’s the same layout as Calum’s, but mirrored, so the headboards of their beds are against the same part of the wall. Easy knocking access, evidently.

“Why are you laughing?” Calum demands. He makes sure to close the door behind him again, keeping the sound of Luke’s maniacal laughter from disturbing anyone else.

“Your fucking-” Luke slaps his hand over his mouth to cut off another burst of laughter, “-coming for your clock, that was such bad wording, oh my god-”

Luke physically curls in on himself with his eyes squeezed shut, shoulders shaking with mirth.

Calum tries to stop himself from smiling, but when it’s Luke, existing like this and also laughing because of Calum, he really doesn’t have much of a chance. Calum walks over to the side of the bed and stands over Luke, glaring fondly at him.

“You’re worse than a twelve year old, honestly. I offer to save you from the horror and pain of your alarm clock, and this is how you repay me?” A smile has managed to sneak its way into his voice by now, but Calum plays the bit and holds a hand to his chest in mock offence anyway.

Luke rolls over onto his back again, looking up at Calum and biting his lip to hold back the giggles. He’s wearing an oversized shirt, and it’s bunching up around his shoulders a little. Calum wonders what it would be like if he could shrink himself down so he could crawl into the loose pocket of space between Luke’s shirt and the warm skin just above his collarbone, in the soft spot that Calum always leans his head on. That would be a perfect place to take a nap, to escape from the world for a while.

Luke releases his lip so he can answer, a crooked grin starting to take over instead. There’s a slight shine on his bottom lip from the way the dim light of the bedside lamp is reflecting off it, and Calum pretends he isn’t openly staring. He’s not exactly being subtle about it, though.

“Yes, my humour reached its peak developmental stage at twelve years old. Obviously.” Luke opens his arms wide and shakes his fluffy curls back off his face, looking up at Calum with purpose. A sharp glint in his eyes. “Now come use my chest as a pillow this time. This is how I’ll repay you, for your amazing clock fighting skills- or whatever the fuck you're doing.” Luke gestures impatiently, done with his explanation.

Calum hums for a moment, pretending to consider, and Luke frowns at the delay.

“I ‘spose this is an okayyy payment,'' Calum says, tapping a finger on his chin for a moment, but quickly giving up on trying to annoy Luke because he does desperately want to use Luke’s chest as a pillow. There’s nothing but benefits here. And he didn’t even have to ask! He can stockpile that very small sliver of his dignity to use some other time. 

Calum crawls onto the bed, worming his way under the covers and collapsing at Luke’s side. Luke winds an arm around his shoulders to tug him even closer, until Calum has to hitch a leg up over Luke’s so he can fit properly, nuzzling his head into that soft spot near Luke’s shoulder again. When Calum rests a hand on Luke’s stomach, he can feel every shift of Luke’s breathing.

Luke doesn’t say anything for a while and Calum wonders if he’s falling asleep.

“You smell good.” Calum murmurs, breaking the hazy silence. They’re in that in-between glitch of time, right in the middle of the night, when not even the birds outside are making any noise, but the lack of noise just makes it feel all the more safe and cosy. Like nothing else exists outside this room.

Calum can feel the crinkles of Luke’s shirt pressing against his cheek, and there’s a sweet scent drifting from Luke’s hair, something like apples or berries. “Did you just have a shower?”

Luke laughs quietly and there’s a smirk in his voice when he starts talking. Calum can sense a joke forming. “Yeah. Took a long, hot shower so I could jack off.”

“Dude.” Calum makes a show of pushing away from Luke in disgust, absolutely loving the way Luke just laughs brightly at his dramatic reaction and doesn’t hesitate to pull Calum right back towards him. “I didn’t ask why you had a shower, goddamn it,” Calum whines, giving in and flopping back against Luke’s chest when Luke tugs him with enough force.

“Details are always fun, though,” Luke says cheekily. Calum can basically hear him biting his lip to keep from laughing. “At least the shower isn’t as messy, y’know? Easier clean-up process.”

“You’re disgusting. Please shut the fuck up.” Calum replies, half-heartedly. It’s hard to pretend to be annoyed when Calum can feel himself pretty much melting into the warmth of Luke’s skin underneath the thin cotton of his shirt, falling in sync with his even breathing - still peppered with a few soft chuckles.

And Calum doesn’t even let himself think about Luke’s words right now. He doesn’t need to let his mind wander and conjure up images that would only cause problems when he’s plastered against Luke’s side so closely. 

Calum traces along Luke’s ribs, shivering when Luke’s hand runs along his spine in return, dancing across his back in some kind of unrecognisable pattern, like he’s practising a song on the piano.

"I couldn't sleep either, you know," Luke says, quietly. The teasing lilt is gone, leaving a soft, raw kind of scratch to his voice. It’s the kind of sound that Calum would love to wrap around himself like a blanket, if that were even possible. 

“Yeah?” Calum says quietly. He knows that Luke is providing a slow and casual way into talking about whatever might be playing on Calum’s mind, preventing him from getting any sleep, and he’s grateful for it, but at the same time, he isn’t sure what he could even say to try and explain whatever is going on in his head.

His brain is just a little fucked up. That’s all. But at least he can find out why Luke can’t sleep, and maybe there will be something in Luke’s answer that will trigger Calum into realising what his brain is getting so caught up on.

“Thinking,” Luke replies, slowly and purposefully. He stops and deliberates for a moment, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against Calum’s back pausing. “And… feeling.”

Calum shifts his head against Luke’s shoulder, nestling in closer to his neck. He can only see a small, blurry section of the room from his angle, a pile of Luke’s clothes dumped on the chair by the window, and strips of bright moonlight falling across the rumpled fabric, alternating with the swaying shadows of the palm trees outside. Luke’s untied Converse have been kicked off underneath that same chair, laces spilling out from the sides of the shoes and getting tangled in each other.

Feeling. Yeah. Calum gets that. Even if he doesn’t show it in the most obvious ways, there’s always plenty of feelings bubbling away under the surface. The acknowledgement of that alone feels like some kind of link to what might be keeping him up tonight, but he’s not sure. It’s all a bit of a confusing mess, and that is something that Calum would like to keep to himself until he can figure it out properly. Even showing Luke feels like too much for him right now.

“Feeling?” Calum hums, smirking a little when he finally finds a joke to thread into the somewhat serious conversation, a subtle way of dodging the inevitable line of questioning. “Feeling your cock in the shower, sure.”

Luke huffs out a quiet laugh and gently whacks Calum on the arm. “Oh, shut up. I’m trying to open up here, and you're here making dick jokes. Not cool, man.” Calum can hear the pout in Luke’s voice, so he starts dragging his fingertips across Luke’s ribs again, nails scratching lightly over the fabric, and Calum can actually feel Luke melting under his touch in response. The way his breathing hitches almost imperceptibly, and a tremor runs through his body. 

Calum doesn’t want to put Luke off from trying to talk to him but… Calum doesn’t really have anything to say. He just wants to be close to Luke. That seems to be one of the few things that can quieten him down lately.

Luke puts his hand on top of Calum’s, trapping it between his warm palm and his warm chest. He’s always so warm.

“Can you squash me, please?” Luke asks, the vibrations of his voice fizzing up into Calum’s palm.

He must get it, then. He knows when to push Calum to talk, and when to let him get away with dodging a heart-to-heart with jokes, like he is now.

