#concrete grinding services | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 10 months

Text

Sweet Dreams--Part 2

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted.

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

I was only supposed to do a part 2 but now I'm already working on part 3 so it's officially a series. Lmao.

CW: Smut adjacent, but nothing NSFW or explicit. Series does have smut (across multiple part).

TW: Mentions of past parental neglect and parental alcoholism.

Read Part 1 here.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

It’s settling--the hallways are clearing, the chatter quiets. The heels strike with thuds rather than clacks. The whole castle is exhaling. From the side gates, you can see lights turning off. Those are the levels where administrative tasks and meetings are held that are retiring for the night. You’ve slowly begun witnessing the castle with more life. Mere weeks--five if you could count them straight. It’s a bit hard with the interrupted sleep schedule. But you hope soon it levels out. In those five weeks though, you can see more of the castle growing quieter and quieter.

The evenings are now spent coming up at eight. Most times when you come, most lights are off. You can see the sleeping quarters lit still. But the offices are already shut down by the time you arrive. Even when you arrive on time, you can still hear people leaving for the day. You can still catch the last bit of stragglers still lingering, but working towards an exit. You’re early today. It’s 7:50 and behind the setting sun you catch how the grounds feel like TV you leave on in the background after waking and catching the news. The noise is low. However, there’s still enough people leaving that you know you’re early. The lights that are normally off are on. But it’s clear--it is closing time. There is just enough noise.

“You’re early.”

The voice isn’t one you’re shocked to hear--you’ve heard it plenty of times before. It’s deep, a rumble that’s comforting. But you are shocked to not be alone. When you spin, Calum’s seated, though pushing out off the bench. You still use the service entrance. Even when Calum’s requested you specifically to come early and through the front, your habits dictate you here--to the service entrance. He greets you here. As always. You know he knows you’ll not do it any other way.

Calum’s descent is graceful down the three concrete steps. “Was sure I’d have another five minutes of twiddling my thumbs,” he teases.

“Do you sit out every day? Waiting for me?”

“Only days that end in ‘-Y’.” His lips are soft against your skin with his chaste greeting on your cheek. It’s lighthearted--or at least that’s the way Calum means it. But when your brows furrow and you start to glance around at all the life still around, Calum knows where this might go. “No one who matters is going to mind.”

“But the ones that don’t matter are going to speak the loudest,” you return. You take his hand gently just for a moment to give it a squeeze before nodding up towards the door. Calum concedes and directs the two of you inside.

You’re glad Calum doesn’t mind. Though it was made obvious six weeks ago when you two first kissed. But you know the town’s gossip wheel is turning constantly. They only need crumbs. When it came back that Calum’s trip wasn’t about a bride--two weeks after his return to the general public thanks to the lack of a ball--speculation as to why a twenty-seven old prince wasn’t looking for marriage came the latest crumb. The rumor mill keeps grinding its gears: folks talk about speculations to sexuality to theories about a private wedding to conspiracies involving murder. You’re not sure how these stories come about. Though, it’s not all that important what stories came up. The truth remains: the people are talking and they only need a centimeter to make a mile.

“Are you worried about something greater? Rumors come and go all the time,” Calum starts after the door shuts behind him. Was it more than just shyness? Sure rumors weren’t ideal but rumors churned all the time. Calum’s less worried about what others will think.

You anticipated it mattered less to Calum what you were. He was already Prince. There’s nothing to be won or had for him. But still, you figure he had to have some concern about the optics, the politics of the world he was in that would surely throw a fit about you. “Tell me are you not worried about something greater?” you return.

Calum shakes his head. Sure, he had worried--paste tense. But not enough worry--present tense-- to stop him. He had no reason to worry so much to stop himself. He’d worried enough that you wouldn’t want this. That he’d only ever be left with what if’s and one-sided memories. Then he kissed you. And you kissed him back. And you made him promise that it wouldn’t happen only once when he gave into every earthly desire. Calum’s going to make good on that promise and so much more. Now that he had a taste of you, he couldn’t let go.

“How? Of course you are,” you laugh. And the halls echo the sound for a moment and then the pull of Calum’s pouty full lips lets you know he’s serious.

“My…my parents know. It’s not like I’d really hide much from them.”

“Oh, you have to censor some things.” You are praying to every god in existence that Calum has not quoted you in bed, begging him to beg you.

Calum snorts at the implication and your wide eyes. “Yeah, no, some things they don’t know. But they know about you.”

