#Michael Clifford snippet

[diath]

Okay Michael Clifford I hear you 💥

[edge-oftheworld]

they had no business writing beside you, such a mature and emotional long distance love song aged 15-17 but here we are

[pankowcrumbs]

Masterlist for 5 Seconds of Summer, One Direction (minus Liam) and The Vamps

Please request anything you would like to see

Please note I will not take any request to write for Liam for obvious reasons.

💕Fluff 🌶️Smut 18+ ❤️‍🩹 Angst 🖤Sad 💛Male reader ❤️‍🔥 possessive. 💔 heartbreak

Main MasterList

Calum Hood

💕Summer romance (short series)

A short summer romance with a heartbreaking goodbye

Chapter 1. 2. 3.

💔 Moving Along (one shot)

Story is inspired by the song Moving Along by 5 Seconds of Summer

Luke Hemmings

💕 Tattoo (one shot requested)

Luke comes with you to get your first tattoo.

Ashton Irwin

Michael Clifford

Harry Styles

💕 Unwritten (series)

Y/N is a singer who meets Harry at a red carpet.

Chapter 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

💕 Weekend at the Cabin (one shot)

a weekend away with Harry and friends leads to something more with extra touches and longing looks from Harry.

❤️‍🔥 I own you (one shot)

"Everything on you i bought and paid for. i think that means i own you too.”

💕 Hushed moments (one shot)

Finding Harry in his home studio quietly singing when he can't sleep

💕 Got That Out of Your System, Princess? (one shot)

After a petty argument you charge Harry's amex a ridiculous amount in a tantrum.

💕Timing (one shot)

falling pregnant at the wrong time? or the right time?

💕 Regret (one shot)

Harry regrets years later breaking up with you.

💕❤️‍🩹 🖤Try again (one shot)

In the middle of a divorce something happens that brings you both back together.

Dad Harry AU (connected stand alone stories with the same kids Hattie, Felix, Finn and Mabel)

💕 Another baby girl (one shot)

Telling your kids you're having another baby sister (birth of Mabel)

💕 Love in every corner (one shot)

While moving house Harry and you reminisce

💕 Easter (one shot)

Easter with the kids and the chaos.

💕 Lake Como (one shot)

A chaotic family holiday to Lake Como

💕 Talk show (one shot)

Harry gushes about his family on Jimmy Fallon

💕 Tour (one shot)

Snippets of life on tour with the kids

💕 Just like us (one shot)

Harry has trouble letting your youngest daughter Mabel grow up when she is going on her first date.

💕 Empty Nesters (one shot)

Harry really struggled when your youngest Mabel moved out and it's just you two in the house.

💕 Tuscany (one shot)

Your eldest Hattie gets married in Tuscany

💕 Love is love (one shot)

Your son Finn is nervous to introduce his boyfriend to the family

💕 Christmas (one shot)

Christmas with the Styles family and an announcement that changes everything

Zayn Malik

Louis Tomlinson

💕 Seagull (one shot requested)

A picnic with Louis ends up with him being chased by a Seagull.

💕 Puppy (one shot requested)

You and Louis get a new Puppy from the shelter.

💕 I want another one (one shot requested)

Louis wants another baby

Niall Horan

Bradley Will Simpson

💕 The Wedding (short series)

You see your Ex Brad at your cousin James wedding and it sparks something in you both.

Chapter 1. 2. 3.

Tristan Evans James McVey Connor Ball

Copyright © 2025 by Pankowcrumbs on tumblr

All rights reserved. No part of these stories may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including printing, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Cashton Smut (2) Masterlist

part one

Bare (ao3) -im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance E, 2k

Summary: When Calum made that bet with Ashton, he did not know he was gonna lose, which meant he had to do anything Ashton wanted. At first it was alright but after five days, his frustration got the best of him. Calum wanted revenge. If Ashton wanted a bare Calum, he was going to get a bare Calum.

Clean Up (ao3) - tinyglitterrose T, 1k

Summary: Ashton refuses to clean his messy room and Calum is annoyed by it. One thing leads to another an he ends up fucking Ashton to make him finally clean up.

happy endings (ao3) - emiliathegreat (puckdummy) E, 3k

Summary: calum starts to visit a local bookstore to spend time with ashton, the cute boy who works there.

I’ll See You With Your Laughter Lines (ao3) - CliffordAffliction M, 11k

Summary: Snippets of Calum and Ashton’s life together through Ashton’s eyes

it’s obvious i just can’t get enough of you (ao3) - nationalnobody E, 8k

Summary: It’s 6PM and Calum is angry. Calum isn’t an angry guy but there is only so much Michael Clifford Bullshit ™ that one human being can physically take. Being the super cool-headed and level guy he is, he heads to the gym to wind down and relax. Everything is going peachy until a fucking sex deity with curly hair has to bend over across the room and destroy any shred of cool in his body.

I turned my good side in (ao3) - CliffordAffliction E, 3k

Summary: Calum’s dreams come true when Ashton fucks him at a party

i want you (bless my soul) (ao3) - jbhmalum E, 16k

Summary: Thankfully the elevator comes to a stop before Ashton can combust from the blood flowing through his body or say something else awfully embarrassing like “hi, I’m Ashton and I like tall attractive men and it’s hard finding them when you’re already a giant but you’re actually tall and I can’t stop looking at you and you just winked at me and hi, would you marry me and pin me against the wall?”.

- In which Ashton moves in with a guy named Michael, Michael is in love with Luke and annoyed at Calum, and the guy with shaved blue hair from the elevator is too hot for Ashton to know what to do about it.

Ready, princess? (ao3) - orphan_account M, 1k

Summary: After Calum almost calls Ashton 'daddy' in the middle of an interview, he has to be punished.

Subject Line - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) E, 20k

Summary: Maybe the sunrise doesn’t matter much after all. Calum can watch the sunrise any day. How many days will he get Ashton like this? Shirtless, sporting bedhead in a hotel room, with just the two of them for a few lazy hours alone?

Soon enough, they’ll be back on the tour bus and Calum won’t be allowed to hold Ashton’s hand anymore.

Try With A Little Tenderness (ao3) - orphan_account E, 6k

Summary: The boys are finally relaxing after their tour’ they’re back in Australia, and all they want to do is go back to the beaches they grew up on and have some fun in the sun.

However, Ashton has a different idea for what fun he wants to do in the sun.

You Won't See Me Fall Apart (ao3) - outlawofideal E, 4k

Summary: He drinks the coffee from an hour earlier while waiting because no one wants fresh coffee at midnight. It takes more than usual for him to appear. But he is here and it's real again.

Or the one Calum always waits for Ashton to come back, when it happens everything is usually better.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Evil Author Day

I’ve seen some other folks posting these. So here’s a WIP I almost forgot I had in my drafts.

It’s an AU, but are we ever shocked at me and my AU’s. 

_______________

“Keep your chin in.” Calum knows the voice. It’s Bary, the man that owns the gym. His great-great-grandfather opened it. It will be one of Bary’s kids when he decides to give up the ghost. 

Calum takes another step around the ring and sees Bary with his daughter, Shaylenne. She’s not that much older than him he figures. Her chin comes in a little. Arms still swinging at the bag. She keeps her feet shuffling, a little bounce in her step. Calum recognizes that same technique. His is not as graceful as hers. But Calum doesn’t forget the six months he studied with Shaylenne at the dance studio next door. 

He wanted to protest his coach, saying that the ballet lessons would not help him. Of course, Calum was wrong. Good thing he’s just the player. She doesn’t look as graceful as she did in the ballet class. Her face puffy and sweat running down her brown cheeks. Her teeth are gritted. Calum can see the tell signs of a mouthguard pushing against her lips, the sound of her breathing seething between the guard. 

“You’re fighting, not dancing,” Bary says. 

She gets her feet a bit more planted, still shuffling around. Calum slings the duffel bag over his shoulder and then turns for the door. It’s time to turn that part of his brain off. He doesn’t have to worry about the power behind his swing or the speed at which he can throw multiple punches. No, right now he can worry about what to eat for dinner. He can look forward to having a moment alone to curl up with his dog. Tomorrow will always bring enough challenges--the worrying can cease until then. 

________________

Tagging: @irwinkitten @5-secondsofcolor @glitterlukey @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles

[bxcketbarnes]

Here’s a simple but cute snippet from one of the wedding series’ I’m writing! First part should be done soon! ❤️

[bartxnhood]

complete | m.c

michael clifford x reader

summary: you surprise michael after his long tour, all he’s been wanting is you.

warnings: none

a/n: time for some mikey appreciation, i love him sm and i rarely see anyone writing for him :( this is also my application to become ur fave 5sos writer lmao. enjoy ! feedback is appreciated <3

Copyright © 2022 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

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as the tour officially came to an end and the guys went back home, it was days in the studio for michael writing and creating melodies for the guys. he loves it, sure. it’s his passion after all. making music people can enjoy no matter how high or low one is feeling, seeing fans across the world sing and dance along to their music is what kept him going. but it was draining. incredibly draining. sometimes he’d forget to sleep, it would be seven in the evening then the next time he looked at the clock it was already five in the morning. he would even forget to eat as well. but he missed you most of all, he was gone for months and all he wanted was to feel your soft touch and the sound of your voice.

you missed michael too, his dorky jokes whenever the two of you hung out. getting to hear snippets of their upcoming songs or projects. he was your soulmate, you hated being away but also it was the price of dating a very well-known artist. when you got the news your boyfriend and best friends were back you had cleared it with everyone that you’d surprise your boyfriend. you brought some of his favorite foods and a few sweet treats to congratulate him on the successful tour.

knock knock

michaels head lifted from the computer, he looked at the door and raised his eyebrows. he wasn’t expecting anyone. especially not at the studio. he pushed himself away from the desk and walked over, opening the door and revealing you. you had a wide grin and multiple bags in hand. “hi!” you cheered, michael chuckled in disbelief he stood to the side letting you come in. similarly to him, you were in a hoodie and sweatpants. “what are you doing here?” he asked, shutting the door quietly following you. you sat down the bags of food and turned to your boyfriend who looked awful. not in like an ugly way, but like ‘oh my god you look dead, why haven’t you slept’ type of way.

your grin went to a frown almost immediately. “babe, your eyes” the faux blonde shook his head, “i’m okay” he tried to assure you but it only made you worry even more. you wrapped your arms around his tall figure, holding him tightly. to michael this is all he wanted, taking in your scent again. he closed his eyes feeling at peace for the first time since returning home. when you pulled away he felt his heart skink a bit. he wanted to hold you longer.

“what did you bring?” his eyes flickered to the bags then back to you. “well” you started, bending down and fishing out a few products. “i have some of your favorites and a few sweets so we can celebrate your successful tour” the grin on your face made him smile. he nodded and led you over to his sofa where the two of you would sit and eat a little of everything while michael told you stories of tour life.

it was getting later in the night now, you two had been talking for hours. just missing each other. you stood up from the cushion and started cleaning up all the trash decorating the sofa. michael watched, you could be doing the most absurd thing and he would still think you were the most beautiful person on the planet.

gently he reached out for your arm, “could you hug me again? i think i need it” you turned to look at him, giving him a nod. “you didn’t have to ask.” you crawled back onto the sofa and held michael. “i missed you so much” he breathed, his arms resting on your torso. you smiled, kissing his forehead. “i know. but get some rest, yeah? you deserve it”

within minutes, he was fast asleep in your arms. soft snores escaping his lips. this was all he needed, you and your touch.