Calum presses his smile against Luke’s neck, just below his jaw, because it’s right there and he can, savouring the scratch of stubble against his cheek when he wonders, “Squash you? You want me to flatten you like a pancake?”

Luke laughs, one of those wheezy little giggles that Calum loves so much, and he releases the hold he has on Calum’s hand to grip his arm instead, evidently trying to pull Calum on top of him.

“Yeah, squash me flat like a pancake, Cal,” Luke says in a mocking voice, tugging more insistently now. “For real though. Could you just-”

Calum pops his head back up from Luke’s neck to see him frowning in concentration. Luke latches onto Calum’s arm and pulls hard, rolling his torso over at the same time in a futile effort to shift Calum closer, but he barely moves Calum at all. 

And Calum is just laying there, smiling stupidly and staring at the pout on Luke’s lips. Luke really has no idea how cute he is, all the fucking time. He just lives and breathes and exists without knowing that Calum is enamoured by absolutely everything he does. It’s so unfair.

“You actually want me to squash you?”

Luke's eyes brighten a little when he realises that he actually has Calum’s attention now, dimples popping when Calum sits up and throws an assessing glance over Luke’s limbs, splayed out all over the sheets. 

“Yes, for real. Be my own personal weighted blanket? Please?” Luke shakes his arms out and settles flat on his back, head tilted towards Calum, pushing out his bottom lip and blinking his massive eyes up at Calum. 

Luke knows what he’s doing. He has to know. 

“Stop being so cute,” Calum complains, making a show of scooting down the bed and rolling to kneel over Luke, slipping a leg between Luke’s and bracing a hand on either side of his shoulders. It brings him face to face with Luke’s smirk. The smug bastard. He does know what he’s doing. “You’re manipulating me,” Calum says, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows. He doesn’t miss the way Luke’s pleased gaze falls to his lips, then dances back up to Calum’s eyes.

“As if you wouldn’t squash me of your own volition anyway.” Luke challenges, lifting his chin defiantly. His lips are dangerously close to Calum’s now. Calum has to close his eyes for a long moment to focus on not leaning down and kissing him.

Calum knows that Luke is just putting a front on, but the certainty in his voice still stabs at some kind of feeling in Calum’s chest. He can’t quite put a label on it.

It’s a whole conflict of emotions, really, because the steely glint in Luke’s eyes is giving him hot flashes but then the idea of Luke knowing him so well, without Calum ever having to vocalise his thoughts or needs, not even doubting that he’s right about what Calum would or wouldn’t do, it kind of makes Calum want to fold Luke up and carry him around in his back pocket all the time. Just to make sure he’s safe, to keep him close by, so Calum can look after him and get his daily dose of Luke whenever he wants it.

Calum doesn’t say any of that out loud though. He just smiles. And promptly collapses onto Luke’s chest, letting all his weight rest on him. Luke lets out a small ‘oof’ as his hands automatically land on Calum’s waist.

“You’re right. I can and I have squashed you of my own volition, several times,” Calum mumbles into Luke’s shoulder. He rests his head partly on the soft spot of Luke’s shoulder and partly on the pillow, facing away so he’s not presented with the temptation of Luke’s stubble-flecked neck. Calum will definitely end up licking it if he stares for too long.

“We should go for a drive sometime.” The rumble of Luke’s voice reverberates around his own chest, and consequently, Calum’s chest as well. 

“A drive? Where to?”

“Dunno. Just- around,” Luke says vaguely, tries a shrug but doesn’t get far with Calum pinning him down like this. “See the desert a little. Take in the sights while we’re here.”

Luke starts tapping his fingers along Calum’s back again, drifting higher, fanning out across his shoulders, then dipping down along the curve of his spine to his lower back. It really does feel like Luke is playing a song on imaginary keys or strings, and Calum is happy to be used as one of Luke’s instruments for a while. 

“That sounds nice,” Calum says, turning his head and pulling back so he can look at Luke’s face. Just because he can. Because he wants to.

Eyes closed, lips upturned slightly in a soft smile, messy curls spilling across his forehead and fanning out around the pillow. 

Luke is a little blurry to Calum’s tired eyes, because he’s so close and it’s hard to focus without going cross eyed, but Calum still loves this version of him. All soft and fuzzy around the edges, more feelings than actual visual details. Smudges of paint, not quite spinning around yet.

Luke opens his eyes and turns his head to look at Calum, shifting one of his legs at the same time so he can hook it up over Calum’s.

“Yeah. It does.” Luke looks back at the ceiling, unknowingly giving space for Calum to breathe properly again. Those blue eyes are intoxicating when they’re so close and so bright and so full of what Calum can only describe as fondness.

Calum experimentally wiggles his hand around until he can press his fingers against Luke’s side, right over where the puzzle piece tattoo on his side is, and Luke sighs constantly, like he was waiting for Calum to touch him back in some way. Apparently it doesn’t matter that Calum is literally lying flat on top of Luke right now; he still has that desire to be touched buzzing beneath his skin. And Calum gets that, he really does. 

The way Luke has slowed his tapping on Calum’s back into a more steady and purposeful pace, swiping and dragging his fingertips over the material of his shirt - it feels nice. Reassuring in a way that any random touch wouldn’t. It makes it clear to Calum that Luke is still thinking about how he touches Calum, and making sure that it conveys something about his mood. And smooth and steady is good. 

A moment of silence stretches out pleasantly between them, spreading out through the room and surrounding them in a cloud of quiet comfort. For a long moment, Calum desperately wants to press his thumb into Luke’s bottom lip for some reason. But then those lips are moving again, and the moment passes.

Luke keeps his eyes trained carefully on the ceiling when he speaks. His voice is barely a whisper.

“You remembered the knocks.”

His fingertips punctuate the sentence, and the shadow of a smile on his lips tilts his words up at the edges. 

Calum just smiles into the bunched-up fabric of Luke’s shirt.

“Yeah. I remembered the knocks.”

☼ ☼ ☼

Calum doesn’t remember falling asleep. 

But he remembers the feeling of Luke’s heartbeat, and in his dream, he could see Luke’s smile when Calum told him that he thought it would be a perfect bassline for a song.

☼ ☼ ☼

The moonlight is still shining through the same window as before.

Calum drowsily opens his eyes and realises that he’s still lying on top of Luke. The even pace of his breathing is ever so slightly shifting up and down, and it’s quite soothing, actually, but Calum doesn’t want to crush Luke all night, so he rolls off to the side to find his own space on the bed.

Calum’s sleepy gaze catches on the tangled laces of Luke’s Converse, wrapped and knotted around each other indistinguishably, before his eyes slip closed again. 

☼ ☼ ☼

The moonlight is shining through the other window now, and Calum is curled up tight on his side, encased in warmth. 

Luke’s warmth. 

Steady arms wrapped around Calum’s torso. Soft, even breaths ticking the back of his neck. Long legs neatly fitted against Calum’s, and a broad chest pressed against his back.

Calum smiles a little as he falls asleep again. 

☼ ☼ ☼

When Calum wakes up the next morning, Luke is already in the shower. Calum knows because can hear him humming a tune in between the patter of running water in the bathroom, and the sheets are still warm beside him when Calum stretches out his arm, so Luke can’t have been up for long.