You catch the click of keys on someone’s hip and the squeak of their shoes. From behind Calum you can see the last of the evening shift leaving the kitchen. You think it might be Janet. She had enough keys on her hip at any given moment that you occasionally dreamed of the sound. Calum turns to the sound and spots the body growing further and further from the two of you. Your conversation remains paused until the walls have no shadows.

“What’s your worry?” Calum questions when your eyes return to his. There’s a respectable distance between the two of you--a solid five feet or so. It’s killing him though. Not when he knows what you smell like on his sheets, not when he knows how you fit against his chest.

Your spine shivers at the graze of Calum’s fingers on your hand. It freezes you for a moment, like your body is still downloading that this touch is something that can exist outside of his bedroom or the dark kitchen. It’s bright out in this hallway. You watch Calum’s fingers, dance over the top of your hands to your palms. You turn your hand up to allow him access. Your feet are carrying you. You can tell by how the scent of Calum invades your nose that he’s gotten closer. That six feet you had is now inches and closing. Calum’s fingers thread through yours and he brings his second hands into your second empty one.

“I’ll wait. Take your time,” Calum offers softly.

His question has lingered too long without an answer. Calum’s not going to let it die without one. But he won’t push for a response either. The thing is you’d never really met Calum’s parents on that level or anywhere close. They’d always been King and Queen. You’d always served them breakfast. You helped Calum present his mother’s birthday cake to her. You took their dishes to be cleaned. You asked for their opinion on menus for luncheons and banquets when Janet wasn’t in. You’d dropped off tea, soup, and medicine occasionally when they were sick. But you were just a cook--a servant role in their lives that had to be inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It didn’t matter if it was you fixing food. It was just something someone had to do. It just happened to be you.

“When did you tell them about me?” you ask eventually, looking up from the floor. Your non-slip sneakers--black as always--are a stark contrast to the gray slippers Calum wears.

“Couple weeks ago,” Calum offers easily. He shrugs a bit with the response. “They’d asked if something had happened. Said I seemed happier.”

Weeks? Maybe it was still a good sign. But even his parents did know, it’s not like you’re looking for the news to land in the wrong hands and leak. Nothing had seemingly changed at breakfast when you served them either. Not that you can recall and you’re sure you would. “I still have a job at least so they took it well, I guess.”

Calum’s laughter is loud and deep. He tugs you in closer. You think it’s mostly out of reflex the way he holds you. With an ear to his chest, you burrow into the feeling of your bones rumbling with his laughter. “They like you. Why would you ever think otherwise?”

“I didn’t think you knew I existed, let alone your parents did.” It’s quiet as it leaves your lips. But it’s true. Had you mattered at all in the gravity of their life? Your life is work, the low hum of TV as you attempt to paint the setting sun but always overmixing in the yellow. It’s a mess. It’s yours--quiet and messy and boring as it is--but it’s yours. “What happens if my life is no longer mine?”

Calum’s hand rests on your back, palm brushing up and down your spine. “What do you mean?” he asks.

You're thinking too far. All you actually have is right here. All you have is your cheek pressed into Calum’s chest--you can hear the thump of his heart. You’re not going to last even if he has told his parents. “It’s stupid, really.”

“I’ll listen. No judgment.”

You shake your head, best as you can against the soft cotton muscle tank he’s adorned. It’s stupid you think to yourself. All worry does is steal from the moment. This is all you’re going to have and you won’t waste the time with senseless worry. “I feel silly.”

“Whatever it is--whatever you mean by that question--it’s not silly, I promise. And you can’t tell me I don’t know such things, I do. I know it’s not silly. But you tell me when you’re ready.”

What if you can never tell him? What if you’re never ready? “The only thing I can tell you right now is that I am hungry.”

“Okay,” Calum concedes with a kiss to your head. “I’ll take that too. Just--just know I don’t want to take this any faster than you do. It’s not my intention to scare you off with that. I-When they asked, I knew I had to come clean.”

You nod. “Sounds like you and your parents are close.”

“In many ways, yes. I’d say we are.”

Your chest hurts. Maybe it’s a pang or an ache, but beyond it you’re glad he’s not afraid to admit such things. “Do you want a snack too?”

Calum’s hands slip from your back to your ass. They squeeze and just as quickly as they fall, he brings them back to your upper body. “Some might say I already have a snack.”

