Black Leather
Warnings: swearing, alcohol, drugs
Summary: Calum is in a small band in the mid-90s, and Y/N stumbles into his show one weekend in October.
Word Count: 7k
Among the sea of eyes, his were the ones that stood out.
The bus had stopped by too soon. In the four minutes it took to walk to the stop, you were running instead, lungs heavy while hot coffee sloshed onto your jeans. After twenty minutes passed, you were headed down Broadway on the 68 bus, your fingers twitching against your knees to the sounds of morning commuters. You were late. You were so fucking late.
The sprint to Sever Hall hadn’t been worth the energy. It hadn’t been worth the splattered burn, red splayed in dripped shapes against your thigh. It hadn’t been worth the asthma induced, cross-country sprint, one that left you wheezing in the hallway outside of your classroom. When you stumbled into the room, it was a hundred-eyed gaze, and you soon realized you had been better off skipping altogether.
“Sorry,” you breathed out, holding your chest high as you met each pair of eyes staring you down.
He had been looking at you. His lips were tugged into an unfamiliar smile while his dark brows rose in surprise. It wasn’t an appearance he wore often, and it kept you frozen in place. You were used to the frown and the rigid stare.
You managed a small smile in his direction before finding a seat toward the back.
You knew his name. You knew his face. You knew that he had come from outside of the states. But that was the gross extent of your knowledge of Calum, other than the dingy attire and the fact that he was more brilliant than you would ever know. He spoke in class on the rare occasion, and the words that flowed from his lips were dripping in pure gold.
And on the back page of your notebook, you kept his quotes in black ink. You wrote what you could hear through his soft mumbles, and you wondered why he kept so quiet with a mind as beautiful as his.
He kept his nose in a book. You spent the last month and a half studying him when you could, mentally tracing over the creases in his skin when an unsettling opinion was spoken in class. You thought about how bright his smile was despite having never seen it. You thought about how his deep brown eyes would look in the sun. You thought about his taste in music, and you wondered if you would ever know him the way you longed to.
You were caught up in your daydream when his eyes flickered over. His stare pulled you out from the swirling headspace, and you were quick to regain your involvement in the professor’s voice. Yet, despite the collected exchange, you could still feel his gaze. It was a heavy and mysterious gaze, the kind that elicited unwarranted shivers. But you didn’t mind it. The sensation sparked desirable nerves.
The next fifty minutes were spent in a distracted haze. Even the tragedy of Oedipus could not compare to the hope of delving into Calum’s personality. He was well reserved, and you ached to crack his code. You ached to be the source of his rare smiles.
That had been the reason behind your abstracted mind. He had smiled when you walked in.
You wondered about it for the next few hours, your brain preoccupied as you absentmindedly stepped around leaves on the pathway. You kept your head low on your way to Sage’s while the crisp wind nipped at any exposed skin. Scuffed shoes met shallow puddles along the pavement, and you were careful to avoid muddy spots against the lawn. The pole of posters beside Hollis Hall suddenly tore you out of the moment.
You looked beyond the anti-gentrification and political agenda signs. You looked beyond club meetings and tutor session invitations. The one poster that caught your eye was crumpled and torn, and it read:
Knight Knuckles. Slip Tit. Mudslide. Killed for Casualty.
8pm, Oct. 13th. $2 Coverage.
87 Linden St, Allston, Mass.
You reached around for your backpack, pulled out your notebook, and wrote down the address. You weren’t going to go, you told yourself. It wasn’t your scene–– it would never be. You shut the notebook and stuffed it back into your bag, mind returning to thoughts of Calum and the sandwich you were about to indulge in. To finish your day, you made small rounds through Harvard Square and stopped by the poetry shop to further indulge in unlikely necessities. All thoughts of Calum ceased.
-
The back door was cracked open. A few guys sat on the steps before it, each with a cigarette in hand and a beer in the other, and they were laughing at some offensive joke while you stepped around them. They weren’t worth the hassle of arguing against–– they would simply make their opinions overshadow yours with the use of their superiority complexes. So, you stepped inside, and the hot air swelled around you.
