Calum had done well in the art of changing the subject. He had done it often, but now, he felt like he needed to. Michael kept wanting to talk to him about the incident that had happened a couple of days before, and the Maori kept making excuses, changing the subject to distract him.
It was one of their break days, and they had a radio interview in an hour. Calum was writing some songs by himself in the hotel room. The other boys had gone down to get food, but Calum stayed behind.
I can't stand on my own two legs, but I've got an army behind me that won't cut me a break. So call me an amputee, back of the line, back in your memories. I'm lost in the crowd.
Annoyed, he crossed the words out because he literally just wrote shit. He needed to be somewhere else. He needed to do something else.
He laid down on his bed, and heard his hotel room door open. He quickly scrunched up the paper he had been writing on, pushing it in his pocket. Arthur. It was his last day and the boys were cheering.
He had Calum cornered.
Arthur, of all people, had Calum cornered.
"Arthur, how're you?" He asked, figuring he may as well be polite to the guy who had his reputation in his hands. "What have you come to ask me?"
"Do you know why Michael left?"
Calum swallowed, visibly uncomfortable. "I wish I did."
"You've been distant lately, are you – or any of the other boys for that matter – suffering from it?"
"It's mid-tour." The Maori told him dismissively, looking down at his bass.
The older man raised an eyebrow. "That's no excuse."
"Mid-tour is when everybody's emotions are fucked up." Calum tried to explain, but Arthur didn't seem to understand. He didn't bother, and just went back to playing the same chords over and over.
"New song?"
"Can't find the words for it." The Maori said, licking his lips. "It's . . . I've got the tune, and I know exactly how I want it to go, it's just the words . . ."
"Words are personal, no?"
Calum rested his bass on his lap. "It's the fact that they're my words, that's getting me. We usually write in partners and talk about it after, but I decided to write this by myself."
"What's it about?"
Michael. "Uh, nothing."
***
Arthur was gone, and it was a collective sigh of relief from the band. Calum drummed his fingers against his thighs, nervous about what Arthur would write. Ashton noticed this, and furrowed his eyebrows, going to ask something, but the Maori had already left the room.
"Wait, Calum." Ashton said, catching the door Calum was about to slam.
"I'm going out for a smoke."
"What's up?"
Calum went out to the venue's smoking area, Ashton still trailing behind. He covered his hand so his lighter would emit flame, and lit the cigarette in between his lips.
"I'm so fucking nervous, Ashton."
"What? The show will do fine, I – "
Calum scoffed, sucking in a breath of smoke. "Not that. I said something. I did something. To Michael. And – And I think Arthur picked up on it."
He didn't know why he was telling Ashton this. He knew it would just be a whole new level of awkward, now, but all of the words he hadn't said were just pouring out of his mouth like the smoke he had been breathing.
"Woah, what's going on, Calum?"
Calum's hands were shaking as he looked at his feet. "I . . . I thought of Michael like that. Like – I thought of him and me f-fucking."
"Do you like him?"
Calum blushed, rubbing his face in attempt to get rid of it. "I don't know."
Ashton put his large hand on the olive-skinned boy's back, smiling small. "Don't get cut up over it. If you like him, test the waters a little, see how he responds. If you don't, then you don't."
"B-But, this could fuck up everything. What if I do? Then I have to be on tour with the person I like. Then . . . what if he doesn't like me?"
Seeing the fear and desperation on Calum's face, Ashton grabbed the cigarette and dropped it onto the floor, hugging his best friend, letting the smell of smoke succumb him. "Calum, you're fine. When you know your feelings, tell me."
Calum nodded, feeling the urge to cry again, but he blinked the tears away. The other two would notice. He buried his head in Ashton's shoulder.
"What am I going to do?" he asked, hoping for a good enough answer.
"You're going to cry, and then figure it out."
They let go and went inside, seeing the boys still working out. "Just stop smoking, okay? It's fine if you do it every once in a while, but I hate that you're doing it more often." Ashton mumbled, knowing Calum wouldn't want the others to hear.
Calum nodded, going over to the weights. He lifted until his arms were sore and shaking, his face red. He put them on the floor, and went over to drink from a random water bottle. Michael walked up to him, grabbing the bottle before Calum could.
"You okay?" he asked before taking a drink.
The black-haired boy nodded numbly. "Fine."
Calum looked over to where Ashton was skipping, seeing him already looking at the two. "Push-fives?"
"Sure."
They got down and did push-ups opposite to each other, high-fiving every time they were up to the planking position. Michael continued to talk, rambling about nothing in particular.
"Calum, about the other day . . ."
"Just leave it, Michael. It's okay. I just freaked out because I'm just all overwhelmed and shit." Calum puffed, laying on the floor.
"Okay."
Michael got up and dragged him out by the wrists, giving him carpet burn. "Ow." Calum groaned, chuckling. He stood up, jumping on Michael's back. "Take me to the showers."
Michael carried him to the shower-blocks, and sat him down on the seat. Test the waters, he heard Ashton's voice in his head.
"Take my shoes off." Calum said, lifting his feet up and shaking them. Michael did as he was told. "Take my shirt off." Michael hesitated before taking his shirt off.
"You can take your own pants off, dude."
Calum sighed dramatically, dropping his pants, making Michael look away. "I'm taking off my clothes," Calum sung. "I'm getting in the shower. Michael's looking at me weirdly. I'm strippin', I'm strippin', I'm strippin',"
Michael laughed, shaking his head as he walked out of the shower blocks. Calum pouted, whining for Michael to come back. The pale boy turned around, his hands on his hips.
"Why're you being so weird?"
"I'm not being weird; I'm just bored." Calum said, his happy façade wearing out.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." He said, butt-naked and not ashamed in front of the boy he'd been thinking about most of the week. He walked in to the shower block, turning on the taps. Michael just stood there, staring.
"Calum, can we please talk about the other night?"
The politeness in Michael's tone scared the shit out of Calum. "Look . . . can we get over that? I just had a little panic thing; it's whatever."
"It is not whatever, Calum." The boy said sharply.
"It is."
"What were you even panicking about?"
"Why did you run away?" The Maori snapped, giving Michael a harsh glare. "If you can't answer my questions, I won't answer yours."
Michael huffed, walking out of the shower blocks. Calum sighed, shaking his head before turning the water off. He dried himself with his shirt and put the rest of his clothes on. He walked out and looked around for Michael, who was nowhere in sight.
About five minutes later, Calum found him onstage, strumming away at his guitar, Ashton and Luke having a conversation off to the side. The Maori took his guitar off his lap and pulled him up to hug him.
Michael relaxed into the hug, sighing in content. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, too."
,
what do you think about arthur? his shadiness?
ashton being hella cool abt possible malum?
malum being malum aw?