You snort, pushing away from his embrace. His giddy grin has brought the crinkles to his eyes. His cheeks are full and the snicker of his laugh is contagious. With a single digit in a disapproving wag, you manage a half serious tone, “I’m not disagreeing with you, but you aren’t allowed to say that. Absolutely not.”

Calum watches you start down to the kitchen. His own laughter still makes his shoulders shake. Though he knows you’re trying to bite back a smile--and failing--the joke was still worth it. As Calum trails behind you, he thinks maybe now he has a little bit of worry. It’s early. He’s willing to admit that he thought this might have longevity. He’s in no rush that’s for sure. He could take the throne with a spouse or without it. A luxury he knows he only has because he’s a man. If he wanted to wait another five years before taking a spouse, he could. He could take another ten if he wanted. All Calum had at this point outside of his responsibilities was time.

The sandwich bread hits the counter by the time Calum gets into the kitchen. On the island there’s already mayo, lunch meat, lettuce, red onion, and mustard laid out. “Did you eat before leaving?” Calum asks. You don’t normally mention being hungry. He knows you are eating, waiting for you to finish before he leaves the kitchen most days now in the morning.

“Haven’t gotten out to the store. Someone might be pre-occupying my time.”

“Am I keeping you from properly feeding yourself? Are you allowing someone to actually interrupt your routine?”

You snort at Calum’s worry. “I keep your fridge well stocked. I’ll live.”

“I would hope so. But I’m sorry. I didn’t-I didn’t realize.”

The extra time with you is nice. Some days the two of you just talk until he falls asleep and you leave for your shift. And it’s nice to have a space free from expectations. However, maybe there’s a lot Calum wasn’t realizing about you. As much as he thought he kept his own life private, he’s getting hit with the realization that you kept so much more even closer to the vest. He’d get pieces. Your mother seems to still be alive. He can’t account for the rest of your family. You’d made friends with other staff. There don’t seem to be any pets, or if there are any there’s no cats or dogs. He still has more gaps to fill than there are pictures to fill.

But watching you now fills in some of those gaps. You pop two slices of bread into the toaster. If you weren’t going to tell him, he’d be sure to watch for what could fill in the gaps. A plate clicks against the counter right as the slices pop out. Your bottom slice has mayo, then topped with five slices of meat. Your second slice has a spread of mustard, the onion is layered next with the lettuce in the middle. No tomato he notices. Calum can remember that. He can tuck that piece of you away for later.

“Any particular reason why you showed up early?”

The knife clicks as it cuts through bread and hits the ceramic plate. You hadn’t even realized you were leaving early. Not consciously at least. The routine is easy. You wake by about 4 in the evening, clean up what’s left behind, grab what you need from the stores or do errands before 7. There’s at least one meal to get through the first half of the day. And while the rest of the day might be lounging, you now head here early to spend more than just an hour or two with Calum. Today required an earlier start.

“Honestly, I hadn't realized I was early,” you answer. “After I got finished with a return, I thought I was behind not realizing I was actually still ahead of schedule.”

Calum snorts, rounding the corner of the counter. “That internal clock’s a little fast, it seems.”

The first bite crunches even for you, but you’re thankful for the quick meal. Was just a few weeks enough time for anyone to notice a difference in anyone? There was no one for you. Your roommates were all on day shifts. Your paths normally pass briefly in the evening and if they get home early, they are respectful of your schedule. Now almost a year and eight months with the job you’ve long gotten accustomed to the noises in the kitchen, and the laughter that greets you when you wake up. The only thing you couldn’t sleep through were the smoke detectors if they went off. So far it’s only happened twice. You and your roommates were cordial most days and there when the other needed to vent. You’d listen to retellings of horrible dates and stress at work. But none of them seemed to notice anything different about you. Not even an off handed comment to set curiosity ablaze. Granted, you’d never name Calum, but not even in the exchanges had conversation come up about you seeming different. You felt it. Getting up feels easier. You’re noticing a smile on your face when you normally wouldn’t hold one.

Maybe it’s just parent’s intuition in Calum’s case. He was around them significantly more than you and your roommates hung out with each other. Was Calum changing? He smiled more, not even in your direction in the mornings, but just in general. You noticed it, but not enough to think it meant something. Not enough to think it was anything to do with you, you should say more specifically. Your parents aren’t in the picture for you. Your brother and sister only talked fleetingly with you--mostly on their birthdays and thank yous for the Christmas presents. Though you’d call on the first day of school for them too and when they wanted to talk, they’d call you. But it’s rare. Not that you blame them. They’re young. Much too young to believe anything that you could have shared with them about what it was like before.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice is closer. Body pressing into yours like a crackling fire along the expanse of your left arm and shoulder.