About a dozen strangers crowded into the small kitchen, and another few were cramped into the living room. The home was void of any furniture, but you weren’t shocked. The squalid interior with its spray-painted walls and missing floorboards was proof that hardly a soul lived here. At least, you hoped.
You slipped two dollar bills into a jar, and a man with an eyebrow piercing grabbed your hand and stamped a bright red mark onto it without saying a word.
“Watcha want there, Maggie May?” asked another man. He was leaned up against the fridge, and he had a few piercings as well.
You rolled your eyes. “Eat my ass.”
The girl beside him snorted. “He wants to know what you want to drink,” she said. “Also, I love you. I’m Tori.”
“Hey, yeah, you too,” you sighed out, slipping your jacket from off of your shoulders. The discomfort was evident. “Y/N. Not Maggie May. And, what do you have?”
“Mostly just Pabst,” she replied and tilted her own beer your way. “Beer and stuff.”
You nodded. “I’ll take that.”
Tori lightly shoved the man away from the fridge to retrieve a beer for you. When your fingers brushed, she smiled. “What brings you here, then, Y/N? It’s usually the same crowd ‘round here.”
“Dunno,” you mumbled. “Don’t usually come to a lot of stuff like this, so I figured I’d give it a shot. It was kind of a last-minute decision.” You popped the drink open and took a sip. The taste was foul and cheap, yet you kept the sweating can close to your chest.
“Makes sense,” replied Tori. Her eyes narrowed, and it felt as though she was reading you like an open book. “Do you even know anybody here?”
You shook your head. “Not a soul.”
“Cool.” She grinned. A few people made their way downstairs. “See you down there, Maggie May. I’ll dedicate the first song to your poor, lost soul.”
You had begun to retaliate when she left your company, and you soon followed the pack down the narrow steps into the basement. The first level was Barbie’s Dream House in comparison. Down below, you were met with concrete floors and a harsh smell of piss and weed. A make-shift space was filled with boxes and trash bags, plus a stained futon over in the corner. Christmas lights were hung around pillars beside the performance space, and wires were scattered like snakes over empty boxes of Marlboro. You could only imagine how much turmoil the oriental rugs below the drum kit had been through. You pushed through bodies and stood below a mural, meanwhile admiring the glossy eyes of handsome strangers beside you. A cute man offered you a joint, and you politely refused.
The first band was ear blood, but you recognized the need for courtesy. You nodded along to the screeching noises, wishing you had bought earplugs specifically for the occasion. The second band’s sound had little representation, yet the tunes were simple, and the lyrics were crude. The can of Pabst was warm against your skin. A half-hour later, the third band had finished their set. Tori fulfilled her promise of dedicating her song to you, and you greeted the feeling of eyes like an old friend.
You leaned against the cinderblock wall and ran your fingernails along the rim of your beer. The night had been going on for longer than expected. You needed to use the bathroom as well, but you wouldn’t be caught dead using it here. A stinging dissonance filled the tight space, and you returned your gaze onto the final band.
And then your eyes met a familiar figure. A tall, mysterious figure with an infamous leather jacket stretched across broad shoulders. Small, dark hand tattoos stood out against his brown skin.
“Yeah, uh, we are Killed for Casualty,” spoke the lead singer. His voice was soft, just like the golden curls that framed his face. You had a feeling you would like this band. “Let’s fucking rock, then.”
A series of blaring chord progressions filled the small space, and the crowd came back to life. The crash cymbals drowned out the lead singer’s voice, but you hardly cared about the quality of the music. You hardly had the energy to enjoy the melody when all you could focus on was the man behind the bass. All you could see were his furrowed brows and his deep frown. His eyes shut tight as his body swayed with the beat.
You hid behind shoulders. You hid behind the thought of his smile and sweet voice melting against your skin. His lips touched the mic every time he sang, and you couldn’t look away. Calum had a light aura–– it didn’t matter what clothes or expression he wore. You saw another part of him, yet you didn’t even know him.
You nestled rim of your beer beneath your front teeth while you moved with the crowd, head bobbing along to songs you had heard on the radio before. There were songs you didn’t recognize, too, and those were the ones Calum lost himself in. So, you lost yourself in them as well.
“Holy shit, you guys are awesome,” said the other guitarist. His light fringe was surely a sight, but you admired his adrenaline. He had a bubbly, boisterous attitude that you longed to have in your life.