Calum only stays there for a little while, laying in the sheets that smell like Luke, basking in the warmth that still covers him inside and out, before he eventually drags himself out of bed, stealing one of Luke’s hoodies and slipping it on as he shuffles down the hallway in search of coffee. As expected, there’s already a pot of coffee brewed and ready in the kitchen. 

The glass doors leading out to the patio look like a painting. Calum pours himself a cup of coffee and leans against the kitchen bench for a moment, sleepy eyes taking in the view outside. 

The electric blue of the sky, hanging delicately over the dusty reds of the earth, green and grey scrubs lining the hills with the clouds and birds hovering tantalisingly in the space between all the shades of red and blue. It’s a captivating scene to wake up to.

Calum sips on his coffee as he edges over to the patio door. Ashton is usually sitting out on the deck around this time, so Calum peeks around the potted plant beside the door, and yep. There he is, smoke billowing from his mouth as he reclines on the patio seating.

Calum slides open the door and steps outside, taking in a deep breath of the fresh morning air. The planks of the deck are worn and smooth under his socked feet, a pattern of wood grain that Calum trudges over to get to Ashton. 

He’s sitting in the seating that curves around the sunken fire pit, head tilted back against the morning sun and a placid smile sliding around on his face when he spots Calum.

“Mornin’, Cal,” Ashton greets him, raising his hand in some kind of greeting that doesn’t quite make it to a wave, but Calum raises his mug in response anyway, plonking down on the seat and kicking his feet up on the edge of the empty fire pit.

“Bit early for that, don’t you think?” Calum says, nodding at the joint in Ashton’s hand. Ashton just shrugs.

“Got nothing else to do today, seeing as Michael wanted a day off from the studio,” Ashton explains. His attention quickly turns back to the scenery surrounding them. “Have you listened to the birds here, Cal? They always sing to each other. I was talking to Byron the other day, he was pointing out all the different bird calls and it was so fuckin’ cool.  There’s so many layers of songs that are all happening right now! From so many different birds!”

Calum smiles as Ashton rambles a little, words slipping out freely and gesturing unrestrained. 

“It’d be cool if we could record them, maybe, see if they could fit somewhere in a song,” Ashton continues, almost mumbling to himself, and Calum nods thoughtfully, wrapping both his hands around the warmth of his mug. 

“That would sound pretty dope,” Calum agrees, and Ashton grins at him, deep dimples carved into his cheeks. There’s a hazy look in his eyes, and Calum likes that he’s taking this trip as a chance to let go a little. Calum could probably take some notes from that.

“Sweet. I’ll tell Mike later.”

Calum hums an acknowledgement, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the seat, trying to focus on the sounds of the bird calls rebounding through the air, some coming from the nearby trees and some from the shrubs lower in the valley. 

Calum slides down more in the hard wooden seat, pulling his hood up and wiggling his socked feet in the cool air as he tunes in to the shrill bird calls echoing around. He’s so zoned out that the sound of Ashton’s voice startles him a little.

“So. What’s with you and Luke lately?”

Calum cracks open an eye and squints suspiciously over at Ashton. Everything seems to come back to Luke these days, doesn’t it?

“What do you mean, me and Luke, why’d you say that so weirdly?” Calum asks Ashton, like there’s something to accuse him of. He just smiles serenely in response. Not a good sign.

“You’re so touchy. Clingy. Like, more than usual.” Ashton throws in an excessive arm gesture to emphasise the more than usual, and Calum kind of wants to tell him to shut up because he knows that he’s right and Ashton is insufferable when he’s right. But also… this would be an interesting topic for Calum to get an outside perspective on. 

“Is that so?” Calum says, a certain kind of smugness taking over.

Ashton has noticed them being more clingy. Does that mean something is actually different now, if it’s not all in Calum’s mind? Does that make it more important?

Ashton just nods, a meaningful glint in his eyes that says it all without words, then looks away to take another drag, letting the smoke drift past his lips. Calum watches the smoke float higher, fingers itching to get a joint of his own, but he knows that he doesn’t really want to. It’s just become a reflex for when he has nothing else to do, but today, he does have something to do.

Calum downs the last of his coffee and stands, brushing off his hoodie and pulling the sleeves down over his hands, cradling his mug carefully.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your birds then. Thanks for telling me,” Calum says. He means more than just the birds, but he doesn’t throw that thought out for free.

Ashton smiles contently and raises his hand in that almost-wave again, already leaning his head back and closing his eyes like he’s about to fall asleep, so Calum spins around and heads back inside. He makes sure he remembers to close the patio door quietly so he doesn’t ruin the peaceful haze that seems to be permanently settled over the lodge, especially in the mornings.

He’s so absorbed in tiptoeing his way inside and carefully latching the door behind him that he doesn’t even register the presence of another person, not until the silence is broken.

“Is that my hoodie?” 

Calum startles and looks up to see Luke smiling brightly at him, hair damp from his shower and a devastatingly tight ringer tee stretched across his chest. He’s eyeing Calum’s grey hoodie through a curious smile.

“Maybe?” Calum admits, lifting a shoulder and pouting like it’s an arguable point. It’s not. This is quite obviously Luke’s hoodie, it’s way too big on Calum’s shoulders. And there’s a stain on the front pocket from when Luke spilt salsa on it when he ate his nachos the other night.

Luke’s grin fizzes down to something smoother, only one dimple showing as he steps closer, hands reaching for Calum’s chest, then pausing mid-air and changing course to land on Calum’s waist. Luke pulls the edges of the hoodie out, giving it an assessing look-over.

“Yep.” Luke pops the ‘p’. “Definitely my hoodie. You thief.”

Calum grins and wriggles his way out of Luke’s grasp, stepping back towards the kitchen, and Luke follows him immediately.

“Like you can accuse me of being a thief, Luke, come on. Pretty sure half your wardrobe was once mine.” Calum looks at Luke pointedly, eyebrows raised in a challenge, and Luke twists his lips to the side to hide a guilty smile, wide eyes blinking back at Calum.

“Can you blame me? Your shirts are always so cosy,” Luke says as he leans against the kitchen counter. He braces his hands on the edge so he can lift himself up to sit beside the pot of coffee on the bench, and he makes grabby hands at Calum’s now empty mug. Calum gives it to him without a second thought. 

“True,” Calum says, gaze falling to watch the ripples in Luke’s shirt as he pours himself a coffee - using Calum’s mug for some reason. Like he couldn’t just get another one. There’s literally a whole cupboard of them right beside Luke’s head. “But, I wouldn’t have one like this ,” Calum adds, stepping closer to Luke once his mug of coffee has been safely sipped from and placed back on the counter. Calum reaches out a hand to tug on the edge of Luke’s shirt, one eyebrow raised suggestively. “Tight ringer tees are definitely more your vibe than mine.”

Luke’s blue eyes are literally glittering in the light coming from the glass doors, a nice contrast to the warm yellow of his shirt. It’s more of a mustard-y yellow, actually, verging on a soft shade of light brown, with a worn out and indecipherable graphic peeling off the front.

Luke looks pleased by the compliment, just like Calum knew he would be. Even if he’s probably going to deflect it straight away, Calum knows that Luke does still appreciate it.

“Hmm, I reckon they’re more your vibe, actually. You have the arms to pull it off,” Luke says through an impish grin, giving Calum a pat on the arm, then using his grip on Calum’s bicep to encourage him closer, and Calum willingly side-steps to stand between Luke’s knees.