[1d-discourseoftheday]

Tues 26 Jan ‘21

Louis tweeted “How's everyone doing?” No Louis, HOW ARE YOU DOING?? “Alright thanks!” he says. It's the third time this month he's checked on us but does that Mean anything? Says SBB himself, “You lot read into things too much” HAHAHAHHAAAA SKSKKDJ WE LEARNED IT FROM YOU MOM!!  Well WHY is MTV posting about Copy then?? asked a fan in a very GOTCHA tone but Louis has an unarguable answer: “because it's a banger.” Well alright alright you got us there, that's very true. He says many other little things too including Strong Opinions about breakfast food (“pancakes obviously” ...was that in fact ...obvious??) and talking about a sports related series he's watching-- it really is about basketball this time unlike UFC! He also tells us that he tried to talk to Liam “earlier” “but he was in Tesco”. A fan posted that he replied to a their DM- a picture of their cat pawing adoringly at a pic of Louis- and said “this put me in such a good mood haha! Love the little lad. Bless him x”, but then later they said they it was fake, sorry. A convincing Louis imitation, but more to the point a very convincing screen record video showing the exchange: please remember this next time such a video is offered as proof for something.

Niall is in the studio with his favorite collaborators, Eskeerdo and John Ryan! The man does value consistency in all things, no question, but you know what they say- if it ain't broke, don't fix it! Despite a Morning Mashup snippet from yesterday where he agreed with the host that maybe their little kid shouldn't be exposed to Small Talk, we know he is happy with the Heartbreak Weather sound, so why not more of the same? The only question I have is: when?

Zayn's sponsorship deals continue to be increasingly wacky; today it's a coloring app! The Nobody Is Listening coloring book is now available; as usual, things I really could NOT have predicted happening every single day around here. Liam's sponsorship is less wacky today: a new Hugo pic posted.

And the greatest showmance of our generation continues to amaze, astound, and crack me the F up-- first up, in hands down the funniest thing to happen all week, Harper’s Bazaar retitled a Holivia timeline article with the headline “Sorry everyone, Olivia Wilde and Harry Styles' romance isn't a PR stunt” (and added a little blurb at the end of 'a source' saying so) which is hilarious enough on its own, the DEFENSIVENESS, but THAT'S NOT ALL! The author of the article, seeing it, tweeted “I didn't even write this! It's an old article that's been updated. I DEFINITELY think it's PR...” HAHAHAHA WHAT AN ICON. She didn't lay out that whole embarrassing timeline in print to be disrespected like this, Harper’s Bazaar! But less funny, she was disrespected by more than just the magazine-- she deleted her account due to harassment after the tweet. Sighhh. Those harries sure do love to TPWK (threat). PR for this shitshow is taking a turn for the defensive all over this week, as we saw with yesterday's Vogue article; that piece seems to have been the leading edge of an iceberg that is the new angle- 'Olivia Isn't The Bad Guy Here'. Fine, yes, no one is because this ISN'T REAL so truly whatever yall, but the really hysterical thing about the Vogue piece apparently being more or less HQ dictated is that at least like half of it is just “terrible things people are saying on twitter” and “here's why twitter is annoying” and I'm ROLLING at them sinking to this level, like when you are at the point of trying to take down twitter arguments one by one you have officially LOST CONTROL OF THE CONVERSATION lmao and lbr-- they have. People simply do not think this is real and it is funnnnny. AND SPEAKING of sinking to a level and then just keeping going right down to the molten core of the earth, can I just mention that Michael Strauss, aka the guy who is suing Briana for her boobs (case was postponed; has not yet been heard), has not only been arguing in the comments over at CelebTM that NO, REALLY it's NOT WEIRD that the sonogram pic posted was clearly not Briana's and is making up stories trying to explain it, he's now doing so from his dog's account. Will his dog also be heading over to TMZ, who tweeted the article today, to argue with people one by one in those comments? We've seen a lot of dogs used for stunt purposes, but at least they never put the words in Max or Clifford's actual mouths!

[wiiildflowerrr]

Cool (snippet) by Michael Clifford

It's kinda hard tryna fit into a new scene

When your clothes only fit in 2015

You're the only one I really wanna impress

Try hard and I wish that I could care less

Everybody knows that I'm out of place

(Am I cool enough? Am I cool enough?)

I don't look the part, I don't fit the frame

(Am I cool enough? Am I cool enough?)

She reads my mind, she knows that I'm

Overthinking what I been tryna say

(Am I cool enough? Am I cool enough?)

I guess I don't see whatever she sees in me

Confidence doesn't come so easily

When you're the guy who caught fire with the coloured hair

From the band with the song about underwear

Nobody cares, they're unaware

I'm fine, I swear

(Am I cool enough?) Am I cool enough?

[edge-oftheworld]

am I the only one who heard ‘sugar coated pain’ for the first time in 2024?

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Popular Ashton Masterlist

17 Again (ao3) - carolinagirl178, Pink_Strawberries michael/calum, luke/ashton G, 12k

Summary: "So, you're telling me, that you're a 28 year old man, who made a wish yesterday to be 17 again, and then today you woke up, and you were, um...17? Again?" Luke asks incredulously.

Michael nods his head.

"Yeah. Weird, right?"

-

Or when high school drop out Michael Clifford is given a cake with 28 candles by his 2 best friends and told to make a wish, he wishes for a second chance, which is exactly what he gets.

Dear Blue Eyes (ao3) - snickerz luke/ashton G, 5k

Summary: Geek and bullied Luke Hemmings meets popular jock son of the headteacher Ashton Irwin, Luke falls hard for Ashton who's friends constantly beat him up, Ashton and Luke become friends and start texting however Luke never tells Ashton, one day Luke starts to recieve Love notes from an anonymous person and all is revealed so read:]

I'll See You With Your Laughter Lines (ao3) - CliffordAffliction calum/ashton M, 11k

Summary: Snippets of Calum and Ashton's life together through Ashton's eyes

I 'love' You (ao3) - Instagram luke/ashton N/R, 1k

Summary: Luke still can't believe that Ashton - popular, loved by all Ashton Irwin - choose himself - dorky, quiet Luke Hemming's - to go and stalk All Time Low with him.

Or, Luke and Ashton are on the road, following All Time Low across America, and are kind of in love.

I turned my good side in (ao3) - CliffordAffliction calum/ashton E, 3k

Summary: Calum's dreams come true when Ashton fucks him at a party

Pizza and videogames (ao3) - HollywoodUndeadRammstein michael/ashton N/R, 1k

Summary: Michael is the school’s punk. Everyone who knows him, which is basically the whole school, knows he’s into girls but doesn’t mind boys either. Even though almost the whole school knows him: he has only two friends: Luke and Calum. Michael can’t help it but to fall helplessly in love with Ashton Irwin, the popular guy at school. He’s friends with everyone who wants to be friends with him but somehow he’s a mystery to everyone: no one knows anything about him and he’s never seen with a girl before.

Even though Ashton likes and befriends everyone: he’s never spoken with Michael and his friends. And although it doesn’t seem like it’s going to change soon, you never know what’s going to happen.

Starting Over (ao3) - orphan_account luke/ashton M, 15k

Summary: Luke Hemmings is the new kid at school. Shy, self conscious and nervous, he (literally) bumps into Ashton Irwin, the most popular kid at school. It's time for starting over.

Suit's, Ties and Everything in between (ao3) - snickerz luke/ashton N/R, 7k

Summary: Luke Hemmings the school's outcast get's paired with Ashton Irwin the school's 'heart throb' for the Prom.

"And that's the day I fell in love with Luke Hemmings"

teenage televised taping of love (ao3) - fffearless luke/ashton T, 10k

Summary: It’s dumb for Luke to get excited that Ashton would say something like that to him when he’s about a million percent sure he’s only into girls and this means nothing for his hopeless crush but he can’t help the surge of butterflies tickling his stomach with the flap of their wings.

(Or the one where Luke likes Ashton then lots of things happen then he hates him then he likes him again anyway)

The Bet (wattpad) - ashtonfortherwin luke/ashton

Summary: Luke Hemmings has been an outcast every since he came out. Ashton Irwin is the star soccer player who moonlights as Luke's bully and personal tormentor. When Ashton's failing grades force them together, will they form a friendship that can't be broken, or is everything Luke's ever hoped for built on lies?

there for you - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 3k

Summary: Luke has been transferred to countless high schools due to the constant bullying. Finally, Luke lands in a high school where he gets to be with Ashton. He thinks it will be better for him, but he underestimated how popular Ashton really is.

[lashton-is-my-drug]

June 22, 2022

Ashton posted via his ig story about being in Denver, CO playing shows promoting 5SOS5. So excited!! Also reposted the fans video of the Blender snippet.

[coffeebookwriter]

* hard dreams, lashton

This is a original work of mine, I have this as a whole book, but I decided to post this snippet here:) 2,1k words, edited work for once! 

Whoever told Luke Hemmings, that he should do a sleepover with his best friend Calum Hood, would've get a fist into their face, but he actually ended up having Calum crashing at his place. Luke wasn't even mad at Calum, they are best friends since elementary school and Luke really loved him dearly. In high school, Calum hang around with the "bad kids" from the school. One of them was Ashton Irwin, that doesn't matter to Calum. He was head over heels crushing over his best friend: Michael Clifford. And since that short glance, Ashton and Luke shared, Luke's mind couldn't get those hazel eyes off of his mind. His heart was racing, every time Calum mentioned those two troublemakers and he never said a single word about Ashton Irwin. Calum had the weird habit of coming with surprises, every time he's with Luke. And today, this surprise was breathing, big and it had red hair – Michael Gordon Clifford.

"I still can't believe your mum is out off town, along with your brothers!" Calum grins, making himself comfortable on the couch, while Michael sat next to him, his pale arm on Calum's tanned shoulder. The pale boy chuckled at him.

"How old are your brothers again?" the red haired boy, who recently bleached his hair red (well, it almost looked orange to Luke though) looks at Luke.

"Ben is the oldest, he's 22. Jack is the second oldest, he's 21 and then there is me. I'm 18." Luke mumbles, hating to talk about his oh-so loved brothers. He loved Jack and Ben dearly but he hates talking about them, since their mother was always praising her two oldest sons. Never Luke, well never really Luke. She said sweet nothings to him, but he always shrugged them off, with a small smile.

"Let's go out." Luke blurts, not being able to spend another second with Michael and Calum under one roof. Not because Calum and Michael were gay, oh no. Luke didn't mind that. It was just – the Michael Clifford is almost dry fucking Calum Hood, his best friend and the youngest boy wasn't really in the mood to see that.

"Sure, I'll call Ash and we can drive around with his car." Michael offered, getting up and leaving the living room. The split-second Michael left, Calum shrieked into a pillow. The boy with the ring on his lips rolled with his eyes, he isn't jealous, but it was utterly annoying. As Michael came back, Luke slipped his Vans over his feet and Calum got into his outworn Converse.