Calum’s face lit up as his eyes scanned the crowd. You hadn’t assumed he would ever see you, but the world froze when he did. Your blood ran cold as his smile fell, and you were seconds away from slipping into a fit of self-doubt before his smile grew again. And then he winked.
He had winked at you and resumed with the set as if it never happened.
You hugged your jacket against your body, heart stuttering at the thought of his flirtatious nature directed toward you. You had finally seen his genuine smile, and you had been the reason behind it, too. The music was drowned out by the thoughts in your head.
“Thanks, guys,” said the lead singer, his eyes bright as he spoke. “I’ve been Luke. That’s Calum on bass. Ryan on drums. Michael on guitar. We’ve been Killed for Casualty. Thanks for comin’ out.”
You took a deep breath, meanwhile, the crowd thinned out as the band packed up their things. You made your way along with the strangers, yet your plans to duck out were torn to shreds by a tap on your shoulder. The tap was quick–– almost as if it had been a mistake, but when you turned to face the culprit, Calum stood before you. And he was grinning from ear to ear.
“Hey,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t expect t’see you here.”
You shrugged. “Figured there was no better way to spend a Saturday night other than listening to music I’ve never heard before in my life.”
Calum laughed. “Oh, c’mon. I’m sure you’ve heard of Radiohead.”
“Oh, duh.”
His smile never died. He was looking at you, truly looking at you with crinkly eyes that you wanted to get lost in. “We–– uh, we have another show next weekend. It’d be sick if you came.”
“Yeah?” you asked, raising a brow, to which he reciprocated your gesture. “You really want me to come? Do you even know my name?” Your teasing tone hardly fazed him.
“Course,” he said. “You’re Y/N, and you’re almost always late to our Tragedy in Literature class. Like, always late.”
You pouted. “Don’t blame me. Blame the MBTA,” you replied, and he laughed.
“I always blame the MBTA.”
“It’s really the worst, isn’t it?” you asked him, and you felt yourself softening into the comfort of the conversation. In a matter of hours, you would be convincing yourself that the encounter never happened.
Calum’s smile was contagious. “Fucking awful. A man farted on me once on the red line.”
“You’re–– you’re kidding,” you said, but you soon fell into a small fit of laughter once he shook his head. “Jesus. I’m so sorry.”
“Speaking of awful––“ Calum pointed down to the empty Pabst in your hands. “Is that what they’re handing out? Christ–– Kev’s gotta get a raise. That shit sucks.”
“It was kind of disgusting,” you said, yet you shrugged it off.
“So, I gotta finish packing stuff up,” said Calum, “but listen–– it was really cool to see you. Hope you can make it out next time.”
Your lips twitched into a smile. “Only if you promise to dedicate that last song to me,” you replied. “It was my favorite.”
Calum grinned. “You’ve got yourself a promise, babe.”
-
The bus had been early again that following Monday. So, for the second class in a row, you were stumbling in late. Only a few heads turn in your direction, and immediately, you looked for the pair of deep brown eyes that made your heart flutter. You had only spoken to him once, but it had been enough to haunt you throughout the next day. It had been enough to spark something you hadn’t felt for anyone in years.
You found Calum in a heartbeat, and he had already been looking at you. He had already been smiling at you. You smiled in return and took your seat.
He spoke up once during class, and you placed the delicate words at the back of your notebook. After the class ended, you were quick to stand, heart racing at the thought of his smile so cute and goofy. You were too preoccupied to notice the man falling in step beside you.
“Like I said––” he began, voice so golden and smooth that you believed it belonged on the radio. The idea of Calum as a newscaster was a vision to behold. “––always late.”
You playfully hit his arm, and his laughter echoed around the halls. You were certain it was the kind of laugh that birthed fairies. “The bus system sucks,” you replied. “It’s the earliest one I can get, and it’s never on time.”
“Jus’ messing with you, love,” he said. His presence intimidated you, but it was the kind of intimidation that you never wanted to leave. It created the desire to hold him by the waist and carry him with you wherever you went. “Where ya off to?”
“I was gonna pop in Widener for a small study break,” you said, tugging your sleeves down so you could hold onto them with your fingers. “Then I usually get lunch before my last two classes of the day.