“Nope. Nuh uh.” Calum shakes his head insistently. “It’s about the chest, man, not the arms.” Calum gently thumps Luke’s chest, right in the middle, then leaves his hand pressed against the soft fabric. Why are all Luke’s shirts so soft? Maybe Calum should be the one stealing shirts from Luke instead.

Luke looks down at Calum’s hand, completely unbothered, damp curls falling over his eyes. The ends are starting to dry, going all fluffy and curling away from his face. Calum briefly entertains the some kind of alternative reality where he gets to rake his fingers through Luke’s hair to mess it up a little, before he stands on his tip-toes and pulls Luke close enough to be able to fit his lips against his, swipe his tongue across and maybe bite on Luke’s plush bottom lip a little, and then he could-

“Okay, fine, but baggy shirts are definitely your vibe. You rock the skater boy style,” Luke says, an air of certainty in his voice, as he unknowingly ruins Calum’s daydream. But that’s okay. Calum gets to watch those pink lips shaping words instead, which is also one of his favourite pastimes.

One of Luke’s hands reaches for his mug so he can take a long gulp of coffee, throat bobbing, while his other hand covers Calum's hand on his chest, and once again, Calum’s hand is trapped between the warmth seeping through Luke’s shirt and the warmth of his palm on the other side. Luke isn’t wearing any rings either, so there’s no cold bite to his touch. Just soothing waves of heat.

“I accept this.” Calum nods his head solemnly, a false seriousness being his go-to mode for accepting compliments. “Thank you.”

Luke’s bright grin dazzles Calum a little, enough for him to have to look down at his hand on Luke’s chest for a moment so he doesn’t get blinded or something. Not that that’s even a thing, but if someone was going to go blind from looking at someone’s smile, it would have to be Luke’s. 

“Michael’s still sleeping, isn’t he?” Calum asks, braving a quick glance up at Luke’s face again. He’s looking out the patio door, and this time, the sunlight floating in and lighting up his features turns Luke into a painting, not the desert. 

“Yeah, he’s totally out to it. Probably will be most of the day. You know him,” Luke says, changing his grip on Calum’s hand so he can pull it away from his chest and hold it against his thigh instead as he cranes his neck to see outside, clearly looking for Ashton. “Is Ash smoking already?”

“Yep. I don’t think he’s going to be up and about for a while.” Calum gives Luke a mischievous kind of look, quirking his eyebrows and grinning, coaxing a laugh out of Luke as he continues, “So, you know what that means for us?” 

“Please stop wiggling your face around, you look like you’re possessed,” Luke says through his wheezy laughter.

Calum gives up on the antics and lets out a pleased chuckle, always happy to have made Luke laugh. It’s always so rewarding, getting to see Luke’s eyes crinkle into a smile, dimples pressing into his cheeks, often biting on his tongue to try and stifle it. There’s just so much to look at and appreciate when Luke laughs. 

“But tell me,” Luke urges, comically widening his eyes at Calum and angling his head slightly. “What does this mean for us?”

Calum uses his hold on Luke’s hand to directly shake some of his excitement into him, exclaiming, “We can go for a drive!”

“Oh- a drive! Fuck yeah!” Luke uses his free hand to latch onto Calum’s arm as well, and shakes back even more enthusiastically, making Calum laugh. He has to rest a hand on the counter so he doesn’t go toppling into Luke completely when Luke tugs on his arm a little too violently, bringing him even closer.

Luke obviously planned it, because he quits the shaking with a short burst of laughter and gives one final pull on Calum’s arm to bring him within easy hugging distance, wrapping his arms around Calum’s shoulders and resting his head on top of Calum’s, breathy giggles fading into Calum’s messy hair. 

And Calum is… yeah. He’s loving this. 

It’s always nice when Luke is the first to initiate some kind of contact. Even just pulling Calum into a hug like this, it feels like it somewhat justifies Calum’s desire to be touching Luke all the time.

Calum wraps his arms around Luke’s waist, palms pressed flat against the soft fabric over Luke’s lower back. Calum doesn’t miss the way Luke sighs quietly when he does, a content hum sounding from the back of his throat.

“But if we’re going for a drive,” Luke whispers into Calum’s hair, a shiver running down Calum’s spine from the sensation, “I should probably steal this hoodie back from you.”

Calum gasps in mock offence, already half-heartedly trying to wriggle out of Luke’s warm embrace, but Luke just squeezes him tighter in response, a short giggle tumbling off his lips into Calum’s hair. “Fuck off, I’m keeping this hoodie forever now.”

Luke loosens his arms enough so Calum can pull back, sliding his hands up to rest on Calum’s shoulders instead. Calum smiles when he sees the lazy grin pulling on Luke’s mouth, the chip on his front tooth just barely peeking through the gap of his lips.

It’s another one of those moments where Calum gets a little distracted looking at Luke, which has been happening all too often lately. He finds himself just standing here staring again, because the rays of sunlight are resting so delicately on the tip of Luke’s nose and the curve of his lips, highlighting some of the places that Calum has been craving to feel under his lips for god knows how long, and it’s making him go more than slightly insane right now, because he could do it, he actually could just lean in and kiss Luke’s nose or his pouty lips and maybe that would finally alleviate some of the tension pulling at his gut all the time. 

But then Luke’s hands are lightly pushing Calum’s shoulders, getting him to step back so Luke can slide off the counter and land on his feet in front of Calum, re-entering Calum’s bubble of space just as quickly as he left it. 

Immediately, Calum starts mentally cursing the height difference between them. Which is even more pronounced with how close Luke is standing. How is Calum meant to look directly at those lips and not kiss them? Why is the universe testing him so fucking much?

“I guess I better go find another hoodie then, if you’re keeping this one,” Luke says, one hand tugging on the hoodie’s drawstring and a sly grin working its way onto his face as he brushes past Calum, heading down the hallway. “One without salsa stains on it!” Luke calls over his shoulder with a cheeky laugh. 

Calum stands in the kitchen for a long moment, watching the dust particles swirling in the beams of sunlight. He almost feels dazed. Is it possible to get high just from being so close to someone all the time, without getting to touch them in all the ways you want to? Is that even a thing?

Surely. It would explain so much! Calum is just suffering from a hyper-specific condition caused by not being able to kiss Luke’s lips. Or, like, lick his neck. Or something. 

That would make perfect sense.

Calum zones out for a long while, standing in the kitchen and thinking about Luke.

He stares at the mug they just shared. He twists his fingers around the sleeve of the hoodie that they’re apparently sharing now. With so many parts of their lives so closely intertwined, Calum is beginning to wonder if there is anything that they don’t share.

☼ ☼ ☼

Iced lattes. They don’t share iced lattes.

“No, Cal, you can get your own, because you always drink more than half when you have some of mine,” Luke insists, careful not making direct eye contact with Calum’s pleading face because he knows he’ll be done for as soon as he does. Calum is well aware of his strengths and he’s not afraid to use them to his advantage. 

Calum keeps his wide eyes focussed on Luke and wraps a hand around Luke’s arm, steadying himself when they take another step forward in the queue. He didn’t even know that this place existed until they pulled up at the little roadside café, warped planks of wood stitching it onto the side of an old gas station, and Luke looked over at Calum with his wind-blown hair and flushed cheeks and asked, in that horrible southern accent again, want some fries, honey?  

It was the worst thing to ever come out of Luke’s mouth. It was the best thing Calum’s heard all day.