"Ash's picking us up in like five." Michael said, sliding into his Vans as well. Luke bite on his lip ring, pulling on the cold, black metal around the side of his lower lip. He wasn't a fan of the whole situation, but he didn't want Calum to be sad, so he just agreed to this all. Stepping outside, Luke looked the front door, putting the keys in his pocket, when he heard the familiar sound of kissing noises, belonging to no one different than Calum Hood and Michael Clifford.

"You do that on fucking purpose!" the youngest exclaimed and rolled with his eyes, when Michael turned to him. His lips glossy and swollen from the hungry kiss he just had.

"Just walk a bit and let me make out, my god." the red haired boy groaned and pressed his lips back on Calum's, who was panting and begging Michael with glances to kiss him again. Luke turned around, not needing to see his best friend, having the school jock's tongue down his throat... or elsewhere.

"Breadstick!" the familiar voice of no one, but Ashton Irwin rang in his ears, when Luke looked up. He hated that nickname, just like fratboy.

"Stop calling me breadstick!" Luke scowled, feeling suddenly little in Ashton's hazel gaze. The oldest boy shrugged, not caring about what Luke just said. Sighing, Luke ruffled his own hair, pulling on the roots and calming himself down. He was feeling annoyed; he just wanted to play video games with Calum and fill his stomach with junk food, but now, Michael and Ashton were here. What a glorious Friday-Night. He just wanted to stay home. Sitting in the car, Calum and Michael joined.

"Can't I just stay home?" Luke tried to ask, but Calum shot him a death glare, silencing his best friend.

"Jeez, so worked up." he heard Ashton mumble and glared at him.

"I never wanted to be here in the first place, so stop being cocky." Luke snaps back, as he looked into Ashton's hazel eyes.

"Could you two stop?" Michael broke off of Calum's lips. They were having a pretty heated make-out session in the backseats. Luke gagged at the memory, when Calum had sex, with Michael on Luke's couch. He had to cleanse the whole couch, just because of them.

"He started it, by calling me breadstick!" Luke blurts out, now cringing at the way he said it.

"He called you what?" Calum couldn't help but snort at his best friend.

"You know what? Forget it. I'm going back home." Luke announced, leaving the car and grabbing his keys from his pocket.

"You're no fun!" Ashton groaned, but climbed out of his car. Luke wide-eyed, the nervous pitch in his stomach make him shake a bit and the air suddenly got colder. Ashton isn't going to pick him up and drag him back to the car, right? Luke unlocked the door with shaky hands, leaning against the frame, as he stepped inside the house.

"Have fun with Cal and Michael." Luke shrugs, making Ashton huff in response. "Fine, but if you're calling Calum, begging him, to tell me that I should pick you up, I'm telling you – I won't." ouch. Luke felt left alone and Ashton's words were somehow harsh.

"Fuck you." Luke spat, banging the door shut, hoping Ashton jumped just like Luke did at the sudden loud sound.

With a cranky mood, Luke got into his room. He pulled his jacket on the side of his bed and yawn. How could he be tired at 11:46PM? The blonde boy pulled his pants on his stool and his band shirt landed on the floor, as well as his socks, when he lied under his good smelling blanket. Way more better, than hanging out with Ashton and Michael, no offense, Calum. Luke thought with a soft smile on his lips. He cuddled into his pillow and closed his blue eyes.

Wherever he looked, it was dark. The split-second, Luke moved, he felt arms around his body. Hot kisses prepping on Luke's burning skin made him stifle back a whimper. His throat was dry and he had a lump, not being able to talk. His legs felt like jello and eyes closed, he actually enjoyed the kisses. Whoever this kisser was, he knew what to do and how to kiss the right places on his neck, chest and lower stomach. Luke was hard, rock hard. He bucked his hips, trying to get the attention on his cock. Hazel eyes met Luke's baby blue ones and Luke groaned, as he felt something warm around his lips. With a more closer look, he saw lips around his erection.

"Fuck, you're so good." Luke moaned out, as the mysterious person continued to suck his rock hard cock. Luke buried his skinny fingers into brown curls, pulling on them. He was a panting mess, not being able to breathe. His high was coming closer and all he wanted to was release right now.

"I'm going to- fuck," Luke couldn't even finish the sentence, feeling a wave of euphoria hit him. His loud groans turned into pathetic whimpers. The person under him, crawled up, when he looked into Ashton's face.

"Ashton?" Luke gasped, feeling his heartbeat drop.

"Wake up." he whispered, getting louder.

"Wake up."

Luke jolted up, his forehead sweating and his lungs desperately trying to get air. The morning light was shining into the gaps of the curtains. Luke gasped, looking around. He lifted his blanket up and blushed. He was hard, he was rock hard. And he was leaking, hell he never leaked that amount of pre-cum. The damp spot in his boxershorts made Luke flinch in discomfort. He got up, rubbing the sleep of his face. Grabbing into the drawer, he blindly pulled another pair of briefs, as he sat back on his bed and gulped. He had to get it off, else he would get moody and all whiny. Luke groaned, his mind recalling the dream from minutes ago. Pulling his briefs from his legs, he lied butt-naked on his bed, wrapping his hand around his hard cock. He sucked in a breath, as he closed his eyes and recalled the wet dream. His mouth fell open, as his thumb pressed over the tip of his cock. His eyebrows furrowed and his breath quickened.

"Oh my-" he stopped, but recalled that no one was home. He could be as loud as possible.

"Fuck, Ashton!" Luke didn't know, how he got it to moan Ashton's name, but he didn't liked that. Pumping his hard cock, Luke felt himself coming closer over the edge. His legs tensed and Luke's eyes rolled back.

"Oh, fucking- shit!" with a final thrust into his own hands, he splashed his warm cum onto his stomach and his head flew back into his pillow. Grabbing a tissue, he wiped the cum off of his stomach and threw the tissue in the bin next to his nightstand. Luke grabbed his fresh boxershorts, getting in them, as he heard the ring loudly. Grabbing his sweatpants, he gets in them and goes downstairs. Opening the door, he looked into Calum's face, who looked like he got screwed through the whole night.

"Good morning!" Calum wanted to do their handshake, but Luke refused.

"Haven't washed my hand." was all he said and Calum got it, grinning teasingly.

"Lukey did the nasty with himself." Calum stated and Luke went into the bathroom, washing his hands quickly.

"Calum, what do you want?" Luke asks instead and made his best friend laugh.

"Can't we all go to that skaterpark?" Calum asked, his eyes glistening with hope.

"Is Ashton there?"

"Yes."

"Go alone.

"Oh, come on!" Calum whined and looked at his best friends.

"Calum, I love you. But no. Also I need to clean up. You see how the house looks like." Luke states and Calum rolls with his eyes.

"Come on, just this one time. Please!" he begged and Luke shook his head.

"Please."

"No."

"Please."

"Calum, stop."

"Please."

"Fucking hell, fine!"

Calum grinned at Luke's response, when he sat onto the couch and grab the controller for the PS3.

"Now, let me beat your ass at soccer." Calum states and Luke sits next to him.

"You fucking owe me, mate. You owe me a big one." Luke growls and starts playing.

[myfalsedevotion]

Rare as Gold | All the Hues of Blue series | Ch. 12 - Blues

Chapters: 12/13

Fandom: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)

Relationships: Calum Hood/Ashton Irwin

Characters:  Calum Hood, Ashton Irwin, Calum Hood’s family, Mali Koa Hood, Michael Clifford,  Luke Hemmings

Additional Tags: Okay here we go again, Astrophysicist!Calum, Nurse!Ashton, Christmas AU, Anniversary, Alternate Universe - No Band, New Zealand, Australia, confronting the past, Established Relationship, Love, Loss, Growth

Chapter snippet:

Calum hoped he could be this… content with his life.

“We’ll see how it goes for me.” He sighed, sending an attempt of a smile towards Samuel.

Chapter 12 is up! Link here! ^^

[lululawrence]

lululawrence’s July 2020 Fic List

Click here for previous months’ fic lists.

Hellooooo! Can you believe another month is nearly over? It’s so crazy! With another month gone by, I’ve found ever more wonderful fics! Here’s my list celebrating the ones I read this month :D 

As always, be sure to show your love and appreciation for all of the hard work our fandom authors have put into their fics with kudos, nice comments, and (when applicable) reblogging their fic posts!

i'll be by your side (anytime you're needing me) by genuinelylarry (4k, G, Harry/Louis, a/b/o fest fic, omega/omega, roommates, friends to lovers, pining, there was just so much softness and caring in this fic i love it)

The Prince and the Thief by @jaerie / jaerie (19k, E, Harry/Louis, a/b/o fest fic, alpha thief Louis, omega prince Harry, Tangled AU, royalty AU, first time, hurt/comfort, fairy tale naiveté, scenting, kidnapping, basically it’s a soft thief louis kidnapping/saving innocent prince harry and i for one am here for it)

Compete Against the Stars by @daggerandrose / amomentoflove (31k, M, Harry/Louis, Big Bang fest fic, a/b/o, alpha Harry, omega Louis, pack dynamics, uni au, arranged marriage, plot twists, pining, shifting, scenting, basically all of my very favorite things about a/b/o are in this fic and it’s fab)

Dare you to move by @shining-louist / Whoopsiedaisiesss (6k, NR, Harry/Louis, a/b/o fest fic, alpha Harry, omega Louis, blogger Harry, activist Louis, insecure and shy Harry, this fic was just so soft and I really liked how it played with traditional alpha/omega roles between the characters)

One Way Road To Something Better by @femstyles / Femstyles (13k, T, Harry/Louis, Walls fest fic, Song Fic, based on DLIBYH, established relationship, angst and fluff, bank robbery, this fic basically takes the music video for dlibyh and puts it into a storyline where what happens basically makes sense, and it was super interesting and fun to read)

battling on the regular by @louandhazaf / YesIsAWorld (6k, E, Sam Fender/Louis, Walls fest fic, Song Fic, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, jealousy, friends with benefits, famous/famous, basically i had no idea i needed a sam/louis fic until i read this and now i need more soft northern boys)

I'm Here by mynameispiaivy (2k, NR, Gen but also kind of Michael Blackwell/Louis, Walls fic fest, Song Fic, baed on Only the Brave, Pining, Canon Compliant, secret crush, they don’t end up together in this one which is kind of lovely in that it is different, but also the feelings contained within are so real and relatable, it was a really great read)

lost in my head by @louandhazaf / YesIsAWorld (13k, E, Harry/Louis, Walls fic fest, Song Fic, Exes to Lovers, Love Island, famous/non-famous, Love Island, dual POV, this one just really hit me hard and had me crying in bed in the middle of the night, so there’s that lolllll, i love the pain so it’s okay)

The Colors Are Different by @goodmorningtoyouuniverse / GMTYUniverse (47k, E, Nick/Louis, Walls fic fest, Song Fic, based on Defenceless, BBCR! DJ Nick, CapitalFM DJ Louis, mutual friend famous Harry, enemies to lovers, pining, there’s so much depth and emotion that is so perfectly displayed and shown in their actions and decisions and motivations, it is such a great fic and so well done)

tempests of dust by @scrunchyharry / scrunchyharry (31k, E, Harry/Louis, Big Bang fic fest, historical, royalty au, prince Harry, secret identity, angst with a happy ending, oh gosh when things fall apart they come apart hard and it hurt so bad, but it was all okay in the end)