Calum huffed. “Mid-terms got you tickin’, too?”
“Something like that.”
“Harvard wants us all dead,” mumbled Calum as he held the front doors of the hall open for you. “That’s what I think.”
You had been expecting a chill from the morning, but the bright sun kept the air warm. You pushed the sleeves of your sweater back up your arms, and you stared at Calum in amazement. “You want yourself dead,” you said. “Do you ever get hot in that damn thing?”
“What, my jacket?” he asked, tilting up the leather as a smile grew. “It’s not about sweat, baby, it’s about fashion.”
Baby. You laughed the pet name off.
“’sides,” he continued. “It’s not about how hot I feel either. It’s about how hot I look.”
“I mean, yeah, it looks good.”
Calum raised a brow. You enjoyed watching his reactions out of the corner of your eye.
“But I always say that comfort comes before fashion,” you said as you kicked a few fallen leaves on the path before you.
He let out a chuckle. “Is that why you’re rollin’ in late with some big ass sweater on every day? Hell, you’re already late, so you could at least have the decency to show up with a coffee.”
“Honestly, I’ve thought about that,” you said. “And what do you have against big ass sweaters, huh?”
Calum shook his head. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
“Maybe next time I’ll wear a black one,” you replied. “Maybe then you’ll appreciate my fashion.”
“Can’t believe I’m being attacked at eleven o’clock in the morning.”
“You had it coming.”
He laughed again. “You don’t need t’wear black for me to appreciate you, love.”
The words warmed your chest. You smiled. “Well, I said my fashion, but it’s nice to know you appreciate me, Cal. Is–– is that okay? If I call you Cal?”
“Yeah,” he said. His smile hadn’t faltered throughout the entire conversation. “Reserved that nickname just for you.”
“Do you have any other classes today?” you asked him and placed yourself onto the steps of the library. You were still a few inches shorter at best. “Because you can join me if ya want.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, “but unfortunately, I’m already running late.”
Your jaw dropped as you laughed at his words. “And you make fun of me for being late. We’re gonna get kicked outta this fuckin’ school.”
Calum laughed along with you, and the sound was music. Everything about him was music. “I make fun of you because it’s cute to see you flustered.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you muttered, but your smile only grew. And so did your heart, too.
His eyes were golden in the sunlight, and they shimmered when he smiled. Sometimes, when he grinned so wide, his eyes squinted shut, and the sight left you woozy. You wondered if he knew how beautiful he was.
“See you ‘round, love,” he said to you, meanwhile taking a few steps back.
“Don’t forget about my dedication,” you replied. “I’m only coming this weekend because of you.”
Calum winked. “I won’t, darlin’. Study hard.” He turned down the path with a final wave, and you let out a sigh. And your smile carried on.
-
“You weren’t in class on Wednesday.”
That next weekend, you stepped off of the bus in Allston, your jean jacket hugged tight to keep warm down the tired streets behind music halls. The home was familiar, and it was packed full again. The bodies no longer stared at you like a stranger, but they still avoided you like one. Yet, Tori was there to keep you company as the night carried on.
You kept an eye out for Calum. The basement rocked with sound, air heavy as it filled with heat and smoke. The Christmas lights made you feel at home, yet none of it mattered when the one person you wanted to see wasn’t even there. So, you swayed to music from new bands you didn’t care about, wishing you hadn’t been stupid enough to fool yourself over a guy.
But, like always, he arrived when you least expected.
Tori gave you a wink and stepped away.
“Oh, yeah,” you said, chuckling. Meanwhile, his band had begun preparing their instruments. “I forgot I wasn’t.”
“You okay?” Calum asked you. “I can get ya the notes if you want.”
“I’m—oh wow, that’d be nice, thank you.” You grinned. “Yeah, um, I’m good. Turns out my alarm clock is a goner, so...”
Calum smiled. He was wearing a flannel tonight, and you decided that he could make trash bags look good. “Damn alarm clocks can’t be trusted.”
“They really can’t.” You eyed the rest of his band and furrowed your brows. “No drummer tonight?”
He glanced over at his friends before looking back at you. “Nah. We’re looking for a new one right now.”
