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he draws his fingertips across the curve of cal’s cheekbone, the warmth of his touch crawling over the blonde’s cold porcelain skin. his thumb hovers for a split second, then presses taut against his chapped pink lips. their eyes meet.
a slow grin spreads upon cal’s face as his gaze narrows down and he leans back against the headboard, sighing and cracking his knuckles one by one. his movements are messy yet methodical, careless yet calculated. andre swallows hard, the weight in his chest coiling tighter.
his jaw tightens. “stop fuckin’ playing with me.” he mumbles, shifting away. cal raises a brow. “i’m not doing anything.”
“yeah sure you’re not.” andre says under his breath as he rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, snatching his undone homework from the night before and haughtily scribbling an answer down on the crinkled sheet of paper. cal watches him with that all-too-familiar gleam in his pupil. rain patters upon the window in andre’s room, yet another hindrance to his peace and quiet. even the sky sounds irritated.
it’s a friday night. cal has shown up unannounced at andre’s house again. their dynamic is strange even to them. he never asks before barging in, and andre never really minds. the kriegmans are like a second family to cal, and they welcome him as one of their own. cal eats dinner with them most nights now. sleeps over more than he should. smiles his pretty smile and nods politely. they see the soft edges. andre sees the jagged ones. and for some reason, he needs both. whatever is missing from cal’s home– warmth, presence, affection– he finds in this house.
or, more specifically, in andre.
what is funny to andre is that cal presents himself as such an angel to his parents. the perfect, respectful, albeit ever so slightly troubled golden boy that swerves his way into andre’s life with the charm of a genie and the wits of a conman. the mask falls as soon as the two find themselves locked up behind closed doors on the safety of andre’s bed, the facade tumbling onto the carpet like a ragdoll. here he is sharp, cocky, relentless. here he presses buttons until they bleed. yet andre likes him all the same.
cal nudges andre’s paper playfully with his foot, his lips twitching up into that stupid grin again. andre stares at him with annoyance, taking a deep breath in and then exhaling through his nose.
his foot inches closer, causing andre to raise an eyebrow and purposely move further back. cal, seemingly amused, sweeps the paper clean off the bed with one kick.
andre’s fist curls into a tight ball as he glowers at cal, getting up off the bed and haughtily grabbing his homework off of the floor. “seriously dude, fucking seriousl-” he stops as he hears cal giggling from his place on the bed, the knuckle of his thumb wedged in between his teeth as he tries to muffle his chuckles.
“awww, is someone angry?” cal taunts as per usual. andre feels the all-too-familiar heat form pinpricks on the surface of his skin, the warmth rising to his face as he sees the edges of his vision blur into the backdrop.
“i’m gonna fuckin- FUCK-“ his body lurches forward before his brain can tether it down. he swings at the pillow beside cal’s thigh, fist sinking deep into cotton like it can soak up the rage that broods in him. everything from the past week surges to the surface at once, indistinguishable, shrieking. his history teacher’s smug voice echoing through the classroom. the D on his math test, and the look on his mom’s face; tired, quietly disappointed. brad’s stupid jokes needling into him like thumbtacks. the mistakes at work. the ones no one lets him forget. the ones he can’t stop replaying. fuckin’ everything, for god’s sake, and now he just blows up at the only person who ever comes close to seeing him without looking away.
cal flinches, the expression on his face unreadable as his hands drop to his sides. the tension in the room is palpable. andre punches the pillow again, more ritual than rage this time. he curses under his breath then stands up, running his hands through his hair and tugging gently at the roots, as if separating his locks from his scalp can absolve his brain of whatever mess he has going on inside, as if tugging hard enough can drag something clean from the static that permeates his vessel.
“‘dre, calm down-” cal’s voice barely touches the air before he is swiftly cut off by a thud as andre kicks his limp backpack on the floor. the blonde decides it is best to remain quiet as he bites down on his tongue. andre, defeated, sits down on the floor and rests his head in his hands, gravity claiming him.
“.. i’m sorry.” cal speaks up again. the words fall from his lips like a broken offering. fragile, untouched, raw, hanging in the thick air that presses between them and suffocates his senses. andre’s fingers slowly peel away from his face as if emerging from beneath the tide. he meets cal’s gaze, not with conviction, but with resignation, eyes hollowed out. “it’s- it’s fine dude, i’m being an asshole. i don’t know what the fuck gets into me, now i just.. shit. i just look stupid.”
cal immediately jumps at the opportunity to console andre. “you’re not stupid, i mean, i don’t think any less of you. not in the slightest.” andre lets the silence comfortably hang before chuckling under his breath. “hey, that’s kinda gay, du-”
a pillow collides with the side of his head, making him laugh even harder.
“oh, shut up.” cal grins, eyes soft.
andre hums, the sound vibrating through his chest like a tuning fork as their usual banter provides him with the comfort that only cal can give him. that slow, warm pulsing beneath all the noise. his shoulders relax, the air folding around him like soft cotton.
cal watches him quietly, the kind of quiet that isn’t necessarily empty, but more like a full inhale before the plunge. his fingers toy with the hem of the pillowcase in his lap, restless yet somehow graceful.
“y’know, you always do that,” andre murmurs, eyes flicking up through his lashes.
“do what?”
“make me feel like i’m not losing my shit. like it’s normal.” his breathing hitches. “like i’m normal.”
cal doesn’t answer. he just looks at him as the static he feels immersed in begins to come to a slow.
the blonde reaches out, tentative, brushing a strand of hair from andre’s forehead. his touch lingers just a second too long. andre doesn’t pull away. “you’re not that weird, man.”
cal’s lips curve, not a smirk this time, not a grin. something more reverent. “i mean. you are. but not, like... in a bad way.”
andre huffs a tired laugh. at this point he is used to cal’s distinct awkwardness. it is charming in its own fashion. “right. thanks.”
they remain in silence for a bit longer, cal piercing andre’s eyes with his own as andre’s gaze flickers nervously, before he finally picks up the courage to speak.
“you gonna kiss me like the fag you are or just keep sitting there acting like a lit-”
cal’s lips clash against andre’s, their teeth messily bumping. it’s achingly human, the way that the pain pulses through cal’s mouth before lulling as the world melts around him. he repositions himself and grips onto andre’s shoulder, nails digging into the other boy’s skin through the fabric of his thin shirt.
when they pull away, andre lets out a breath he doesn’t know he is holding. he looks at cal, trying to keep it light.
“kinda gay.”
cal blinks, deadpan. “no shit.” he bursts into a laugh.