Almost Always by @kingsofeverything / kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) (2k, NR, Harry/Louis, Walls fest fic, Song Fic, based on Just Hold On, a strange sort of time and space travel, it’s based off the music video, Las Vegas wedding, this fic was so fun and had such a great dream like feeling to it)

Still, Somehow, You're Perfect Now by @fallinglikethis / FallingLikeThis (3k, T, Harry/Louis, Walls fic fest, Song Fic, based on Perfect Now, footie captain Harry, popular Harry, implied homophobia, emotional hurt/comfort, this fic was so soft and tentative and so perfectly encapsulates the song imo)

Strong Enough by @jacaranda-bloom / jacaranda_bloom (21k, E, Harry/Louis, Walls fic fest, Song Fic, based on Fearless, rock band au, frontman Harry, drummer Louis, back from hiatus, ex-friends to lovers, miscommunication, angst and so many feelings, happy ending, this fic takes you on a journey and i loved how it worked around all of their friendships and emotions and history)

These High Walls (Fly With Me) by @fallinglikethis / FallingLikeThis (4k, G, Harry/Louis, Walls fic fest, Song Fic, based on Walls, Rapunzel/Peter Pan mashup AU, Rapunzel Harry, Peter Pan Louis, magic, escape, faith trust and a little bit of fairy dust, hehe, this really was so lovely and I loved the way it all worked together)

face to face at the kitchen table by @disgruntledkittenface / disgruntledkittenface (NR, 2k, Harry/Louis, Walls fic fest, Song Fic, based on Too Young, Exes to Lovers, talking it out, hopeful ending, I really liked how she gave such beautiful snippets of before perfectly woven with the now, and I have no idea why but I’m so attached to Clifford in this fic even though he’s basically just a mention)

Might've Took The Long Way by @loveislarryislove / LiveLaughLoveLarry (21k, M, Harry/Louis, Walls fic fest, Song Fic, based on Too Young, Exes to Lovers, Hook Ups, Getting Back Together, but first there’s plenty of angst and pain, with of course a happy ending, there is so much for both of them to work through and they make mistakes but eventually get there, and that is part of what i love about them, these characters aren’t perfect and I love that for them)

We Had Everything by @lightwoodsmagic / lightswoodmagic (sarah_writes) (3k, NR, Harry/Louis, Walls fic fest, Song Fic, based on Too Young, Exes to Lovers, Famous/Non-Famous, getting back together, i really love how they’re like magnets in this and they can’t keep apart even though they’re trying)

This Morning I Woke Up (Still Dreaming) by @fallinglikethis / FallingLikeThis (3k, T, Harry/Louis, Walls fic fest, Song Fic, medium Louis, psychic Louis, dreams, dealing with loss and grief, Harry’s father passed away before the fic begins, the fic is so sad but so incredibly healing and cathartic, it is really very beautiful)

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter one

[ao3]

have i ever mentioned my britpop au? i don’t think i have :) this is quite literally the definition of self-indulgence like genuinely this is so self-indulgent that it probably counts as a deadly sin and i have literally no justifications for it 

before anybody comes for me for starting another chaptered fic: i have 50k of this lined up and i’m still going at the speed of light (as sam can attest to) fear not we’re going to get there with this one i promise also for anyone still waiting for the soulmate au thats going to get finished too once this is out of my system 

i have an inordinate number of people to thank for putting up with me/this fic so let us begin: @tirednotflirting​ deserves every single ounce of praise and love i have to offer for reading this whole thing, listening to me talk about it, bouncing ideas with me, being so patient and kind about it, coming up with such brilliant ideas and for just generally being an all-round sweetheart. @calumftduke​ also deserves excessive praise and thanks for reading a big old chunk of this and being so sweet about it. @killingangels​ genuinely breathed life into this fic and cheered it on to the place it is today thank u for diving into a britpop phase with me. @ashesonthefloor​ and @clumsyclifford​ listened to me whine about this fic even though neither of them care and i truly owe them for that. @kaleidoscopeminds lets me thirst over the gallaghers but keeps me in my place about it which is truly the vibe check i need and also listened to me talk about this fic over the past few weeks and is just generally such a joy to speak to. i’m certain i’ve forgotten someone my brain has not been switched on in weeks now but anyone who’s listened to me talk about this over the past few weeks deserves a ticket straight to heaven honestly 

quick bit of vocab: our kid is a term used by siblings in manchester. not sure why i don’t understand mancunian culture myself but the gallaghers are always saying it in interviews and my mancunian friend concurred that it is correct so idk what goes on up there 

warnings: heavy drug use (its oasis and blur in the ‘90s theres a lot of coke/weed/alcohol) and lots of swearing (including the c word because they’re british)

-

He’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now.

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford.

-

or: calum's in oasis and michael's in blur and it's the height of the 1990s britpop war

Liam had once asked Calum if he believed in fate. 

“D’you think it’s all real?” he’d said one day, out of the fucking blue. Calum, though, used to Liam beginning conversations in the middle after two long years of knowing him, had just looked at him. 

“Do I think what’s all real?” he’d asked. Liam had indicated up at the sky with his eyes and cigarette. 

“Fate, and all that,” he’d said, lifting the cigarette back to his lips. Calum had watched as his cheeks hollowed around it, turning potential answers over and over in his mind. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he’d said eventually, and Liam had raised his eyebrows and nodded as he’d exhaled a cloud of grey smoke that had blended in with the sky and the council houses. 

Calum thinks he probably should have known then. Maybe Liam had been trying to make a point, in that strange way he sometimes does - what are the odds you’d end up here, with us? Calum hadn’t given it a second thought at the time, just rolled his eyes and nudged Liam’s foot with his own and said Noel’s going to do his fucking nut if we’re not there in ten, and that had been that. The conversation never even crossed his mind again until it was too late, until fate had already had her way with Calum. 

In Calum’s defence, though, fate never showed her hand. She never threw him any hints, no flashing neon signs that said Calum, your destiny is this way. Fate came piecemeal, came in short snippets of conversations or flashes of familiar faces or, on occasion, Liam and Noel swearing loudly at each other as they stomp up the stairs in Calum’s house.

“I’m arsed,” Liam’s saying loudly, when he barges into Calum’s room. Noel’s hot on his heels, midway through a spiel he’s clearly prepared which Liam’s having none of, and he turns to Calum when they get through the door, an annoyed expression on his face. 

“Tell him he’s a prick,” he says. 

“Why?” Calum says, setting his magazine aside, because he needs to know what he’s supposed to be endorsing before he picks a side in an argument between the Gallagher brothers. 

“Our kid wants us to miss the match tonight and go to some fucking gig,” Liam grumbles, throwing himself down on Calum’s bed and picking up his magazine. 

“It’s not ‘some fucking gig’, Liam,” Noel says irritably. “It’s the fucking Boardwalk. We’ve got to hear what else is out there right now.” 

“I told you, I’m fucking arsed what else is out there right now,” Liam says, flicking about five pages on from the article Calum had been in the middle of reading. “I don’t write the fucking songs, do I? Go on your fucking own. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” Noel rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, and Calum’s Gallagher Explosion Incoming senses start tingling, followed swiftly by his Peacekeeping Skill Set activating. 

“Look,” he says hurriedly, before Noel can say something that’ll lead to a couple of black eyes, mostly because neither of the brothers have ever cared much about collateral damage and Calum values his bruiseless skin. “What if we start the match, and if City look like they’re going to lose, we go to the gig?” Noel closes his mouth, and then opens it again, and then closes it again. 

“Fucking whatever,” Liam grumbles, which is the closest they’re going to get to acquiescence from him. Calum stares at Noel beseechingly, because this is the best idea he’s got and pretty much the only one he thinks Liam’ll agree to, and Noel rolls his eyes, sighs dramatically, but then nods reluctantly. 

“City won’t fucking lose,” he mutters, as he sits down in the chair at Calum’s desk. “Not to a bunch of Scousers.” 

“Lost to Liverpool not four weeks ago,” Calum reminds him, and Noel scowls. 

“That second goal was fucking offside,” he says. 

“Ref was a fucking wanker,” Liam chimes in, from where he’s lying on Calum’s bed, still thumbing through the magazine. “‘Ere, what’s this, then?” he adds, with a grin, and turns the magazine around, tapping on the page. It’s a picture of a (very pretty) boy spread across a motorbike, and Calum rolls his eyes, snatching the magazine out of Liam’s hands. 

“Fuck off,” he says, but Liam’s just laughing, head tipped back on the bed, all full lips and bright blue eyes and long, dark lashes. If Calum hadn’t been doing lines with Liam for half of last night, he could almost believe the angelic innocence the boy gives off. 

“Looks like our kid,” Noel says, sitting down on the chair at Calum’s desk. Liam raises his head far enough to give Noel a two-fingered salute, but he’s still grinning, and Noel’s grinning too when he flips Liam off in return. 

Fucking hell, Calum thinks. It’ll take more than his three O Levels to fucking understand those two. 

 -------

 City end up conceding three goals in the first twenty-five minutes, and Liam’s the one who stands up, voice already hoarse from screaming at the TV, and demands they go out. Noel, never one to resist pressing buttons that only he can find on Liam, makes a snide comment about it, and Calum, to keep the peace, makes a comment about United, giving both brothers something to spend the entire bus journey to the Boardwalk ranting about. 

Noel gets them in for free, because he knows someone who knows someone who’d been a roadie with a band who had been on tour with the Inspiral Carpets for like, half a second, or something. Calum doesn’t really care how they get in for free, whether Noel gets them in by knowing someone who knows someone or by hiring a hitman on the bouncer, as long as they do get in for free, because he’d rather save his money for weed. 

The band that’s playing are immediately declared to be boring little fuckers by Liam, who beelines for the bar and only has to flutter his lashes twice before the pretty girl behind the bar sidles up to him with a coy look on her face. To his credit, though, he doesn’t linger after getting the drinks, weaving through the crowd to Noel and Calum with a mixture of shouted insults and threats at anyone in his path, three overfull pints balanced precariously in his hands. 

“You’re paying me back for these,” is how he greets them again, taking a sip from Noel’s before handing it to him. Noel just rolls his eyes, turning back to the stage and raising the pint to his lips. 

“Am I fuck,” Calum says, taking the other beer out of Liam’s outstretched hand. Liam scowls, but lets him take it, taking a sip from his own glass. 

“I’ll just smoke your weed, then,” he says, like he doesn’t do that anyway. Calum just shakes his head and turns back to the stage, where a new band are setting up, fiddling with their amps and mic stands. 

“D’you even know who these pricks are?” Liam asks Noel. 

“Don’t even know if they’re worth knowing yet,” Noel says. Liam shrugs, like that’s a fair point, and then a squeal of feedback makes all three of them (and the rest of the crowd) jump, causing loud swearing from at least eight people in the vicinity as their drinks slosh over them. 