You tilted your head.
“Ryan broke his wrist.”
“Oh, that sucks,” you said. “He was pretty good.”
Calum shrugged, but you could tell he was upset. Tonight, he had become the backbone of rhythm. “Yeah, well. Mike thinks he has a friend who knows some other drummer. He might be able to help out.”
“He just has to do my song justice,” you replied with a smirk. You hardly remembered the song, yet you knew it was your favorite of theirs no matter what. It was your favorite because Calum had winked at you before it, and it was all you could think about.
He nodded. “I’ll make fuckin’ sure of that.” He looked back over to his friend. “I should probably join them, then. Last song is yours,” he said, a grin spreading as he sent a wink your way.
He didn’t allow you to get a word in before he was jogging off and picking up his bass effortlessly. You weren’t sure how an instrument could make someone look so handsome, yet there he was, looking like the best damn man in the room.
“He’s fucking in love with you,” said Tori from behind. Her voice crept up your spine, and you yelped.
“Jesus,” you breathed out.
She laughed. “Cool your tits, Maggie May.”
“They’re ice-cold,” you replied. “And he’s not. We only just met last week.”
Tori shrugged. “You can totally fall in love in a week. He’s done it before.”
“He’s done it before?” you asked. The music blasted, and the bodies around you jumped and pushed. You hardly budged. Soon, you were shouting over Luke’s voice just to talk. “You know him?”
“Old friend,” she said over the music. “I’ve known him since like–– how many years ago was ’88?”
“Uh, seven.”
“I’ve known him for about seven years,” Tori continued. “He was a cute teen. Moved from Australia and played a shit ton of soccer. We started a band together in our last year of high school, but then he kinda disappeared for a year afterward. Came back and said he was going to Harvard–– said he had been with this girl. So, I assumed they broke up.”
You nodded along as she spoke.
“Anytime he’s with someone,” she carried on loudly, “it’s like he’s head over heels. He tries to act all shy and cool until you really get t’know him. And it’s pretty fuckin’ clear he really wants to know you.”
You tried to smile, but something about her words made it hard. Because you had never wanted to think about him loving someone else.
“You seem spooked.”
You shook your head. “Not spooked. Just a little in disbelief.”
Tori let out a laugh. “Why? Because I think he likes you? So hard to believe that?”
You shrugged.
“He is pretty damn cute,” she said. “So, if you hurt him, I’ll hunt you down.”
“You can hold me to that,” you replied. “I don’t wanna hurt him.”
“But you do want him?”
You nodded.
“Oh, hell fucking yeah.”
You laughed as she nudged you, and you soon returned your focus to Calum. His eyes met yours right away, and he smiled. This time, the fluttering in your stomach had become a heavy swarm, and you allowed it. You welcomed it.
The stress of the evening slipped off of your shoulders the more you danced. You no longer worried about what you would say to him or the words you had said in the past. You no longer worried about the feelings you wanted to repress. It was new, it was natural, and you wanted to deserve his company. You wanted to earn him.
When the final song approached, Calum kept his gaze on you, eyes brightening every time they met yours. His shy smile had etched itself into your brain. All he had to do was look your way, and you were his–– there was no one else. No one else in the room but you and him.
This stuff didn’t happen in a week. It never worked like this. But you blocked out the harsh noise of your pessimistic thoughts. You weren’t bound to doom what could be good because of your insecurities.
“This next one is dedicated to the person who thinks that 9:15 is the new 8:45. Or the one who just doesn’t bother showing up to class at all.”
You rolled your eyes, lips twitching while his face broke out into a grin. The song began after the silent exchange, and he kept looking at you. He looked at you until the crowd had dwindled and the music faded with their heads. He looked at you as if he had been waiting to have every ounce of your attention.
“Kicked ass,” you said, “as usual. You were a little flat at the end there, though.” Your teasing tone lightened while you crossed the floor toward him.
“Oh, really?” he asked you. He zipped the case of his bass closed and lifted it over his shoulder. “I didn’t realize you were a music critic. I’ll do better next time.”
You chuckled. “You better.”
Calum adjusted the strap on his shoulder, and you admired the comfort in his appearance. You wondered how he would react seeing you in the gray flannel he wore currently. He no longer intimidated you, not like he used to; you lost yourself in the strength of his gaze.