“I can’t believe you told your parents.”

“It-it is earlier than I would’ve wanted to tell them. But they asked over dinner.”

“And you didn’t lie? Just outright told them?”

Calum brushes a hand over your hip, taking in the feel of the rather stiff material adorning your body. “Is it so bad that I’m happy with you?”

The inhale--one planned for around the swallow of your bite--chokes you. “You’re-are you saying what I think you’re saying?” you squeak out around the pats of Calum’s hand on your back.

“Breathe first for me please. I can’t have you dying.”

There’s no way Calum means it though, you figure. There’s absolutely no way that he means it. But you’re glad you’re not a betting person.

Calum’s voice continues on through the ringing of your ears, “I’m happy with you. I’m saying that.”

The plate’s your only barrier with all the crumbs left on it. You hadn’t realized how quickly you’d consumed the sandwich. Perhaps you were thinking for longer than you could be aware of. It’s not supposed to go like this. Calum’s not supposed to tell his parents about you. You’re supposed to be selfish, taking all that you can get and always hoping for more. You’re supposed to worry about if you could have more, but never feel like it could be so close. The plate can keep all that intact if you just keep it close to your chest.

Calum’s gentle while pulling the plate from your hands. Your mouth gapes and closes, then gaps and closes again like you can’t get what you want to say over your lips and tongue. “It’s okay. It’s alright,” he coaxes.

“You’re happy?” you finally exhale.

Calum nods.

“With me?”

Calum nods again. “Yeah, with you, sweetheart. Is that okay?”

This is not supposed to happen. But you don’t say any of that. It sounds much too harsh for what seems to be such a fragile thing between the two of you. Even Calum looks apprehensive now. You don’t want to ruin this. You don’t. And it’s that thought, that you don’t want to ruin what you have that gives you a tiny seed of hope. “I don’t know what to say. Of course I want you to be happy. But I just--I’m a cook.”

“And you do that very well. But you’re so much more.” Your fingers are tingling at the way Calum’s caressing your cheek. You want to give in. You want to close the gap between the two of you, take Calum’s plump lips to yours. He’s inching in closer too. You know, with the certainty only achieved with time, that he wants it too. “Can I show you? That you’re so much more?”

“I have onion breath,” you reply.

Calum laughs, body shaking against yours. “So?”

“I hope you still have my spare toothbrush.”

“Of course I do.”

You know the kiss reeks of onion and mustard. You know that it’s absolute hell but that doesn’t seem to stop the sigh that escapes him. No rancid taste seems to be enough fuel to pause Calum as his hands slip lower and lower on your body. His grip is strong as he hoists you up onto the counter. You don’t want to gasp at the feat. But it escapes you, like a leak in a faucet. Calum swallows it down, a satisfied hum crawling up his chest and into yours. This part, hands searing flesh and kisses cauterizing open wounds is so utterly familiar. You can anticipate just a little where Calum’s going to touch you next. He knows where to go to get just the right reaction and never wastes too much time in getting there. It’s a tease and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Calum’s hair is bunched into your fists, tipping his head back. Back and back until he has no other option than to pull his lips from yours. Eyelashes impossibly long and fluttering against the apples of his flushed cheeks, you’ve never seen a man more drunk looking without actually having an ounce of alcohol in his system. “Tell me,” you whisper against his cheek. “Are you worried now?”

Just behind the closed kitchen door are people still. Though all the kitchen staff is gone, technically until you clock in for your shift, there’s still plenty of bodies to filter into the kitchen at any moment. Their voices float in from the cracks in the doors. Their laughter is contagious and chipper. “No,” Calum whispers in response, voice thick. Even if he were on his knees right now, he wouldn’t care.

You know he’s not getting what you’re asking. You know he’s not worried about getting caught, probably even less so now that his parents know. You mean to ask him if he’s worried now that he’s admitted what this means to him. Is Calum worried that you’ll be the one to fuck this all up? You won’t ruin the moment. Not now at least. You’re salivating for a taste of him. It’s an ache deep in your belly, crawling up and consuming. You can only think about him. The hold on his hair loosens, moving now to cup his cheeks and pull him back up into a kiss.