“Fucking hell,” Noel mutters, shaking his hands off. 

“Evening,” the lead singer says, voice deep and rich. “We’re Blur, and this is Popscene.” They immediately launch into something that’s all guitars and overdrive and beat, and Noel’s soon tapping his foot along in interest, spilled beer forgotten, as the singer starts jumping around enthusiastically. They’re not standing anywhere near the stage, and the distance and bright lights combined with the movement are making the singer look more translucent than opaque, which is making Calum’s head hurt. He chooses to focus on the bassist instead, because Noel’s kind of got a point that they should be listening to what else is around, although he’s probably just looking for more people to nick ideas off. 

By the third song, though, Calum realises he’s really stood far too far away to get any benefit from watching the bassist - he can’t even tell whether he’s using a plectrum or not, and his eyes are already starting to hurt from squinting - and lets his gaze wander across the stage. There’s a guitarist wearing glasses, which Calum’s pretty sure Liam’s going to have a comment about that’ll involve the words ‘fucking’ ‘not’ and ‘rock ‘n’ roll’, with maybe ‘cunt’ chucked in for good measure. The drummer’s so far back that all Calum can make out is a shadowy figure behind the kit, and when the singer stands still long enough for Calum to see more than just a hazy figure all he can vaguely make out is what looks like very pretty features and blonde hair. 

It’s the other guitarist, though, that makes Calum stop, his heart stilling in his chest for the briefest of moments. 

He looks so familiar, messy blonde hair sticking up at all sorts of angles that Calum’s only ever seen on one other person, that it makes Calum’s stomach lurch. He’s got his face down, focusing on whatever they’re playing, so Calum can’t really see - not that he’d be able to tell from this distance, anyway - but there’s something that’s so achingly known to Calum that it makes him swallow, mouth suddenly dry. Even the guitarist’s posture is familiar, a little tense, a lot focused, with an edge of something cool and relaxed. 

Calum’s so mesmerised by the guitarist, heart hammering in his chest, that he barely even realises three more songs have come to an end until the band all stop, gather together at the front of the stage and do an awkward half-bow-half-wave to the crowd. There’s a smattering of applause as they straighten up, and the lights are too bright for Calum to see properly, but he sees a flash of a smile that looks so much like one he hasn’t seen in almost four years that it makes something electric shoot through him before he’s even processed it, and then they’re turning around and heading off the stage. 

“Fucking shite,” Liam says, over the sound of the crowd’s growing murmurs. “Would’ve rather watched City fucking lose.” They all know he’s lying. Liam’d probably rather cut off his limbs one at a time than sit at home to watch City get thrashed. 

It reminds Calum where he is, though, as he takes a sip of his beer with slightly shaky hands. He’s in fucking Manchester, in a dingy bar with two of the biggest pricks he’s ever met in his life, watching shitty bands play mediocre songs to avoid having to watch his football team get massacred by Everton. It grounds him, shakes him out of it, makes him remember that he’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now. 

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford. 

 -------

 They stay to watch three more bands, and then Liam’s in a fucking mood and even Noel’s had enough of the music, so they head back to Noel’s flat to drink and get high. Liam and Noel bicker the whole way there, first about whether or not Liam should be paying for all the weed Noel buys that he smokes, then about whether or not Liam had actually slept over last night or whether he’d been at home, then about whether or not the shirt their mam had bought Noel for Christmas had been green or blue. Calum offers his input on all of them, siding with Noel twice and Liam once, but gets snapped at to shut the fuck up by the both of them each time, making him roll his eyes as he kicks stones along the pavement. 

(“Noel’s a fucking cunt,” Liam had said to him once, fuming, after a particularly nasty argument that had ended in every bag of frozen peas being dug out of the freezer. 

“Yeah,” Calum had said. “So are you, though, mate.” 

“Don’t call my brother a cunt,” Liam had said, and Calum had rolled his eyes, picking up the now-defrosted bag of peas on the table and taking them back into the kitchen, where Noel was nursing his own black eye. 

“What the fuck is his problem?” Noel had said furiously. 

“You’re both twats,” Calum had said with a shrug, tossing the peas back in the freezer.

“Hey,” Noel had said sharply. “That’s my fucking brother.” 

Calum’ll never pretend to understand them.) 

They spend the night lying on Noel’s living room floor, pleasantly drunk and so stoned that Liam and Noel forget to argue for about three hours. Calum drifts in and out of sleep, listening to Liam and Noel mumbling to each other and remembering to speak once every twenty minutes or so, until Noel nudges him at what must be about five in the morning. 

“What’d you reckon?” he says, looking thoughtful. 

“About what?” 

“That band, tonight.” They saw five bands, so Calum would be well within his rights to ask which one, but somehow, he knows. 

“Good,” he says. “Interesting. Sounded new, y’know?” 

“Yeah,” Noel says, rolling on his side to face Calum. He hums, like he’s thinking Calum’s words over. “Liam reckons they’re not rock ‘n’ roll enough.” Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Liam reckons the fucking Stones aren’t rock ‘n’ roll enough,” he says, and Noel snorts, and it sounds so fucking ridiculous that Calum giggles, which makes Noel burst out laughing, and soon they’re cackling on the floor, tears streaming down their faces as they gasp for breath and clutch at their stitches. Liam, who’s been sleeping soundly, looking peaceful and tranquil and not at all like the guy who’d threatened to knock Calum’s teeth out for suggesting City should have played a different formation not six hours ago, stirs and opens his eyes, blinking blearily. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles, and then rolls over, and goes back to sleep. Noel glances at Calum, flushed and panting from laughing, eyes bright and gleaming, and that one look is enough to make the both of them collapse in laughter again, cheeks and sides and throats hurting. 

The next morning, when Liam wakes Calum up by nudging him in the ribs and saying get up, lazy bugger, we’re late for work, that’s what Calum remembers from the night before. He remembers laughter, Noel’s living room going blurry around the edges, and the pleasant buzz of alcohol, weed and two of his best mates thrumming through his veins. He doesn’t remember the boy on guitar in the Boardwalk.

 ------- 

 The next time fate has her way with Calum is a good year and a half later. 

They’re recording their first album, which Noel seems to think means he’s recording his first album and everyone else is just there to complement his fucking genius. He’s not managed to stop being a cunt for about six months now, and, not one to let Noel beat him in anything, Liam’s getting equally insufferable. The studio is a fucking battleground, and Bonehead always takes Liam’s side and Tony’s just fucking useless, and Calum thinks to himself at least twice a day: is this really worth it? Maybe I should’ve just stuck with construction. 

They’re getting there, though, and when it’s good, it’s fucking good. They can all sense that there’s something there, something new and bold and, as Noel in all his endless humility declares it one night, groundbreaking. They’ve recorded Supersonic, a song that Noel somehow wrote in about half an hour, recorded a video for it on the roof of some warehouse in London, and there’s something about it that none of them can quite put their finger on, something that feels almost overwhelming, feels like it’s bigger than them. They’ve even been on the radio a few times, been playing bigger and bigger venues, got a contract and management and all that nonsense, and for all the flaws that combine to make up the Gallagher brothers, Noel’s got a fucking knack for songwriting and Liam’s voice is unlike anything Calum’s heard before. 

The problem is that lately, it’s been bad more than it’s been good. They’d done sessions at Monnow Valley which had sounded like absolute shit, too clean and thin, and with every day that passed and every track that couldn’t be used Noel got more and more frantic, snapping at everyone who dared speak to him. Liam, never one to resist a fight with his brother, had risen to the challenge, and the fallout had been messier and dirtier and involved more collateral damage than even Calum had expected. It had culminated in a trip to Amsterdam which had ended before it even began after a fight broke out on the ferry. Calum remembers seeing Liam zooming past, a happy grin on his face, heading right for the middle of the action, and then twenty minutes later zooming past again, bruised and bloody, still grinning, being chased by a policeman. It had ended in Liam being deported, handcuffs and all, and a screaming match between the brothers in which both of them quit and were fired by the other at least twenty-three times. 

Since that, though, things have got a little better. They’ve started recording in Sawmills in Cornwall with Noel as a co-producer, and Noel and Liam have started talking again, and everyone had breathed out a collective sigh of relief when Noel had announced he was going to head to the shops and Liam had wordlessly got up to join him. Slowly but surely, things have started looking up. 

It’s in the middle of one of those sessions that everything changes. 

“Eeyar, Calum,” Noel calls, from the corridor outside. “Your mam’s on the phone.” Calum sighs - fucking hell, what does his mum not understand about we’re recording an album and I’m twenty-two years old, I’ll call you when I fucking call you - but puts his bass aside and gets up grudgingly, trotting outside to see Noel holding out the receiver for him. 

“I want you back in in ten,” he says warningly, like he’s Calum’s dad and they’re eating dinner soon, and Calum rolls his eyes and flips him off, which is as good of a yes as Noel’s going to get. Noel sticks his tongue out at him and heads back into the studio, probably to yell at Bonehead from the soundboard for being too loud, or maybe too quiet, or maybe too middling. He’ll find something. 

“What?” Calum says, a little irritably, lifting the receiver to his ear. 

“Hello to you too, Calum,” his mum says smartly. “I haven’t heard from you in over a week.” Calum rests his arm against the wall, and his forehead against his arm, and stares at his shoes. 

“I’m recording an album, mum,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound too annoyed. “We’re busy.” She makes a small hmm, a you should have stayed in a real job kind of hmm, but doesn’t push it. 

“Are you eating well?” she asks, a stern undertone to her voice, like she knows Calum’s diet right now is entirely liquid. 

“Yes,” Calum lies. He gets another disapproving hmm for his trouble which sounds like it might be the prelude to a speech about how he should stop wasting his time and come home and do a proper job and eat some vegetables, so he decides to change tack. “How’s home?” 

“Oh, home’s good,” his mum says. “Janet next door’s got a new man, invited us to the wedding next month - can you imagine? A wedding in March? I said to her, I said ‘you’ll be wanting to move it to May’, and she said ‘oh, we want an indoor wedding anyway’.” Calum hums noncommittally, because he has absolutely no idea what that’s supposed to mean. What the fuck’s wrong with an indoor wedding in March? “Anyway, your dad and I have decided to go. Janet extended the invitation to you, too, but I said I didn’t know if you’d be back from your recording session.” 

“I don’t know either,” Calum says. “Noel’s being a right cunt about the whole thing.”  

“Calum,” his mum says reprovingly, like she wasn’t the one he picked the word up from in the first place. “Well, regardless, you’ll be home by April, won’t you? I told your dad you’d help fix the wall in the garden.” Calum groans, because that’s pretty much the last thing on the list of things he wants to do, including having Noel claw his eyeballs out for fucking up the bass on Supersonic again, and his mum tuts. “You’ve got experience in construction, Calum. You should put those skills to good use.” 

“I’ve never fixed a fucking wall, mum,” he says. 

“Well, the wall needs fixing,” she says, like that’s that. The wall needs fixing, so Calum’s got to suddenly develop the skills to do it. 

(For her, though, Calum’ll do it.) 

“What’s wrong with it?” he says, already mentally ringing up the cost of the bricks and mortar he’s going to need. “Looked fine last time I was home.” 