“You live around here?”
You shook your head. “I live down past Central.”
Calum raised his brows in surprise. “Shit, you live that far?” He folded his arms over his chest. “That’s why you’re rollin’ up late every damn day then, huh?”
“Yeah,” you said with a laugh. “It’s not that bad, though.”
His frown deepened. “I can keep ya company if you want.”
“Well, where do you live?”
“Like, a ten-minute walk from here,” he replied. “I’m a night-owl, so it’d be no problem. Only i-if you’re–– if you’re comfortable with that.”
You smiled once he stammered, and he blinked rapidly to cover up the fault in his words. Your heart was swelling. “Really nice of you to offer,” you said, “but you don’t need to go out of your way. The ride goes fast.”
Calum nodded, lips tugging into a small smile. “You sure?”
“Positive,” you mumbled. “But you can walk me to the bus stop if ya want.”
His face lit up in an instant.
-
The next show was at a new location.
Calum came to you that Monday with a torn flyer, hands shaking as he reached over your shoulder while you walked down damp pathways. You were going to arrive on time that day, and you were eager to rub it in his face until he stumbled up behind you. He appeared nervous to talk to you, yet the words he spoke were calm and collected.
“New place,” you observed, eyeing the messy letters. Meanwhile, Calum caught up in step beside you. “Looking forward to it.”
His eyes widened slightly. “You’ll come?”
“You think I wouldn’t?”
A grin spread on his face. Later on, he sat next to you in class.
That following weekend, you arrived at the house alone, bones shivering while the cold air crept under your skin. Calum stood at the base of the driveway with a cigarette in hand, and he was smiling like he always did when he saw you. Like he always did.
“Hey, Maggie May,” he said.
You groaned as you nearly fell into him, and he grabbed your arm to hold you steady. He smelled of cigarette smoke and earthy cologne. “Not you, too. Isn’t the song about a cougar?”
Calum shrugged and loosened his grip. But it was slow, almost as if he didn’t want to let go. “Who knows?” The cigarette slipped from his fingers, and he stomped it into the pavement. “Come on in. I wanna introduce you to the guys.”
“Oh, the guys?” you asked, chuckling. “Did know we were there yet. I’m honored.”
He looked back at you while he led you in through the back door. “You should be. They’ll like you, though. You’re cool, I guess.”
“That’s convincing.”
Calum laughed. He walked you beyond the men asking for coverage fees at the front, giving them subtle nods while you avoided eye contact. You continued to keep your head down low as he led you down to the basement. The house layout was similar, yet the room was larger, and the lights around the posts were purple bats instead. A few familiar faces were passing around a joint beside the drumkit.
“Hey, idiots,” said Calum. He placed a hand between your shoulder blades. “This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Luke, Mike, and Ashton.”
“The new guy,” you spoke softly, eyeing the strong arms of the stranger across from you. You could tell that, just by his build, he was going to rock the house. “Why are you all so fuckin’ tall?”
The new drummer, Ashton, laughed. His smile was the type to light up the entire room. “Maybe you’re just fuckin’ short,” he retaliated.
Michael chuckled along. “Ya probably need a step ladder jus’ to hug Cal.”
“She can’t even do that,” said Luke. “Her arms aren’t long enough.”
You narrowed your gaze. “Touché.”
Calum’s hand slid down to the small of your back. His touch burned through your clothes. “Okay, that’s it. Y’all can find a new band.”
“Are you leaving us, or are you kicking us out?” asked Michael. He placed the joint between his lips.
“Kicking all of you out,” said Calum, and he tugged the joint away from his friend. “It’s just me now.” He turned to you. “You wanna join my band?”
“Are you kidding?” You leaned into him, and he pulled your closer, hand finding your waist while he gazed down at you. His eyes were warm, and there was something new. Something hidden behind the crinkles that seemed to never cease when around you. Like you could finally feel everything Tori was telling you about. “Can I take Luke’s place?”
“Oh, hell yeah.”
“Hey!” Luke exclaimed, snagging the burning joint from Calum’s fingers before taking a hit. “No more for you.”
