Summary: I thought being a journalist would be fulfilling. I thought Iād be travelling the world by now, interviewing all different types of people. But no, I was stuck in a dead end job where my publisher hated my guts, and the story I was currently working on was impossible to write. Go chase your dreams, they said. Yeah, right.
Word count: 1,147 words
A/N: Read it down below OR read it on ao3 here
I thought being a journalist would be fulfilling. I thought Iād be travelling the world by now, interviewing all different types of people. But no, I was stuck in a dead end job where my publisher hated my guts, and the story I was currently working on was impossible to write. Go chase your dreams, they said. Yeah, right.
At least I have Calum. We met years and years ago at a local show; I was there to interview the band, and he was the bassist. He charmed his way into my life, and I couldnāt be happier. He was the cool springs in a rugged desert, saving me when I was on the brink. Heās helped me more than heāll ever know. Thatās why, when I got home after work, I found him sitting on the couch, plucking the strings of his bass while simultaneously watching some sitcom rerun. I smiled at him, though it didnāt reach my eyes.
He noticed immediately, standing up and approaching me with such tenderness. He placed his hands on my elbows, āHey, what happened?ā He asked, squeezing my elbows before moving down to my hands. He intertwined our fingers, calloused against soft skin. I shook my head, lips locked tight. He let go of our hands and pulled me into a hug, his strong arms wrapping around my hips and shoulders. I broke down.
I was sobbing into his chest, knees shaky, oh-so close to toppling over. I felt pathetic, like I was making a big deal over nothing. I mean, my job is good, I get good money, I have an amazing boyfriend, so why am I sobbing uncontrollably? āIām sorry,ā I cry out, shaking his head against the fabric of his old shirt. Itās a band tee, one I gifted him on our six month anniversary. I feel him kiss the top of my head repeatedly, carding his fingers through my hair.
āDonāt cry, baby girl. Want me to run you a bath? We can just soak, and you can vent to me about work?ā
āYes, please.ā
āCāmon, baby,ā he whispered, kissing my forehead before pulling away to turn to the bathroom. I followed him, watching from the bathroom doorway as he turned the tap on, the water filling the tub. He grabbed some candles from the cupboard, lighting them and placing them on each corner. I love him, so god damn much. He does all these things for me and I admire him for that. Heās the light of my life. I watched him as he turned to me, motioning for us to get in.
We stripped off, him climbing in with me following suit. We got comfortable, my back pressed against his bare chest, the water warm against my cold skin. My eyes fluttered closed, focused on the feeling of us pressed together. He played with my hair, pulling it behind my ear. I turned my head, pressing a kiss to his jaw before turning to look at the wall. He knew something was on my mind, āTalk to me?ā He suggested softly, voice sickenly sweet. Iāve always hated that voice, because it means Iām loved, and sometimes I donāt know how to handle that.
āMy publisher hates me. He thinks Iām just someā dumb little girl behind a keyboard. Iām sick of this industry not taking me seriously. I just want to write something good, tell people's stories. Thatās all Iāve ever wanted. Sometimes I wish I never became a journalist in the first placeā¦ā
āBut then we wouldnāt have met.ā
I paused, turning my head to meet his gentle gaze, āWhat?ā
āDonāt you remember? We met when my band played at some local venueā¦you interviewed us.ā He wrapped his arms around my waist before continuing the story, āYou interviewed Luke, then Michael, then Ashton, and then me. Best ātil last, huh?ā He laughed, I felt my heart swell. āWe chatted, got a drink ā you were only freshly 18, and so was I, to be fair. We separated andāā
āAnd I found a note slipped into my pocket,ā I finished, smiling softly, āI remember. You were so sweet, you wrote that you wanted to see me again.ā I didnāt mention the little joke that was at the bottom of the note, which said that if he was too ugly I could throw his number out immediately. I didnāt want to bring up his past insecurities, especially when he seemed so confident now.
āWork isnāt supposed to be fun, sweetheart. I know being in a band and shit seems like fun ā and it is, most of the time ā but there are days where I hate it, where I want to quit and get a 9-5 like the rest of the fuckass world. But you, my dear, you have talent.ā
I felt my eyes well up with tears, but I didnāt dare let them fall just yet.
āYou have this heart, so full of love and wonder. You always see the best in people, their best qualities. You have no idea how much I love that about you. Itās why Iām still here, why Iām always trying to be better, because I know you believe in me. You better not quit on me, bug.ā
My heart shattered. He only ever called me ābugā when we were talking seriously, because he knows I like it, because it helps me regulate myself. I know heās not mad when he calls me bug. I sighed, leaning back against him further, āI wonāt, Cally. Iāll keep going, because I know you believe in me,ā I repeat back to him, smiling softly.
When we eventually exited the bathroom, he stalked over to his closet, tossing a hoodie and sweatpants towards me. I laughed softly, taking the clothes and slipping into them. I pulled the sweatpants up to my hips, fiddling with the strings to tighten the waistband. He stepped up behind me, placing his hands on my hips, āI love you,ā he murmured against my neck, pressing soft little kisses to the skin there. I hummed, grinning ear-to-ear.
āI love you,ā I repeat. We slipped into bed once we were dressed, Calum laying behind me with his arm tossed over my torso. I felt safe there, in a place where Iām trusted to be independent but not shamed for needing someone occasionally. He knows this, and even encourages me to āspread my wings moreā as he puts it. I love him more than oxygen some days. āThank you,ā I whisper, sniffling softly.
At first, instead of a verbal reply, he turned my head, connecting our lips together in a soft kiss. I reciprocated, lifting my hand to cup his stubbled jaw. I smile as we separate, eyes droopy with sleep. He laid his head back on the pillow, looking at me with his own small smile, āNever thank me for loving you.ā
Summary: I thought being a journalist would be fulfilling. I thought Iād be travelling the world by now, interviewing all different types of people. But no, I was stuck in a dead end job where my publisher hated my guts, and the story I was currently working on was impossible to write. Go chase your dreams, they said. Yeah, right.