“And besides,” Luke continues, craning his neck to look at the pastries on display. Calum watches the side of his neck flexing appreciatively, because what else is he meant to do? “The more caffeine, the better!”

Luke turns back to him with a grin, eyes shining. Calum grins back instinctively, and gives Luke a hearty thump on the chest to try and cover for the weird staring-at-his-bestie’s-neck thing. There’s a satisfying whoosh noise as his hand collides with Luke’s puffy jacket, squashing the air out of the front.

“Brilliant life motto!” Calum exclaims. Quietly, though, so no one gives them the evil eye for being those guys - there’s always some loud and obnoxious dudes in the coffee line, annoying everyone and ruining the serenity, and Calum really doesn’t want to fulfil that role today.

Calum gives Luke another pat for good measure, flattening his jacket against his chest some more. Luke pouts down at Calum’s hand, not at all put out by it being there, but perhaps wondering why Calum is squashing Luke’s jacket so thoroughly. It does seem a bit excessive. But it’s also unbearable for Calum, knowing that that tight ringer tee is hiding somewhere in there, underneath the hoodie and jacket that Luke has layered on top, and he can’t touch it. Can’t even see it. Such a fucking crime. 

“You have my blessing to buy me a cappuccino then, thank you, Lucas.” 

Calum wiggles his eyebrows around in another stupid attempt to pull a laugh out of Luke, and he gets the reward of Luke stuffing his chin into the collar of his jacket to try and stifle his giggles, no doubt also aware of not disturbing the quiet hustle and bustle of the café. Those mirthful eyes are sparkling and crinkling at the corners as he looks over at Calum from under his mess of blond curls. He shakes his head slightly like he can’t believe how weird Calum is, but is still happy to watch him make a fool out of himself just to make Luke smile.

A chuckle slips out of Calum too as leans towards Luke, pressing his head against his shoulder and shuffling close enough to feel the shaking of Luke’s arm as he holds in his laughter. Calum starts fiddling with the zipper on Luke’s jacket so he can focus on something else, something that isn’t trying to grope his way right through Luke’s jacket, or feeling like he’s being hypnotised by Luke’s baby blue eyes.

It’s almost painful, seeing the bright blue sky through the window behind Luke, painting a perfect backdrop in just the right hue. At least now that Calum is basically plastered against Luke’s side, he gets a brief reprieve from drowning in all the blue, because the urge to compare Luke’s eyes with the literal colour of the atmosphere is overwhelming. 

Calum blames it on the fact that he’s still under the influence of whatever drug is in Luke’s smile, Luke’s touch, Luke’s words. He can’t exactly control the part of his brain that wants to write songs about the freckles dancing over the tops of Luke’s cheeks, the way his eyes lit up right before a smile bursts onto his lips, or the dimples that dip in and out of their own accord. 

There’s just so many different parts of Luke that deserve to have some kind of art made to commemorate them. It would be too much of a mammoth task trying to fit everything Calum’s loves about Luke into just one artwork, just one song, but Calum would still be willing to drive himself mad trying.

“Okay then,” Luke says, a smile in his voice as he wraps his arm around Calum’s shoulder and pulls him another step forward in the queue. “I’ll buy you a coffee, and a pastry, and then we can go and eat it somewhere with a view. How’s that?”

Calum loops his arm around Luke’s waist and smiles against his jacket. 

“Deal.”

☼ ☼ ☼

It only takes a short drive to find their view. Calum cradles his cappuccino safely in his hands the entire time, trying to soak some of the warmth into his cold fingers as the wind whips around them. They could just put the roof up and flick the heater on, but they both agree, what’s the point of having a convertible if you drive through the desert with the roof up?

The sunlight comes and goes now as splatters of clouds pass in front of the sun, tracing shadows over the small winding road that they’re driving along, taking them higher and higher until they eventually pull into a clearing near the top of a canyon. Luke parks so they can see the valley spread out in front of them, the windshield acting like some kind of frame around a painting of the desert. Except this is real. Calum is actually sitting here in Luke’s car looking out over one of the most beautiful views he’s ever seen.

Calum turns and grins over at Luke. He’s already smiling at Calum before Calum even says anything.

“This is awesome! How did you even know about this place?”

Luke cuts the engine and immediately reaches for his iced latte, wrapping his lips around the straw and taking a long sip. “I do research. Unlike some people,” Luke jabs, smiling smugly as he pulls his paper bag from the cupholder, unfolding it so he can rip the end of the croissant off and stuff it in his mouth. And Calum just sits there and watches him like a creep, because the rings on his fingers are gleaming in the sunlight and the way his excessively large hands seem to do everything so delicately is mesmerising to watch. 

“There’s also a short walk to a look-out point, if you want to do that as well,” Luke adds between bites, in a vague kind of tone that makes it feel like he’s hiding something. He turns from looking out the windshield to glance over at Calum, cocking his head and raising his eyebrow a little when he notices Calum already staring at him.

It snaps Calum out of his trace, and he takes a long gulp out of his cappuccino so he doesn’t have to watch the way Luke’s throat bobs when he takes a long sip of his latte, or the way his lips wrap around his fingers when he licks them clean. How the fuck did he demolish that croissant so quickly? How long was Calum just staring at him eating? Man, that’s gotta be crossing some kind of boundary.

Calum quickly swaps out his coffee for his croissant as well, and rips into it a little aggressively because he’s hungry and he really needs to distract himself.

He chokes down a mouthful before he says, “A walk sounds great . Do you wanna do the walk? You’re kinda making it sound like there’s some special view up there that you know about but I don’t know about. Is there?” Maybe saying lots of words will cover up for his creepy staring. Hopefully.

Luke hums through a smile. “Maybe.”

Calum turns his head so he can see that smile as well as hear it, and a few slivers of almond slide off the top of his croissant and land in his lap. Luke doesn’t hesitate to lean over and flick them onto the floor. Now those ringed fingers are so close to Calum, carefully brushing over his thigh, and even through Calum’s jeans he can feel how cold Luke’s hand is. Calum really wants to grab Luke’s hands and stuff them inside his coat pocket so Calum can warm them up for him. Well, that’s one way he could warm them up. Some other options come to mind, though, now that he’s thinking about it.

“Well now I need to know what kind of spectacular view you’re keeping from me!” Calum exclaims, making a show of urgently stuffing a massive bite of his croissant into his mouth, and purposefully looking straight out the windshield instead of at Luke, because Calum can only handle so much of his brain objectifying his best friend and his best friend being so, so something. That unnamed feeling again. It’s been fucking haunting Calum non-stop lately.

Calum can still see out of the corner of his eye the way Luke is leaning his elbow on the centre console and resting his chin on his hand, no doubt squishing up his cheek and making his lips seem extra pouty and kissable. 

See? Calum doesn’t even need to actually look at Luke to know that he’s devastatingly cute right now.

It only takes a second to jam the remaining bite into his mouth, then Calum is swiping his coffee cup out of the holder and opening his door, stepping out onto the red dirt. There’s only one other person parked on the other side of the clearing, also admiring the view from their car. “Come on! I wanna see this special view you’re hiding from me, Lucas.”

Luke laughs as he gets out of the car too, closing the door and leaving his half drunk latte behind, then walking around the car towards Calum. A pattern of Converse footprints trail along behind him, small diamonds being etched into the dust.  