A handful of people made their way down the steps, their voices carrying through laughter and drunken screams. Calum’s grip on your waist loosened and dropped.
“Ready to fuckin’ rock?” he whispered to you.
The timber in his voice rattled through your spine, but the shiver only lasted so long before he was guiding you back into the crowd. He hardly spoke after that. The music did enough, and instead, he talked through gazes— warm, heartfelt eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen in a while, if at all. For the night, you felt like he admired you the way you had always wanted him to.
“—just annoying as shit. Screaming and bouncing like a fucking slut, man. She was so loud. But who gives a shit, you know? Like, she’s a goddamn whore when she’s—“
Calum tensed at the sound of the men behind you. You could picture the scowl on his features, yet you didn’t dare to glance over. You wanted to pretend nothing had happened, that nothing had been said.
But you couldn’t.
Calum whipped around, and you were quick to grab his arm. “Do you guys mind not fucking disrespecting women like that?” he asked, the pitch of his voice lowering as the words slipped out with ease.
One of the men—you guessed the one who had spoken originally—laughed. Anger coursed through your veins as well, but Calum’s radiated off of him. You moved your hand up to his bicep.
“What? You really gonna do something?” asked the man. He looked down at you and smirk. “I’ll totally take it back if you give me a spin on your little bi—“
Calum lunged, fist flying toward the face of the man with a devilish grin. Immediately, someone tugged you back— you assumed Michael, but you didn’t bother to check. Instead, you were forced to scream over shouts and cheers while the boy you liked fought for you. He fought for you.
The other man had gotten in his fair share of punches, his frightening, rigid knuckles crunching and colliding against Calum’s jaw. Every crack echoed. Every grunt, every groan sent sparks through your nerves, and you felt tears pricking beneath your eyes. Limbs flew and bodies slammed against one another, but you stood there helpless. You stood there wishing you could blink away the fear and adrenaline.
Everyone was shoving each other as the fight spread throughout the crowd. Petty brawls broke out, and you were barely shielded by Ashton’s interference in front of you. But beyond the noise, you still heard Calum, and he was shouting for you.
Shoulders knocked against yours while you fought your way beyond the mayhem. The air was hot, thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol and everything in between, and all you wanted was to find Calum and get out in one piece. You just wanted to be alone with him, to make sure he was okay and to tell him how much he meant to you. To tell him how much his actions meant to you.
A hand reached out for yours. A bloodied and bruised hand with a familiar tattoo stretched across the thumb.
“C’mon,” he muttered once he got close enough, and he pulled you through the chaos to reach the base of the stairs. You were hot on his tail as he walked up, but you chose to remain quiet.
And you stayed quiet the entire walk back to his place.
He was angry, fingers tightly locked between yours while the breeze picked up around you. His pace was heavy, and yours was, too. The door to his apartment slammed shut behind the two of you. You fought the urge to pull him back and calm the frustration, but he was stomping up two flights of steps with you on his heels. You hardly had a chance to glimpse at his small space before you were being pulled into an old bathroom down the hall.
“Cal— Calum.” You pried his fingers away from yours as he paced the tiled floor. “Calum.”
“I’m sorry,” he said as he ran his hands through his hair. He turned to face you, and you were finally able to look at the damage that had been done. You finally saw what he had put himself through just to defend you. Or, maybe it was much more than that. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “They just— I wasn’t just gonna let them say that shit to you.”
You nodded. “Thank you.”
But you wished you did to have to feel any gratitude. You wished you hadn’t been forced to watch him break his bones in order to keep harmful words at bay. He suffered a bloody nose, swollen lip, and bruised cheek, and you felt responsible for every single scratch that tore through his skin.
“Do you— do you have an ice pack?” you sputtered, hand reaching up to grab the air. Because you weren’t sure if you had the right to touch him.
Calum nodded, and you didn’t wait for a verbal answer. You hurried into his kitchen, and despite the cramped size, you lost yourself in the details. It was his kitchen— it was Calum through and through. You searched the drawers for a dish towel, trembling hands picking out a dark cloth before soaking it under the dripping faucet. Next, you retrieved an ice pack from the freezer before rushing back into the bathroom. Calum was leaned up against the porcelain sink, and he had taken off his jacket to reveal a thin white tank.