“I think the ivy must have loosened the cement,” his mum says. “I was watching TV the other night - I saw Michael on Top of the Pops, actually - and then-”

“Hang on,” Calum interrupts, because he only knows two Michaels, and one of them’s here in Cornwall with him. “Michael who?” 

“Michael Clifford,” his mum says, like it’s obvious. “Anyway, then I heard a huge crash outside, and I told your dad to go and take a look, and he said the wall had caved in. Just a bit, you know, near the shed, but-” she’s still talking, something about foxes and de-weeding the garden, but Calum’s not listening. 

Michael Clifford, she’d said, like it was simple and obvious. Like it stood to reason that she saw him on Top of the fucking Pops. Like it made sense that Calum’s childhood best friend, his fucking everything from the age of seven to seventeen, was on a British music show. 

“Michael Clifford?” he repeats, in the middle of whatever his mum’s saying. 

“Yes,” she says, sounding a little annoyed that Calum’s not listening to her impassioned speech about ivy. “Anyway, your dad said he’d need some help with it, and that it can wait until you’re back. But I want it done as soon as you are, because I don’t like the idea of Janet being able to see into our garden. Oh, that’s the chicken done. Call me in a few days, let me know how things are. Give the others my best. Love you.” She doesn’t even wait for a response, just hangs up, leaving Calum staring at the floor with a dial tone ringing in his ear and a name bouncing around in his mind. 

It can’t be him. She must have been mistaken. What the fuck would Michael Clifford be doing on Top of the Pops? What the fuck would Michael Clifford even be doing in Britain? The last Calum had heard from him, about a year and a half after he’d left Sydney, Michael had been sure about becoming a policeman. He’d seemed so dead set on it, had signed himself up for the academy and everything. Calum might not have heard from him in almost half a decade, but he’s pretty sure nobody would stray so far from ‘policeman in Sydney’ to end up at ‘musician in Britain’. No, he thinks, shaking his head and pushing himself off the wall with his arm, his mum must have been wrong. She hasn’t seen Michael since they’d moved from Sydney five years ago either, so it’s understandable that she’d mixed him up with someone else. 

But, a little voice says, as he heads back into the studio and is greeted with the sight of Liam sprawled across the sofa, laughing at something Noel’s just said, both of them looking far too high-spirited for Gallaghers, she watched Michael grow up. She knew his face better than you ever did. 

“‘Ere,” Liam says, interrupting the voice in Calum’s mind as it’s about to start reeling off a list of times Calum’s mum had spotted Michael in a crowd or down the road or in a photo before Calum had. “Noel says he’ll sprint around the house naked if Tony doesn’t fuck up his drums on this take. What d’you reckon?” 

“I reckon it’s a good thing Tony can’t fucking play drums then, isn’t it?” Calum says, as Liam drops his feet to the floor to make room for Calum on the sofa. Liam snorts, and Noel scowls, but his eyes are still lit up with amusement. 

“Well, I reckon you’re both cunts,” Noel tells them, and Calum grins, hoping they don’t see the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and reaches over for Liam’s beer to try and calm his churning stomach. 

 -------

 Calum can’t sleep that night. 

He’s usually so drunk that Liam’s gentle snoring doesn’t even register to him as he throws himself down on his bed, often fully-dressed, and falls right asleep, only waking up to fumble around for paracetamol in the middle of the night when his throbbing headache overpowers his exhaustion. He’s not used to lying there, stomach still unsettled, mind racing, staring blankly up at the ceiling, growing more and more frustrated by the noise of Liam sleeping. 

Liam rolls over in his sleep, mutters something under his breath, and then his breathing evens out again, and Calum times the minutes passing by the way he breathes in, out, in, out. The moonlight’s getting brighter - or maybe it’s the sun rising, he’s not sure - and eventually, when Liam rolls over again and smacks his lips in his sleep, Calum’s had enough. He gets up, pads out of the room and down the stairs, heading in the direction of the kitchen for a drink. 

He’s surprised, though, when he pushes the door open, to find Noel sat at the breakfast bar, a sheet of paper in front of him, still wearing the same clothes from the day before. He turns around at the noise of the door opening and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a greeting to Calum, who grunts back at him as he grabs a glass out of the cupboard and fills it with water. 

“Can’t sleep?” Noel asks, and Calum raises his eyebrows over the glass of water he’s gulping down. 

“No,” he says, setting the glass down on the counter. “You?” Noel shakes his head. 

“‘S Bonehead’s fucking snoring,” he says, by way of an explanation, but Calum’s known Noel for five years now, and knows him better than that. 

“And that’s why you’re still dressed?” Calum says shrewdly. 

“Fuck off,” Noel mutters, raising a can of beer to his lips so he won’t have to say anything else. Calum sighs and shakes his head, but chooses not to push him on it, hopping up on the counter and swinging his legs. 

“You writing?” he asks, and Noel looks down at the sheet of paper under his hand, and shrugs. 

“Trying,” he says. Calum hums, and the two of them lapse into a comfortable silence for a while. 

It helps, Calum finds, to be with Noel. He’s never been a man of many words - neither him nor Liam have ever been particularly gifted in that area - but Calum knows he’s always safe with Noel, thrives in the quiet comfort of Noel’s presence. Noel never asks, never pushes, but he’s always there if Calum ever needs anything, and even though they never speak about it, they both know the same is true vice versa. 

(Calum can count on one hand the number of times he’s needed Noel, and can count on one finger the number of times Noel’s needed him.)

That’s not to say Noel doesn’t have his moments, though. He’s obstinate, brash, loud, arrogant, thinks his opinion is worth at least twelve times as much as anyone else’s, and takes himself far too seriously half the time. Calum’s had some of his most memorable arguments with Noel, edged out only slightly by how spectacular his arguments with Liam have been. Both of those, however, are eclipsed by how fucking nuclear the arguments between Noel and Liam are. The two of them bring out both the worst and the best in each other, grating at each other’s virtues and soothing each other’s flaws. They don’t know how to be happy unless they’re dancing along the line between love and hate, and Calum’s not sure it’d work any other way. He’s seen them in their brief, private moments of peace - Liam’s head on Noel’s chest, Noel’s arm wrapped around him, Liam murmuring something about a song or a memory that makes Noel snort, which in turn makes Liam’s lips curve up in a proud smile - but neither of their ships could sail anywhere without a restless sea to guide them. They need the fighting, need the bickering, even need the punches, to keep the wheels turning. A conversation’s not really begun if Noel and Liam haven’t called each other cunts at least twice, Calum thinks, and if Calum’s not been called upon by both of them to call the other a cunt within ten seconds of the inevitable argument breaking out. 

It had been an argument like that a year or so ago that had led to them traipsing to the Boardwalk to watch that band play. Calum remembers the energy they had, raw and a little off-kilter but something there all the same, remembers the lyrical shouting of the singer and the way he’d bounced all over the stage, but not as much as he remembers the guitarist. 

He’d looked so familiar, blonde hair and posture combining to make Calum’s heart ache like no music had ever quite managed to. It couldn’t have been him, though, he’d told himself. There was absolutely no way that Michael Clifford could have been playing in the fucking Boardwalk. Michael was in Sydney, back home, probably sunning himself on Bondi Beach and laughing at something Ashton was saying as Luke grinned at Ashton with wide blue eyes. Michael wasn’t in Manchester. 

Except, a little voice in his head says, maybe he was. Maybe Calum’s mum hadn’t mistaken some guy in a band on Top of the Pops for Michael. Maybe it was Michael. 

“D’you know that band we saw, a few years ago?” Calum says, out of the blue, before the thought to say the words has even crossed his mind. Noel looks up at him, thick brows furrowed. 

“Seen a lot of fucking bands,” he says, a little slowly, like he’s trying to figure out what Calum’s actually asking. Calum half-considers dropping the subject entirely, but Noel’s been in the business far longer than he has, and if anyone’s going to know, it’s him.

“The one in the bar. After the City match.” Noel purses his lips, brows creasing further, before nodding thoughtfully. 

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah. They’re famous now, they are.” 

“Oh,” Calum says, and swallows. That’s not what he expected - or, he finds, wanted - to hear. 

“Yeah. Heard their first record. Or maybe it was their second, I don’t know. It wasn’t all that.” 

“What’re they called, again?” Calum asks, hoping the question sounds innocent, but Noel’s eyes narrow a fraction. 

“Blur,” he says. 

“Blur,” Calum repeats, testing the word out, letting it sit on his tongue. 

“Why?” 

“No reason,” Calum says. Noel looks at him for a moment, like he’s weighing up whether or not to say something, but then seems to let it go, shaking his head.

“You’re a fucking odd one, you are,” he says, which is the nicest thing he’s said to Calum in months. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, with a grin. “Good-looking, too.” 

“Don’t push it,” Noel warns, and Calum laughs, swinging his legs. 

“What’re you writing, then?” he asks. Noel looks back down at the sheet of paper. 

“Don’t know, really,” he says. “Just can’t seem to get it right.” 

“Want me to take a look?” Calum offers. 

“You?” Noel says sceptically. “You barely even play a fucking instrument.” 

“Bass is a fucking instrument, you prick,” Calum says, only half-incensed. 

“You’re up there with the fucking tambourine player,” Noel says, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

“Fuck off,” Calum says, and Noel leans back in the chair, grinning. “You’re the one who bought him that fucking tambourine, anyway.” 

“Little twat might as well do something worthwhile,” Noel says, like Liam’s voice isn’t one of the two indispensable elements they’ve got. 

“At least I can play guitar,” Calum counters. Noel raises an eyebrow.

“Playing?” he says. “Well. If that’s what you want to call it.” Calum scowls and flips him off, and Noel just laughs and gives him a two-fingered salute in return.

“Go on, then,” he says, shoving the piece of paper to the edge of the breakfast bar. “Let’s see how much damage can be done to my genius.” Calum rolls his eyes but reaches over to pull the piece of paper towards him. There’s barely anything on there, just two lines: I can’t tell you the way I feel/Because the way I feel is oh so new to me. Fucking hell. 

“I’m off to bed,” Noel says, like he can sense the questions bubbling under the surface of Calum’s frown, and pushes himself back from the breakfast bar. Calum looks up, catches the brief look of don’t you dare fucking ask me what that’s about that flits across Noel’s face, just the most fractional chink in his armour, and nods, hopping off the counter and tucking the sheet of paper into his pocket. He should probably try and get some sleep too, if only because he’s going to have to be in the best frame of mind possible to deal with how insufferable Noel’s going to be tomorrow on three hours’ sleep. 

“I’m going to smother your brother if he’s not stopped snoring,” he tells Noel, following him out of the room. Noel snorts as he starts up the stairs, that strange mixture of derisive and fond that the Gallaghers manage so well. 

“You’ve got more of a fucking chance of him waking up a bird than you do getting him to stop snoring,” he says. Calum sighs, all long-suffering, like this is news to him, even though he’s been sleeping in rooms with Liam since they were seventeen and sixteen respectively.

“Good thing the tambourine player’s expendable, then,” he says, and Noel laughs, soft and quiet in the stillness of the night. 