“Okay, let’s do the walk. Quickly, though, because I literally can’t feel my toes anymore.” Luke stops short right in front of Calum at the same time he stops talking. His wind-blown curls are tumbling down into his eyes and his shoulders are hunched up to his ears, no doubt in some futile effort to keep warm, and Calum forgets that he’s on a mission to speed along this trail to find out the secret view hiding at the end, because there’s freckles on Luke’s nose and the tip is red from the cold and Calum wants to kiss it so badly.

So he stops for a moment. Considers the way the sunlight is shining on Luke’s nose right now. And then he leans in really, really close.

Calum hears Luke inhale sharply when he steps forward and gently presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. It’s quick. Luke’s nose is freezing against Calum’s warm lips. Calum would love to keep kissing his whole face to warm him up, but somehow he makes himself step back a little. He can’t manage to meet Luke’s eyes though, so he focuses on the uneven folds of Luke’s collar, the folds and ripples of the fabric shaped like tiny ocean waves. 

“Your nose is cold.” 

Calum states the obvious; he doesn’t trust his brain to say anything else right now. The hood of Luke’s hoodie is tangled in his jacket collar, so Calum frees it and pulls it up over Luke’s head to cover his ears, because he doesn’t have a beanie on like Calum does, then he loops his arm through Luke’s and starts pulling him along to the start of the trail.

“Your lips are warm,” Luke says, sounding shocked, tripping over himself to match pace with Calum’s speed-walking. 

“Yeah, because I was smart enough to get a warm drink,” he teases, slowing down his excessively fast pace so he can take a long gulp of said warm drink to prove his point, relying on his linked arm with Luke to guide him and make sure he’s not going to walk into the other car or a bush or something. 

Luke slides his hand down Calum’s arm until he gets to Calum’s hand, which he then grabs and stuffs them both into Calum’s jacket pocket as they start walking at a more reasonable pace now.

Calum grips his coffee cup tightly in one hand, linking fingers with Luke’s hand in his pocket. A grin takes over his face as he says, “You’re hand is literally so fuckin’ cold.” 

They find the start of the narrow trail, just a sliver of dusty red track between the green-grey scrub and the long grass that covers the entire hillside. There’s barely enough room for them to walk side by side, but they do anyway. 

“Well, you know what they say,” Luke starts, crowding in closer to Calum’s side to dodge a particularly large bush. “Cold hands means a warm heart.”

Calum laughs. “Your heart must be seriously hot by now then.”

He says it as a joke, and it is, but then. The way Luke responds. Calum can hear the fond smile in his voice, but there’s also another layer that makes it feel like so much more when he says, “Yeah. It’s really burning up in here.”

Calum isn’t sure how to respond to that. Not with words anyway. He just squeezes Luke’s hand and looks out over the blue sky and hills of waving grass, a line of taller bushes obscuring the canyon from view.

They set a comfortable pace together. Calum rubs his thumb over Luke’s cold hand in time to their steps, and Luke occasionally points out a bird flying past or swooping into the bushes and trees lining the path. They don’t talk much, but they don’t really need to. Every time Calum runs his thumb over the back of Luke’s hand, Luke does that same to his hand, and that feels like an entire conversation in itself. And slowly, Luke’s hand seems to thaw out until it’s no longer bitingly cold against Calum’s skin.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach the end of the trail, a small signpost and a fenced platform jutting out from the cliffside. Calum gasps over-dramatically. “What the fuck, dude! This is insane! ”

The landscape is spread out in an even more stunning view than from the carpark, clusters of clouds hanging low and heavy over the canyon’s rust-coloured hills and pillars of rock, bursts of open blue sky high above them making it feel like they’re on top of the world.

Luke laughs delightedly at Calum’s reaction, pulling Calum’s hand out of his pocket but keeping their fingers intertwined as they head over to the small platform. 

Calum rests his coffee cup on top of the wide railing when they get there, so he can lean forward on his arms instead, and Luke slips his hand out of Calum’s grip so he can lean beside him too, shoulders pressed together instead. Luke rakes his fingers through his hair, pushing his hood down off his head so the breeze can tousle his already messy hair. 

Calum’s hand tingles pleasantly from where Luke had been holding it, and now that fuzzy feeling is starting to spread out and swirl through his whole bloodstream, filling him with this warm, bubbly feeling. It’s nice. Really nice.

When Calum peers over the edge of the railing to the bottom of the canyon, he can see tiny cars buzzing past on the road, looking no bigger than ants from this distance. The sun suddenly shines brighter when the cloud covering it finally shifts, making the patchwork of reds and greens and blues even more vibrant, and when Calum’s focus swings back to Luke, like a compass pointing north, he has to hold in a strange gasp that tries to claw its way out of his throat.

Eyes are closed, head tilted towards the sunlight. A few curls dragging across his forehead in a light breeze, a small but satisfied smile pulling on his parted lips. Luke is literally glowing in this light. Calum suppresses the urge to just grab his face and squeeze it to make sure he’s actually real, because surely no one just looks that beautiful all the time. It’s too painful for Calum to handle right now. 

Luke’s eyes suddenly flick open, like he can sense Calum looking at him, and he mumbles, without even glancing over at Calum, “You’re missing out on the view.”

There’s a pleased smile dancing over his face. He’s happy that Calum is looking at him, for some reason. Calum does the only logical thing he can think of to do. He wraps both his arms around Luke’s shoulders and hugs him, tightly.

“I’m not missing the view, bitch. You are the view,” Calum laughs into Luke’s shoulder, loving the way Luke automatically latches onto Calum’s arm to hold him back just as tightly. 

But Luke doesn’t laugh. Calum expected some kind of light-hearted dismissal, some kind of counteracting joke.

Nothing.

A gust of cold wind surrounds them, threatening to push Calum’s coffee cup over the edge, so he quickly lets go of Luke to grab it. He can see Luke’s face now he’s stepped back, staring out at the valley, and he’s almost smiling, in a distracted kind of way. 

He must realise that he’s missing Calum’s touch then. The way he side-steps closer and looks over at Calum, almost questioningly, once he blinks away the fogginess. It tugs on something in Calum’s chest. Something warm, something that is so overwhelmingly comforting that Calum has to turn his head to look out at the desert instead of Luke for a breath, trying desperately to claw enough space in his own heart so he can make it feel less like he’s been overtaken by this fuzzy feeling that Luke keeps stuffing into his chest. 

Because, what if one day, Luke doesn’t look at Calum like that anymore? What if Luke never unconsciously shuffles closer to Calum, never lets Calum tackle him into spontaneous hugs, and Calum just has to drown by himself in the warm, bubbly feeling that Luke affection brings out in him?

Calum isn’t sure he could bear it. If this nightmare reality ever came true.

Not that it’s likely to, judging by the way Luke nudges Calum with his shoulder and lightly hip-checks him. His way of subtly getting Calum’s attention without aggressively ripping him out of his thoughts. Kind of like their knocking system, really. It’s always a question between them, never a demand.

Calum keeps his eyes on the scenery in front of them, but turns his head the slightest bit towards Luke to acknowledge his gentle prods. He doesn’t know what to say, though. 

He reverts to pointing out the obvious again, “It’s cold out here.” 

The wind seems to have died down a bit now. Calum rests his coffee cup back on the railing, his hand still loosely encircling it but not quite getting to the point of letting go completely, because he’s more focussed on pulling his gaze back to Luke, forcing himself to face him, even if it makes him squeal or faint or something else that’s super dramatic and stupid.