Word count: 1,147 words
A/N: Read it down below OR read it on ao3 here
I thought being a journalist would be fulfilling. I thought Iād be travelling the world by now, interviewing all different types of people. But no, I was stuck in a dead end job where my publisher hated my guts, and the story I was currently working on was impossible to write. Go chase your dreams, they said. Yeah, right.
At least I have Calum. We met years and years ago at a local show; I was there to interview the band, and he was the bassist. He charmed his way into my life, and I couldnāt be happier. He was the cool springs in a rugged desert, saving me when I was on the brink. Heās helped me more than heāll ever know. Thatās why, when I got home after work, I found him sitting on the couch, plucking the strings of his bass while simultaneously watching some sitcom rerun. I smiled at him, though it didnāt reach my eyes.
He noticed immediately, standing up and approaching me with such tenderness. He placed his hands on my elbows, āHey, what happened?ā He asked, squeezing my elbows before moving down to my hands. He intertwined our fingers, calloused against soft skin. I shook my head, lips locked tight. He let go of our hands and pulled me into a hug, his strong arms wrapping around my hips and shoulders. I broke down.
I was sobbing into his chest, knees shaky, oh-so close to toppling over. I felt pathetic, like I was making a big deal over nothing. I mean, my job is good, I get good money, I have an amazing boyfriend, so why am I sobbing uncontrollably? āIām sorry,ā I cry out, shaking his head against the fabric of his old shirt. Itās a band tee, one I gifted him on our six month anniversary. I feel him kiss the top of my head repeatedly, carding his fingers through my hair.
āDonāt cry, baby girl. Want me to run you a bath? We can just soak, and you can vent to me about work?ā
āYes, please.ā
āCāmon, baby,ā he whispered, kissing my forehead before pulling away to turn to the bathroom. I followed him, watching from the bathroom doorway as he turned the tap on, the water filling the tub. He grabbed some candles from the cupboard, lighting them and placing them on each corner. I love him, so god damn much. He does all these things for me and I admire him for that. Heās the light of my life. I watched him as he turned to me, motioning for us to get in.
We stripped off, him climbing in with me following suit. We got comfortable, my back pressed against his bare chest, the water warm against my cold skin. My eyes fluttered closed, focused on the feeling of us pressed together. He played with my hair, pulling it behind my ear. I turned my head, pressing a kiss to his jaw before turning to look at the wall. He knew something was on my mind, āTalk to me?ā He suggested softly, voice sickenly sweet. Iāve always hated that voice, because it means Iām loved, and sometimes I donāt know how to handle that.
āMy publisher hates me. He thinks Iām just someā dumb little girl behind a keyboard. Iām sick of this industry not taking me seriously. I just want to write something good, tell people's stories. Thatās all Iāve ever wanted. Sometimes I wish I never became a journalist in the first placeā¦ā
āBut then we wouldnāt have met.ā
I paused, turning my head to meet his gentle gaze, āWhat?ā
āDonāt you remember? We met when my band played at some local venueā¦you interviewed us.ā He wrapped his arms around my waist before continuing the story, āYou interviewed Luke, then Michael, then Ashton, and then me. Best ātil last, huh?ā He laughed, I felt my heart swell. āWe chatted, got a drink ā you were only freshly 18, and so was I, to be fair. We separated andāā
āAnd I found a note slipped into my pocket,ā I finished, smiling softly, āI remember. You were so sweet, you wrote that you wanted to see me again.ā I didnāt mention the little joke that was at the bottom of the note, which said that if he was too ugly I could throw his number out immediately. I didnāt want to bring up his past insecurities, especially when he seemed so confident now.
āWork isnāt supposed to be fun, sweetheart. I know being in a band and shit seems like fun ā and it is, most of the time ā but there are days where I hate it, where I want to quit and get a 9-5 like the rest of the fuckass world. But you, my dear, you have talent.ā
I felt my eyes well up with tears, but I didnāt dare let them fall just yet.
āYou have this heart, so full of love and wonder. You always see the best in people, their best qualities. You have no idea how much I love that about you. Itās why Iām still here, why Iām always trying to be better, because I know you believe in me. You better not quit on me, bug.ā
My heart shattered. He only ever called me ābugā when we were talking seriously, because he knows I like it, because it helps me regulate myself. I know heās not mad when he calls me bug. I sighed, leaning back against him further, āI wonāt, Cally. Iāll keep going, because I know you believe in me,ā I repeat back to him, smiling softly.
When we eventually exited the bathroom, he stalked over to his closet, tossing a hoodie and sweatpants towards me. I laughed softly, taking the clothes and slipping into them. I pulled the sweatpants up to my hips, fiddling with the strings to tighten the waistband. He stepped up behind me, placing his hands on my hips, āI love you,ā he murmured against my neck, pressing soft little kisses to the skin there. I hummed, grinning ear-to-ear.
āI love you,ā I repeat. We slipped into bed once we were dressed, Calum laying behind me with his arm tossed over my torso. I felt safe there, in a place where Iām trusted to be independent but not shamed for needing someone occasionally. He knows this, and even encourages me to āspread my wings moreā as he puts it. I love him more than oxygen some days. āThank you,ā I whisper, sniffling softly.
At first, instead of a verbal reply, he turned my head, connecting our lips together in a soft kiss. I reciprocated, lifting my hand to cup his stubbled jaw. I smile as we separate, eyes droopy with sleep. He laid his head back on the pillow, looking at me with his own small smile, āNever thank me for loving you.ā
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