“You’d be doing the world a fucking favour,” he says, but there’s a strong edge of pride and fondness that Noel only ever gets when talking about Liam, and Liam only ever gets when talking about Noel, and they never get when talking to each other. Calum thinks they’d probably both rather switch to being United fans than ever admit any semblance of love exists between the two of them, but it hums lowly beneath the surface, visible for anyone who bothers to look beyond the black eyes and hurled insults and weeks of refusing to even look at each other. No one can deny that the two of them fucking hate each other half the time, but without the push and pull of their relationship, without the back and forth and the give and take, the band couldn’t work. If the two of them ever lost that, if one of them ever pulled or pushed too hard, that’d be it. It should probably concern Calum more than it does that his entire career is poised on the knife’s edge that is Liam and Noel’s endless tug-of-war, but he's yet to lose the strangely settled feeling in his stomach every time Noel quits or fires Liam that tells him they'll be alright. You'll be alright. There are still better things to come. 

“You’re just saying that because you want to sing,” Calum retorts. 

“Nah,” Noel says with a grin, hand hovering over the door handle of his and Bonehead’s room. “I’m saying it because I want more royalties.” Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning too. 

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” he promises. 

 -------

 As Calum had predicted, Noel’s a fucking nightmare the next day. 

He snaps at everyone who dares come within a ten metre radius of him, and, when everyone stops going into the same room Noel’s in, he specifically goes out of his way to find Liam to start an argument that ends in Liam complaining that one of his teeth is loose. 

(“It’s not fucking loose,” Bonehead says, and then decides to leave the room, presumably because he doesn’t want to deal with Liam’s moaning and whining. Calum can’t really blame him, and starts to shift surreptitiously towards the door himself.

“Since when are you a fucking dentist, you cunt?” Liam shouts after him, and Bonehead flips him off as he walks away. “You’re coming with me to the dentist, you are.” He’s rounded on Calum now, blocking the path to the door, and Calum sighs. 

“If we get more beer on the way back,” he bargains, and Liam nods.) 

That’s how Calum’s ended up in some posh dental surgery, spread out across a leather sofa and looking very incongruous in his oversized shirt and baggy jeans amongst the glass and the fancy-looking plants, waiting for Liam to come out of his appointment. It’s taking far longer than he’d expected - he’d thought it’d be a quick your tooth’s not fucking loose, you knob, you’ve definitely had worse, like everyone else had told him, but Liam’s been in there for a good fifteen minutes now, and Calum’s getting bored. 

The receptionist keeps making eyes at him, and Calum can’t tell whether they’re I want to fuck you eyes or whether they’re you look like you’re going to try and rob this dental surgery eyes, so eventually he picks up the nearest magazine off the coffee table and flicks it open to a random page just for something to look at that isn’t her. 

There’s a very pretty guy staring back at him when he looks down, blonde and blue-eyed and grinning inanely at the camera, and the caption reads BLUR: the cocky rebels you’re allowed to love. 

Blur. That’s what Noel had called the band from that bar in Manchester last night. They’re famous now, they are, he’d said.  

Calum barely even notices the way his heart speeds up as his eyes fly across the page, scanning the article for any mention of Michael before he really realises what he’s looking for. The author and the singer - Damon, apparently - keep referring to a Mike, an Australian Mike, which puts Calum right on edge, but Michael had never gone by Mike. He fucking hated it, corrected anyone who called him anything other than Michael, refused to respond to any teachers who tried to call him Mike, threw glowers at any classmates who did the same. He’d barely even let Calum call him Mikey in his most vulnerable moments, rubbing small circles on his back soothingly as he coaxed him to throw up all the cheap booze they’d nicked from the corner shop. 

Calum’s fingers are slick with sweat as he’s turning the page and his eyes are starting to water from how little he’s blinking, and he’s not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing, whether he wants Mike to be Michael or not. When he reaches the bottom of the second page, however, Calum’s heart stops. 

There’s a picture of the whole band. Damon’s standing second from the left, right arm holding his left bicep, head tilted upwards, looking lazy and effortlessly beautiful, like he fucking knows he’s worth looking at. It reminds Calum of Liam a little bit, the way he plays into the camera, the way he knows that with a small tilt of his chin and a slight lowering of his lashes he’ll have half the fucking nation on their knees for him. Maybe that’s just the way singers need to be, Calum thinks, eyes flitting to the ginger guy to Damon’s left, who looks a little uncomfortable, and then to the guy directly on Damon’s right; tall, broody-looking, dark hair swept across his face. To his right is a shorter dark-haired man, looking tense and on edge, and to his right is-

Michael Clifford. 

There’s no mistaking him. He’s got the same blonde hair still sticking up at all sorts of angles, the same sleepy, sea green eyes, the same pretty lips slightly parted in a pout. He’s holding himself confidently, miles away from the slightly scrawny teenager Calum had left behind, staring into the lens of the camera like it’s a challenge. Come on, Calum. Tell yourself I ever stopped mattering to you, go on. 

Calum doesn’t need to read the caption to know it’s Michael, knows it from the way he’s clutching his right wrist with his left hand, but does it anyway, one final, desperate grasp at a straw - from left to right: David Rowntree, Damon Albarn, Alex James, Graham Coxon, Michael Clifford. 

Michael Clifford. 

The words seem to sort of swim in front of Calum’s eyes, like they’re not really there, like his mind’s superimposed them on the article somehow, but the picture’s still there, clear as day. Michael, a hint of stubble on his jaw, face more angled and figure fuller and shoulders broader and God, he looks so fucking good that Calum’s stomach flips and drops and flips again. 

“-fucking hell, Earth to fucking Cal,” Liam says, sounding sort of muffled, and Calum nearly drops the magazine in shock, yanked back into reality so suddenly and jarringly by the sound of his voice. 

“What?” he says, looking up to see Liam with an irritated expression on his face, cradling one cheek in his hand. 

“Let’s fucking go,” Liam says, already halfway to the door. Calum stares after him for a moment, mind trying to process Liam wants to leave over the tangled jumble of Michael Michael Michael currently winding its way through every cell in his brain, before he jumps up, magazine still in his hand. 

“Sir,” the receptionist calls immediately, like she’s had her eye on him the whole time. “You can’t take the magazine with you.” Calum looks down at the magazine, and Liam turns around from the door, a slight tension in his posture that Calum recognises as the one he gets when he’s spoiling for a fucking fight. Christ, he’s not about to deck the fucking receptionist, is he? 

“Or what?” Liam says, a little menacingly. “You gonna fucking stop him?” 

“I just-” 

“What the fuck do you want with the fucking magazine, eh? Fucking paid enough for the appointment, buy yourself another." 

“C’mon,” Calum mutters, rolling the magazine up and hurrying over to Liam, putting a hand on the small of his back. “Let’s go.” Liam hesitates for a moment, like he’s torn between going to get beer or shouting at a receptionist, but eventually the alcohol seems to win in his mind, because he settles for throwing her one final glare and letting Calum guide him out of the door. 

“What’d they say?” Calum asks as they walk out, his hand still on Liam’s back, because he knows Liam better than to trust he won’t just change his mind on a whim and go storming back in to give the receptionist a piece of his mind for not wanting Calum to take a fucking magazine. 

“Don’t fucking know,” Liam mutters, pushing open the door to outside. Calum shivers a little when the cool late-February air hits him, and decides that Liam’s probably safe now, letting go of him to wrap his arms around himself as they head back to the car that’s been waiting for them. “Sounded like he said something about my flaps.” Calum snorts. 

“Bit forward of him,” he says, and Liam grins. 

“Why’d you take that fucking magazine, then, eh?” he says, rounding the car without looking into the road and flipping off the car that has to screech to a halt to avoid running him over. 

“What?” Calum says, a touch shiftily. “Oh. Saw a good article in it. Wanted to finish reading it.” Liam throws him a look over the top of the car, a look that’s unnervingly shrewd, but then shakes his head and ducks into the car. Calum does the same, taking a moment to tuck the magazine into his pocket and feeling it weigh down one side of him, unbalancing him just slightly. It’s kind of apt, he thinks as he gets into the car. Michael had always made him feel a little unbalanced, too. 

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” Liam announces, and Calum grins, trying not to think about the way the magazine feels pressed between him and the seat. 

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” he agrees.

 -------

 Calum doesn’t look at the magazine again until a good week later. 

He’s drunk, and maybe still a little high, which is the driving force behind the whole evening. They all are, because Liam had scored some great coke off some guy called Neville, which Calum had declared to be the funniest dealer name in all of history, leading Bonehead to admit that his weed dealer used to be called Barnaby. Noel had sided with Calum, claiming Neville was far worse than Barnaby, and, predictably, Liam had jumped straight in on Bonehead’s side, and after about two minutes of shouting Tony had mumbled something about not being drunk enough for this and slipped out of the room. 

“Fucking useless,” Liam says derisively, as Tony walks out. “I should fire him.” 

“I fired you two days ago,” Noel says, pointing at Liam with the card he’s using to cut up the coke. “You can’t be firing anyone.” 

“It’s my fucking band,” Liam says, incensed, like it’s not actually Bonehead’s band that Liam had wheedled his way into. 

“Who writes the fucking songs?” Noel counters. “You just play the fucking tambourine and look mardy.” 

“Fucking greatest frontman in the world, I am,” Liam says indignantly. 

“You’re too fucking high to find the front of the stage half the time,” Noel says contemptuously. 

“I know where the front of the fucking stage is,” Liam says, pointing at Noel with one hand and Calum with the other. “‘S between knobheads numbers one and two.” Noel rolls his eyes, too busy cutting lines to flip him off, so Calum does it on both of their behalfs, and Liam grins, swigging from his beer. 

“Save us a fucking line,” Bonehead says to Noel, who’s just bent down to hoover up at least four of the thin white lines on the table. 

“Get your fucking own,” Noel grumbles, like he’s the one who’d scored it, not Liam, but he lets Bonehead push him aside, slumping back against the sofa. 

“Greedy cunt,” Bonehead mutters, and Noel swats him upside the head, handing him the card. 

“We should have a fucking celebration,” Liam declares grandly, gesturing widely with his beer bottle. 

“For what?” Noel says. “Album’s not even fucking finished yet.” 

“Sounds fucking great, though,” Liam says. 

“Well, you’ve clearly not heard it then, have you?” Calum says with a snort, accepting the card Bonehead holds out to him and leaning over towards the coke. There’s not much left, but Liam’ll fucking do one if he doesn’t leave any for him. “Fucking hell, Noel. You a fucking vacuum?” Noel just grins and shrugs at him, cocaine clearly starting to settle into his veins, and Calum rolls his eyes, cutting two thin lines for himself and leaving enough for the same for Liam. 

“It’ll sound great once it’s mixed,” Liam insists, as Calum bends down.  

“That’s what you said last time,” Bonehead points out. 

“No I fucking didn’t,” Liam says, even though he’d literally spent about a week bouncing around saying it’ll sound fucking great when it’s mixed, just you fucking wait. It’ll be fucking biblical. Calum straightens, wincing slightly and pinching the end of his nose, and throws Liam a look. 

“You fucking did,” he says. Liam scowls at him, and motions for the card. “Come over here. No way you’ll reach the coke from over there.” Liam rolls his eyes but complies, heaving himself up and then throwing himself down next to Calum, making a noise of outrage when he sees how little is left for him. 