The sky is the colour of Luke’s eyes. His pink lips match the tip of his nose.

Luke cocks his head and licks his lips, rolling them together a little, then he nods in agreement. “It is.” 

A mischievous look starts glinting in his eyes. He straightens up and turns to face Calum, lifting his chin in a defiant kind of way. It’s a challenging look.

Calum braces himself. 

“Can I kiss your nose now?”

Calum bursts out laughing.

“Like you even have to ask?” he replies, giggling a little incredulously. Of course Luke found a way to pull him out of his head and make him smile immediately. He’s getting a little too good at that these days. “Yeah, sure, you can kiss my nose. As long as your lips aren’t freezing,” Calum warns. 

Luke just smiles as he leans in, eyes darting from Calum’s eyes to his lips, then up to his nose, and up again to his eyes, and Calum’s insides are doing all kind of acrobatics now because Luke is so close and he’s looking at him in that so something kind of way again and he really wants to grab Luke’s waist to haul him even closer, but he stays frozen in place. He’s pretty sure he stops breathing, even as the wind lazily pushes its way between them and twists the end of Luke’s curls with his eyelashes.

Then Luke’s lips are pressing a very quick, very cold kiss to the tip of Calum’s nose. Calum shudders involuntarily, eyes sliding closed for a moment. When he opens them, Luke is still standing there studying Calum, with his head tilted to the side and his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. It’s making his lip piercing scar stretch just the slightest bit again, like it always does, which probably wouldn’t be noticeable to any normal person looking at Luke, but for Calum, it’s enough to feel like he could combust if he isn’t the one biting Luke’s bottom lip in the next, like, twenty seconds.

“That was cold,” Calum accuses, choking it out weakly. His gaze is tripping all over Luke’s face. 

The curls tumbling over his forehead. The heat in his blue eyes. The uneven dimples carving into his cheeks. The way the blood floods back into his lip when his teeth release it, right as Calum’s watching. For fuck’s sake.

Luke’s whole face and body and just everything is too close for Calum to ignore the knot of heat in his stomach now. It’s beginning to writhe around in earnest the longer Calum stands here, staring, thinking, and - worst of all - imagining.

Luke grins and shrugs, and the cockiness of it all does something to that warm feeling that was buzzing through Calum’s bloodstream earlier, turning it into a frenzy of energy, ready to be expelled.

"Maybe you're just really hot." Luke smirks when he says it, letting Calum decide whether to take it as a joke, or a… a what? An invitation, of sorts?

It would be pretty fucking crazy to take that as an invitation. It’s just Luke, being Luke, while also bearing unbearably alluring and also looking at Calum with that smirk that is seriously driving Calum insane. 

Calum considers bullying Luke again, for not getting a hot drink to keep himself warm. But then Luke tilts his chin up in that same challenging way as before and the heat in Calum’s chest tugs violently in response, and he can’t stop himself from blurting out, “Can I kiss you?”

Luke’s grin turns downright devilish. He pulls a hand out of his pocket so he can start fiddling with the string of Calum’s hoodie, rolling it between his fingertips as his heavy gaze searches Calum’s face. Probably trying to see if Calum is joking or not. 

“Is that one of your advanced warming techniques?” 

Luke’s voice is calm and teasing, but the way his body starts listing forward of its own accord, like he’s being blown over by the wind, head angling to the side and gaze dipping to Calum’s lips…

Calum may actually die. This is so, so something.

“It’s- yeah, I mean-” Calum tries his best to form some kind of reply, stumbling over his words a little. “If that’s what you want it to be, I guess?” Calum finally gets out, eyes frantically flitting from Luke’s lips to his eyes and back again, part of him still trying to process if this is an actual thing that is happening to him while the other half is already gravitating closer to Luke, hands drifting towards the pockets on the front of Luke’s jacket so he can hook his fingers in them and gently pull.

Luke leans in close enough for his flyaway curls to tangle in Calum’s eyelashes. Calum briefly wonders what the fuck they’re doing right now, but that small shadow out worry fades away when he hears the smile in Luke’s voice as he whispers a short and simple, “Okay.”

Luke’s lips are cold when they’re pressed against Calum’s.

It takes several moments for Calum’s short-circuiting brain to even catch up. To realise, holy shit, I’m actually fucking kissing him.  

For a long moment, time seems to slow down completely, and all Calum can focus on is the feeling of Luke’s cold lips sealed against Calum’s warmer lips. The tip of Luke’s cold nose brushing Calum’s cheek when he angles his head slightly. Luke’s cold fingers, pressed against the side of Calum’s neck, sending a chilling spark right through his burning skin and into his bloodstream.

Then Luke flicks his tongue out against Calum’s bottom lip in some kind of tentative, questioning way, and time snaps right back into place again.

Calum responds eagerly. He kisses Luke back hungrily. The warmth surging through Calum’s bloodstream takes over, and he’s barely even aware of the way he pulls on Luke’s jacket to get him to step closer, bringing him chest to chest, making that small height difference between them seem like a whole lot more when Luke juts his chin out to deepen the kiss even more, light stubble scraping against Calum’s cheek. 

There’s a long, slow moment where Luke licks into Calum’s mouth, drawing a choked-off moan from the back of Calum’s throat. He didn’t even mean to make that noise. It just happened, because Calum has absolutely no control over how his body reacts to the feeling of Luke’s teeth sinking into his lip, pulling slightly, or the way Luke keeps pushing forward towards Calum while holding the back of Calum’s neck to keep him close, a constant tug of war that is making Calum’s stomach tie itself into knots.

When Luke eventually pulls back, he’s smiling. Calum gets to feel that smile against his own lips for a short breath, before Luke puts enough space between their shoulders so they’re noses aren’t quite touching, and the cool desert breeze can thread its way between them again. Luke’s hand slides down from the side of Calum’s neck to start fiddling with his hoodie string again.

Luke can’t step back completely though, because Calum’s hands are still holding his waist firmly, making sure he doesn’t just shove his tongue into Calum’s mouth and then fucking run away or something. Calum is not finished with whatever the fuck just happened. 

“That really is an advanced warming technique,” Luke mumbles, smiling a little. 

Calum tries to focus on Luke’s eyes, feeling like he should be at least trying to read into how Luke is feeling about all this, but his lips are such a perfect colour of rosy pink right now and Calum might die if he doesn’t get to kiss him again. He needs to kiss him again. (He hasn’t even got to lick the stubble on his neck yet.)

“Are you warm enough, though?” Calum asks, aiming for a teasing tone but ending up a little breathless instead. He’s almost going cross-eyed now, trying to look at all of Luke’s face at once; the freckles dusted over his cheekbones, the way the sunlight is sparkling in his blue eyes, the way his curls keep getting ruffled one way then the other by the everchanging wind. 

And he’s still smiling. That’s got to be a good sign. 

Luke hums a little, scrunching up his nose as he makes a show of considering Calum’s question. “I mean, I don’t think kissing is gonna help warm up my toes, but-”

Calum laughs through his teeth, trying to keep quiet as Luke continues, but being physically incapable of not laughing. The bubbling warmth in his chest has chosen to spill out of him in the form of stifled giggles- he can’t help it.

