Trigger warning for threats of violence at knifepoint. Read under the cut or on AO3 here. And let me know if you want me to tag you in future chapters.
The rest of the magic show is honestly a little bit boring. To be fair, it’s because you now find the stage manager so interesting that your eyes flick to him every few seconds like he’s a magnet.
As soon as the show is over, the audience almost tramples you on their way to fawn over the magician. This is actually okay, because it leaves you free to go to the stage manager. You wish you’d spent the time you wasted not watching the magic show thinking of something cooler to say than, “I wanted to thank you again.”
“Um, no, uh, no problem,” his eyes flick up and down your body, probably to check for wounds again. All of a sudden, he notices what he’s doing and turns away so you’re treated to a great view of his reddening cheek.
“So, have you worked here long?” god, why are you so shit at this?
“A few years,” he still can’t meet your eyes.
“I thought so. You move around the stage like you live here.” Is that a compliment, or is he going to think you’re insinuating he’s homeless? “I just mean, you do a really good job.”
He blushes even harder, and his hand reaches up to play with the ends of his hair. His voice is gruff when he thanks you. This close, you can see a little buttercup in his nose, and, well, you’ve never seen a piercing you didn’t want to curl your tongue around.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but your accent, you’re not from around here, are you?” he asks.
“It’s fine. I know, my accent,” you roll your eyes. “I am, unfortunately, American.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly. He’s looking you in the eye now, and you can feel every callus on the hand he has on your arm. “Your accent is very cute.”
You burst into laughter. “Okay, now I know what you look like when you’re lying. Literally nobody thinks American accents are cute, and that includes Americans.”
“Maybe it’s just the person who’s speaking it then.”
You search his expression, but you can’t figure out what it is.
“Oi, Callum, are you going to close up or not?” Pross says sharply. Maddie whispers something in his ear, and he adds, “You did a good job for your first job coming back today.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pross,” he nods. “I’ll get on that right away.”
Pross waits until Callum’s gone to make a lewd gesture until Maddie forces his hands to his sides.
“Sorry,” she mouths as she pushes Pross away.
You shake your head and wave your hand dismissively. You’re about to go when you see Callum putting his whole body into pushing the iron maiden to the backstage prop area. “Do you need any help?” you ask.
“I got it,” he says, but his voice is strained, so you turn around and you grab a box you’re too proud to admit is super heavy. You wince from the sound it makes when you drop it too heavily on the floor next to the iron maiden. When you go with him back onto the stage, he grabs a bag of swords himself and hands you a light box. Thank goodness, because when you see the way the muscles in his arms strain against the weight of the swords, you almost drop it.
Luckily, everything else the magicians use seems to be lighter, and you two settle into a nice silence as you put everything away. You get to admire those arms again when Callum drops the curtain and ties the rope, then he flicks the lights off and you exit the theater together.
You pull the bus schedule out of your back pocket, and just your luck, the only bus back to the hotel stopped running more than an hour ago. You look up and down the street, but it’s empty except for you, Callum, and distant figure. Only after you pull out your phone do you remember that your data plan doesn’t include international coverage. “Fuck. What are the chances I could get a cab at this ungodly hour?” you ask Callum.
“Well, where do you live?” he asks. “I don’t mean it like that!” he adds hastily. “I just mean, is it far from here? I could walk you home. If you’re okay with it. I’m not a creep, I promise.”
“That sounds exactly like what a creep would say,” you can’t help saying. You let him sputter for a few more seconds before taking pity. “It’s pretty far, though, and, I mean, you’re a strong guy,” you mock-punch him in the arm, “but I wouldn’t let you walk me that far. I mean, then you’d have to walk home alone, and I won’t let you do that. Do you have a car? I’ll pay you for gas.”
“It’s at my apartment, but that’s just a few blocks down, if you don’t mind the walk,” Callum gestures.
Before you could agree, you feel the flat end of a knife pressing against the back of your neck. You stumble forward instinctively to get away from the knife, too sharply to keep your balance. The pavement rushes toward you, but Callum’s arms wrap around you and physically lifts you entirely into the air, depositing you behind him.
“Listen, whatever it is you want, I’m sure we can work it out,” he says, arms held above his head.
“I want your phones and cash. Hers too,” wow, you weren’t expecting to hear such a young voice.
“Fuck off,” you start to drag Callum toward you, planning on running across the empty street.
But Callum only moves to step fully between you and that knife so that you can’t even see what the mugger is doing. “Just take it, please,” his hands are shaking as he reaches into his pocket, and his voice breaks when the mugger swipes his knife across the air. “Please, I saw a woman get stabbed to death in front of me last week, I can’t handle seeing it again.” He squeaks again when he knife gets close enough to slice off a lock of his hair.
You take advantage of his distraction to reach into your purse and step forward. “I said fuck off!” you scream.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Callum hisses, starting to pull you back again.
“Yeah, listen to your boyfriend before I cut you,” the mugger holds up his-
“Holy shit, is that a butter knife?” you’re almost giddy with relief.
“I can gut you with this!” the idiot threatens.
“Not before I gut you with this,” and you flick your thumb stud knife open. You very, very, very narrowly avoid telling him that yours is bigger. You’re trying to defend Callum, not start a fight. Seeing a man die in front of him would probably not do him any favors. “Run away, child.”
Your discretion pays off when the would-be robber runs off in the opposite direction. You turn around when he’s far away enough to no longer be a threat, prepared to apologize to Callum for scaring him. Only when you actually see him, he’s not white as a sheet and terrified, but red in the face. The reason is also pretty obvious in his tight jeans.
“So, you said you live a few blocks from here?” you ask, innocently sliding the blade back in the handle to put in your purse. You already faced down a mugger at knifepoint, might as well see where your boldness can get you.