“What the fuck, Noel?” he demands, and Noel just cackles. Christ, he’s blitzed out of his fucking mind already. 

“We should fucking celebrate,” Noel says, like he hadn’t shot down Liam saying it not two minutes ago. 

“Celebrate what, you prick?” Calum says, wrinkling his nose as the bitter cocaine drips down his throat. Fucking grim. At least his mouth will be too numb to taste it soon. 

“Fucking all of it,” Noel says. “Us. Recording an album. The fact that we’re going to be number fucking one.” Calum snorts, but he’s starting to feel a little giddy, a little warmer, and he leans back with a grin. 

“Number fucking one,” he repeats, and Liam nods solemnly next to him. 

“Fucking right,” he says, like it’s what they’re owed. Calum catches Bonehead’s eye and grins, knows he’s thinking exactly what Calum’s thinking - yeah, us two fucking deserve it for putting up with the both of you. 

“Just wait ‘til we release Supersonic,” Calum says, shuffling up a little to rest his head on Liam’s shoulder. Liam’s arm comes around him, warm and comforting, and he squeezes Calum absent-mindedly as he hums contentedly. Calum lets his eyes flutter shut, euphoric and a little overheated, grinning to himself as he lets himself fantasise. Number fucking one, he thinks to himself. Fucking imagine. 

“Knock those Blur cunts off the top,” Noel says, and Calum’s eyes fly open. 

“What?” he says. 

“Their new song,” Noel says scornfully. “Fucking, what’s it? Girls who like boys who like girls who like boys, something like. Fucking shite.” 

“New song?” Calum echoes, mind trying to work around the cocaine to process what he’s being told. 

“Am I the only one who fucking listens to the radio?” Noel demands. “That’s our fucking competition, that is. We’ve got to knock them off the top spot.” 

“Competition,” Calum says slowly. Competition. Michael Clifford is his competition. 

And, fucking hell. Does Michael even know Calum’s his competition? Does Michael even know Calum’s in Oasis - does Michael even remember Calum? It’s been what, four fucking years now since the letters had petered out, since Calum had got too caught up in his new life of Liam and Noel and drugs and music and Michael had been too busy with his family and friends and the fucking police academy. Michael might not even recognise Calum, might not even remember his name. 

(Something tells him, though, even through the haze of drugs and alcohol, that they could never forget each other. After all, it says, who forgets their first kiss? Who forgets their first fuck? Who, it says, a little too knowingly for Calum’s liking, forgets their first love?) 

Liam seems to have sensed something’s up because he’s frowning, waving a hand in Calum’s face, and Calum blinks, shakes his head abruptly and sits bolt upright. He stopped loving Michael. He fucking did, no matter what the churning in his stomach might be telling him. That’s just the fucking booze.

“What the fuck’s up with you?” Liam says, sounding annoyed.

“Don’t feel great,” Calum says, which isn’t entirely untrue. The high’s too high, and the alcohol’s making his stomach clench and contract, and he’s sweating a little too much, and his hands are clammy, and- 

“Oh, fucking hell,” he says, a little faintly, and lurches to his feet, crashing into the bathroom next door and only just making it to the toilet bowl before he’s throwing up everything he’d ingested in the previous twenty-four hours. He’s glad he’s still high because it means he can’t quite taste the bile in his throat, can’t entirely feel the way his stomach’s heaving that he distantly registers is going to absolutely fucking kill tomorrow. 

Halfway through his retching someone appears behind him, kneeling down beside him and rubbing small circles on his back comfortingly. Calum feels fucking pathetic, slumped over the toilet bowl with tears leaking out of his eyes, someone making quiet, soothing sounds behind him, all because of fucking Michael Clifford. 

(That thought makes him retch once again.)

“Waste of fucking coke, that is,” the person says mildly when he’s finished, leaning up and flushing for him, and it’s Liam. Of course it’s Liam. No one else would willingly spend their short high in a tiny, cramped bathroom watching Calum throw up. Noel would probably lock him in and turn off the water supply, maybe grab a camcorder for good measure. 

Calum huffs out something that’s supposed to be a laugh but sounds like more of a sob as he sits back, wipes his upper lip and forehead and rests his head against the cool tile wall. Liam sits down opposite him, legs pressed against Calum’s because they’re both too fucking big for the bathroom on their own let alone together, and blinks at him. 

“Fuck brought that on?” he says, more curious than anything. Calum’s stomach lurches again, images of Michael smiling at him sleepily on a Saturday morning, of Michael with his head tipped back in detention, laughing at something Calum had said, and the picture of him in the magazine, so much older and yet so fucking familiar, flashing through his mind in rapid succession. 

“Probably just overdid it,” he says weakly. Liam gives him a hard stare. 

“A fucking baby would’ve had a hard time getting high on what you snorted,” he says. 

“Baby wouldn’t’ve drunk five fucking beers beforehand, though,” Calum says, coughing slightly and wincing as he tastes the echo of acid at the back of his throat. 

“Depends whose baby it is,” Liam says. “Pretty sure mine would.” Calum snorts, and lets his eyes flutter shut as he starts to come back to himself a little, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself as he realises how cold he is. Fuck, he’s all clammy. Gross. 

Almost as though he can read Calum’s thoughts, Liam nudges Calum’s knee with his own. 

“You’re fucking rank,” he says. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, not opening his eyes. 

“Take a fucking shower.” Calum pulls a face. He’s not in the fucking mood to shower. 

“Tomorrow,” he says. It’s not like Liam’s never done the same. 

“You’re fucking rank, ” Liam tells him again, like he’d not thrown up in the sink two nights ago and left it there overnight, but he puts his hand on Calum’s shin and pats it, and Calum offers him a weak smile. 

“You don’t have to stay,” he says. 

“What, go back in there and listen to our kid break his neck sucking his own cock? Don’t fucking think so,” Liam scoffs. “I’ll be fucking sober in five minutes, anyway, given the amount of coke you pricks left me.” Calum smiles again, a little less wobbly this time. 

“Sober?” he says. “You drank twice as much as me.” 

“Not all of us are fucking Aussies, though, are we?” Liam says, and Calum can hear the grin in his voice. “Might as well be a fucking southerner, you.” That makes Calum open his eyes a fraction, enough to glare at Liam. 

“Piss off,” he says. “You and your fucking Irish blood. I’d drink anyone else under the fucking table.” 

“Fucking right,” Liam says proudly. “Never met anyone who could outdrink me, let alone an Aussie.”

“You’ve never met any except me, you prick,” Calum says, and Liam grins. 

“Well, most of you fuckers are smart enough to stay where it’s warm and sunny and the birds are fit, aren’t you?” he says. “Only the stupid ones end up here.” Calum scowls, and kicks at Liam’s leg half-heartedly. 

“Fuck off,” he says. “Didn’t choose to move here, did I? Got dragged kicking and screaming.” 

“But you’re still here,” Liam points out, and Calum finds he doesn’t have an answer to that. At least, he thinks, not one he’s willing to give Liam. 

“You must miss it,” Liam says when Calum doesn’t answer, a little surprised, like the thought’s only just crossed his mind after five fucking years of friendship. Which, knowing Liam, is probably the case. 

“Australia?” Liam hums his assent. “Dunno. I guess. I miss Vegemite.” He hesitates, before adding: “Mostly miss my mates, though.” 

“Oh?” Liam says, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You still talk to them?” Calum shrugs, a little uncomfortably. After all, it had been him that had ignored the last letter Michael had sent him. He’s the one who hadn’t written back. 

“No,” he says. “Phone calls are too expensive, and none of us are fucked writing letters.” 

“Ah, well,” Liam says, stretching out on the tiles and sighing contentedly. “Just you fucking wait ‘til we’re number one. You’ll see them then. We’ll be touring Australia three times a year, and that.” Calum can’t help but snort. 

“Three times a year?” he says. “There’s only five fucking cities worth playing in.” Liam grins. 

“And you’d better have friends in all of them, mate,” he says. “Not bloody paying for hotels if I can help it.” 

“My mates are all in Sydney,” Calum says, and there’s a little tug in his chest as he realises that actually, that might not be true anymore. He doesn’t know what happened to Ashton and Luke, either. If Michael can go from police cadet in Sydney to fucking famous musician in the UK then Ashton and Luke are probably, like, astronauts, or something. Maybe he should check with the ASA. 

“What?” Liam says curiously, clearly seeing the expression on Calum’s face, and Calum hesitates.

He’s not sure whether he should tell Liam. What the fuck would he even say? My ex, sort of, is in the band Noel’s lining up as our competition? You know Blur? Yeah, I fucked one of the guitarists. Liam wouldn’t get it. Great, he’d say, eyes gleaming. Eeyar, you must have some good stories about him. You can embarrass him in the press. Or maybe, get in, mate. Infiltrate them, eh? Fucking good thought. Oi, that Damon’s alright, isn’t he? Maybe I’ll have it on with him. He wouldn’t understand the weight behind it, what Michael meant to Calum. Means to Calum. Fuck, he doesn’t know anymore. 

“I think a mate of mine might have moved over here,” Calum says eventually, when Liam raises an expectant eyebrow. It feels fucking weird calling Michael a mate. The word doesn’t feel quite complete in his mouth, like maybe there should be a soul prefixing it. 

“Oh aye?” Liam says, raising his other eyebrow too, like he knows what Calum might mean by ‘mate’. “Where’s he living?” 

“I don’t know,” Calum admits. Liam hums, like he’s thinking it over. 

“D’you want to know?” he says, in that strangely perceptive way he sometimes does. Calum shrugs, and hopes Liam doesn’t catch the tension in his shoulders. 

“Maybe,” he says. “Dunno. Depends.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Liam doesn’t ask him to. Instead, his emotional capacity probably filled for the night, he claps his hand on Calum’s thigh. 

“Want to see if we can get Noel to piss himself?” he says, eyes bright, and Calum can’t help but snort. 

“‘Course I fucking do,” he says, getting to his feet. Liam braces himself on the sink as he pulls himself up, a little unsteady, and grins. 

“Ten quid says he does,” he says, and Calum snorts. Noel had pissed himself once, three years ago, and Liam can’t fucking let go of it. 

“You don’t fucking have ten quid,” he says, following Liam out of the room, still feeling a little light-headed and woozy, but no longer nauseous. 

“Neither do you,” Liam counters, pushing open the door to the living room, and Calum has to concede there.

“How about the loser sucks the other’s dick, then?” he says, grinning, and Liam throws his head back as he laughs. 

“You’re on,” he says over his shoulder, eyes twinkling. 

“Who’s getting who to suck their dick?” Noel demands. 

“You’re helping me get Calum to suck my dick,” Liam tells him, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Noel and resting his head on Noel’s chest. Almost instinctively, Noel’s arm comes around him, holding him close. Calum could almost be fooled into thinking they’re in some sort of a truce, that the booze and cocaine have broken down the barrier of hatred between them and left only the underlying love, until Liam reaches forwards, picks up a bottle of beer and holds it to Noel’s lips with a wicked grin. 

“Drink up.”

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chapter two