“Maybe if we were somewhere a little less windy…” Luke lifts an eyebrow suggestively, probably trying to be funny and just not realising that he’s both cute and hot, literally all the time, no matter what he does. He slides his hand back up so he can bury his fingers in curls of Calum’s hair that are poking out the bottom of his beanie, and Calum shudders and tips his head back into Luke’s touch, eyes closing. “Then we could try this out some more. If you want.”

Calum opens his eyes and looks at Luke, letting the heaviness show in his eyes when he replies slowly, deliberately, “Yeah. I want.” 

☼ ☼ ☼

Calum is lying in one of the hammocks, waiting for Luke to find him. There’s a whole bunch of hammocks set up a little way from the back of the lodge, making it a perfect spot to watch the night sky.

This is part of a test. As well as Calum just wanting to do a bit of star gazing. 

He has been doing some thorough testing lately, though, over the last few days at least, to see who’s being more clingy: Calum or Luke. And so far, the score is even, which sits nicely with Calum. He knows that Luke wants to be around Calum just as much as he wants to be around Luke, which takes away the worry of if Calum is being too much, too close, too annoying with his insistent need to be touching Luke in any and every way possible.

But even that has improved slightly, too. Because now, he can touch Luke in all the ways he wants to. Which is still something he’s getting used to. 

Like the other day, in the courtyard outside the studio, when they were running through some lyrics together, and Luke was wearing a tank top underneath his coat and Calum could just see the wing of his hummingbird tattoo peeking out, and it was driving him fucking insane. So he simply walked over and deposited himself in Luke’s lap. They ended up with a lot less writing done that afternoon, but hey, it was worth it! Calum didn’t have to implode or internally self-destruct or anything, which is always a bonus. 

And the other night, when Calum didn’t even bother trying to sleep in his own bed. He slipped on Luke’s hoodie that he stole the other day, and curled up in Luke’s bed instead, with Luke tucked in against his chest and the tips of his curls tickling Calum’s nose. It was one of the best night's sleep he’s ever had. 

Now, Calum watches as the stars begin to shine through the peachy haze of dusk, little specks lighting up the desert sky. The sky almost looks like a piece of paper that has holes poked all through it, with the stars being created by a torch shining from the other side to shine through the holes as little bursts of light.

“Oh my god, you’re in another swinging chair. Fuck yes!”

Luke’s voice sounds over the quiet bird calls, and Calum smiles to himself. Finally. The crunch of dirt and gravel beneath Luke’s shoes gets closer and closer until he’s looming over Calum, hoodie pulled over his curls to combat the chill that is slowly threading through the desert air. 

“I did find yet another swinging chair, yes.” Calum props a hand up underneath his head and shifts his legs slightly, trying to twist himself into a position that will make it comfy for when Luke inevitably wants to snuggle in Calum’s hammock with him. 

“Got room for two?” Luke pinches the fabric of the hammock between his fingers and pulls it to the side so he can peer in, his crooked grin barely visible in the dim glow of the fading sunset.

Calum opens his arms wide and tugs on Luke’s hand, encouraging him closer. “Yeah, come on in. You can squash me all you want.” 

Luke starts his strategic move to gently lower himself down as Calum talks, flicking his legs over and collapsing on Calum’s chest a little too dramatically. The force of it swings the hammock back and forth a few times, and Calum laughs and wraps his arms tightly around Luke, like that would even help if they actually did break the fucking hammock. 

Luke giggles into Calum’s neck, then props himself up on Calum’s chest and peers down at him. The sky behind Luke is a deep shade of indigo, a few stars sparkling around the silhouette of his head like some kind of cosmic halo, and the warm light coming from the porch of the lodge is melting into the shadows a little at this distance, but it’s still enough for Calum to be able to vaguely see Luke’s face. 

Calum grins up at him. “Hi.”

Luke tilts his head to the side, also smiling. “Hi.”

“You’re getting a little too good at squashing, y’know. I think you might have broken one of my ribs.”

Luke laughs, one of his cute wheezy laughs, stifled by the way he presses his tongue to the back of his teeth. He quickly leans down to plant a kiss on Calum’s lips once he stops laughing. Then another one on his cheek, right beside his mouth, where Calum knows his moles are. Luke seems to kiss him there all the time now.

“Sorry,” Luke murmurs, lips brushing Calum cheek when he talks. “But I’m pretty sure I can find a way to make it up to you, somehow.” Luke’s voice drops a register, and Calum is already anticipating the kisses Luke presses along Calum’s jaw, working his way down to his neck, and Calum’s breathing hitches ever so slightly as he angles his head to the side, giving Luke more room to work. 

Calum hums, trying to sound as nonchalant as he can right now, but failing miserably when Luke starts using his tongue and teeth to gently suck a mark, right over Calum’s pulse point. 

“Is this the only method of payment on offer?” Calum asks, choking on a gasp and gripping Luke’s waist tighter when he sinks his teeth in a little more, sparks of pleasure fizzing in Calum’s bloodstream.

Luke flicks his tongue over the sore spot, then pulls back and gives Calum a heavy-lidded, smug smile when he meets his eyes again. Luke’s gaze drops to Calum’s lips again, and he gives in to the distraction, giving Calum another chaste kiss before he thinks up an answer. Calum can relate. He gets distracted by Luke’s lips literally all the fucking time.

“Well-” Luke grins devilishly, lifting an eyebrow questioningly. “What would you suggest?”

Calum doesn’t answer with words. He just unwraps his arms from around Luke’s waist and skates his hands down Luke’s back to plant them firmly on his ass, making Luke chuckle. He shakes his head fondly at Calum’s proud smile. 

“Some light groping is always a great option, in my humble opinion,” Calum starts, trying to be mock-serious but laughing a little anyway when Luke drops his head against Calum’s shoulder and giggles. “Especially when there’s an ass like this on offer.” Calum taps a finger on Luke’s ass just to prove his point, and because he can, so why the fuck would he not? 

Calum starts moving his hands up along Luke’s back again, playing invisible piano keys along Luke’s spine, through his soft hoodie, and Calum can hear the content smile in Luke’s voice when he nuzzles against Calum’s shoulder, and says, “You’re so fuckin’ ridiculous.” Luke taps a finger against Calum’s chest three times when he says it, and that’s when Calum realises. 

Their three-tap-system may include a whole other meaning now. The way Luke’s voice sounded, dripping in fondness, and his gentle but purposeful taps on Calum’s chest, like he wanted it to mean something…

Calum tips his head to the side so he can feel Luke’s messy hair tangling in his eyelashes, and Luke’s steady breathing puffing out against the side of Calum’s neck, a warm contrast to the cool desert air surrounding them. 

Then Calum takes a steady breath in, smiling before he even gets the words out. It’s barely a quiet whisper into Luke’s messy curls, but it’s only meant for Luke to hear anyway. Calum knows Luke will understand, will reciprocate. 

“I think,” Calum starts, then stops, flattening his hands against Luke’s back. He can feel Luke’s heartbeat in his palms now. He tries again, speaking barely louder than a whisper. “I love you.”

Calum taps three times on Luke back when he says it, so Luke knows that he means it, maybe in a slightly different way than all the other times he’s said it before. Somehow, the taps make all the difference. 

Luke presses himself closer to Calum’s side, and his lips are touching the side of Calum’s neck when he replies, a soft smile lacing his voice, like he already knew what Calum meant but was happy to hear it, and happy to reciprocate, “Yeah. I love you too.”