You kept quiet and approached him slowly, heart heavy at the sight of him so bloodied and broken. You thought about his touch and how it felt earlier on in the night. You thought about protective he was despite barely knowing you for two weeks. And lastly, you thought about how, even when provoked into unattractive behavior, he still managed to look so damn hot.
So, you didn’t speak as you pressed the damp cloth against his blood-soaked skin. He stayed still, watching you as you scrubbed lightly until all that was left was a pinkish residue. You felt the weight of his gaze, and it burned deep in your gut. You had said he no longer intimidated you, but tonight, that wasn’t the case. Ir was the kind of intimidation that drew warmth and left you wanting more.
He was close, so close you could hear your hearts beating as one. The heat of his breath touched your skin, and you were forced to steady yourself with one hand against his bare shoulder. You hadn’t noticed his chest tattoos before, but maybe you hadn’t been this observant. Maybe you hadn’t felt as much as you were feeling right now.
You set the ice pack against his cheek and sighed. “Why did you do that?” you asked him, chest heavy while you yearned to reconstruct your words. You hadn’t wanted to plant the blame on him.
Calum swallowed. “The words he was saying, I—“ His eyes watered as he peered down at you, and he winced once you adjusted the frozen pack onto his blossoming bruise. “Couldn’t stand for that shit. Couldn’t bear to hear him say it. And I— I didn’t wanna hear him say it about you.”
You frowned. The hand that had been on his arm moved down to his chest.
“You don’t have t’take care of me,” he mumbled, lips tugging into a soft smile.
“But I want to,” you said to him. Your fingers traced the edge of his tank.
Calum’s smile quickly fell, and the room was quiet. You wondered if he could feel what you were feeling, too.
“Put down the fuckin’ ice pack,” he whispered, words tight and intricate as his hands slipped around your waist.
And then he was leaning in, lips hot as they pressed against yours in a captivating, lustful kiss. The ice pack slipped from your hands, and you felt frozen in his grip. Desperate hands clutched your waist while the kept you pressed against the sink behind you. You tossed your arms around his neck once you got a feel for his smooth, plump lips aching to taste yours. His fingers maneuvered beneath the thick layer of your sweater in order to feel your skin; you just hadn’t been aware of how truly sensational his touch would feel against your back. His lips melted against yours.
You reached a hand around to hold his face, and he seethed.
“Jesus, fuck,” he spat, and your eyes fell to the fresh bruise you had just touched.
“I’m— I’m so sorry,” you breathed out, expecting him to pull away, yet he pulled you close and reattached your lips with as much passion as the first time. Your teeth clashed, tongues slipping against one another while the heat of the moment made your insides churn. Calum’s large hand splayed across your jaw to keep you close.
His lip was still swollen from the fistful impacts, yet he seemed unfazed; in fact, it only spurred him on. But the heat of the moment overwhelmed you. You wanted him, but you wanted to know you had him.
You brushed your top lip against the corner of his mouth, hands gripping the loose material of his tank while you leaned into him. He held you with strong arms, ones you never wanted to let go.
“You’re really fuckin’ something else, babe,” he mumbled into your hair, and you could feel his smirk. “You know that?”
You chuckled. “I think the name is Maggie May.”
The warmth of his laughter spread through you. His fingers danced along the ridges of your spine, and you leaned back to look at him. His smile was small, yet it was soft, and it held every confession you had wanted to hear.
The black leather jacket on the floor caught your eye. A moment later, you pulled your sweater over your head, and Calum stood across from you in awe. His gaze was intense as you reached down for the jacket and tugged it over your arms. The leather creaked, but the loved material had softened through wear-and-tear. It slipped on with ease, and you stuffed your hands in the pockets with confidence.
Calum was silent as he took your appearance in. His jacket sat draped across your torso with only a bra underneath; you could only imagine how the sight made him feel.
He smiled and told hold of your waist. “Well, then, Maggie May,” he breathed out, lips pressing against your cheek and down your neck. The sensation made your chest ache. “I got something to say to you.”
You tangled your fingers through his dark curls as his voice vibrated through you.
“You stole fuckin’ heart, babe,” he said. “I couldn’t leave you if I tried.”