If not so preoccupied with need, you might catch just how closer and closer the voices get. But it’s not until the light from the hallway bleeds in that you realize you’re going to get caught. You are going to get caught and though your heart is racing, body screaming to stay close to Calum and brain telling you you need to pull away, you do nothing but continue to kiss Calum.

Perhaps, you needed to worry less.

“Oh. My apologies.”

The voice freezes your blood. Perhaps, you worried the perfect amount.

You immediately drop your hold on Calum’s face, hands recoiling to your chest. This cannot be happening. But yet, of course, it feels all too real. “God,” you start, knowing that when you look up you’re going to face the Queen. “I-Your Highness, I swear-God, I’m sorry.”

“Hi, Mum,” Calum replies. His tone is even and voice clear.

Down, you need to get down. But Calum’s body is in the way. He’s pressed into the counter still, arms draping loosely around the crease of your hips. The tiny shove at his shoulder doesn’t budge him.

She’s smiling. Mischievous and amused, but a smile. Still you want to get down. You want to crawl into the trashcan you know is hidden in the bottom cabinet to Calum’s right. “I really just wanted an ice cream sandwich, but it appears I should come back a wee bit later.”

“I can get that, Your Highness,” you start, trying again to get Calum to take just a step back to let you down.

“No, no. It’s quite alright. I’ll come back later.” She waves off any further rebuttal with a flick of her wrist and stepping backwards through the door. “Calum, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am?” he hums.

“I always thought bedhead suited you,” she comments with a wink. The door shuts and the two of you are left in the dimmed kitchen thanks to the settled sun.

“Why didn’t you let me down? That was your mother!” you huff. Calum finally takes a step back. You seize the moment to slip down off the counter and in doing so, your knee brushes over the front of Calum. The lounge pants truly leave little to be imagined.

“That’s why I didn’t take a step back,” he laughs.

Swatting at Calum’s chest, you can’t help but laugh. “I guess I’d rather she only think it’s just kissing than anything else.”

“And what else might it be? Hmm?”

You want to wipe the smirk off his face. The embarrassment is still hot on your cheeks and you can still feel the sweat that pricked up under your arms. It doesn’t seem to matter though when Calum closes the distance for another kiss. It’s shorter, much more chaste. But you know what it means. What you want more than to curl in from embarrassment is the feeling of Calum between your thighs, the heat of his tongue licking at your skin. You want him. To forget the fear even if it’s only temporary.

“Let me clean up my mess before we make another,” you pant against Calum’s lips. “And not kiss you with onion breath. You’ll probably find that more ideal.”

“You’d be surprised what I thought I’d be okay with.”

The dish soap bottle sputters, a couple soap bubbles floating up as you add them to the running water. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Calum’s arms encase your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “Just don’t leave any visible bruises.”

“Like the hickey I left last week?”

“Specifically not like the hickey last week. I do have to meet with Prime Ministers. They do need to take me seriously.”

“You’re deathly serious about your business. I don’t think a hickey will change that.”

Calum hums--a sound clearly meant to indicate some sort of annoyance. “You say that until you know everyone in the room is viewing you like a wild teenager while you’re trying to negotiate greedy pigs from their slop.”

“How hard those must be,” you snort, placing the clean plate into the rack to dry. You find the plug on the sink and it takes down the sudsy water.

“I’m not sweating over a stove, but it’s still work.”

“I know when I’m too close to a fire.” You’re not looking for a fight. Surely, Calum was trying to negotiate something valuable. But political change is a slow machine. You’ve seen it in action and it’s cost you. How might your life look different if the system was faster for you. You’ve spent many nights imaging that life and it’s never come. “I’m sorry.”

It’s easy to tell you still believe in some form of truth about what you’ve said. Calum sees it in the way you don’t look at him, drying your hands on a cloth. “I’d like to hear more.” There’s no sense beating the bush about what he’s getting into. You surely had more perspective than he did. You were living a life that Calum only saw in pieces--when he talked to friends, when he turned on the news, when he read reports. But it’s all at a distance. Your perspective is all up close.

“You know politics isn’t exactly what I’d call foreplay.”

“Consider me aroused,” Calum comments, reclining into the edge of the counter.

“I was in foster care for four years before I turned 18.”

Calum blinks, face opening in surprise at such a direct confession. It’s better to air it all out, you think. It’s either that or it ruins everything. Sooner might be better than later for the two of you--if you are going to ruin the thing you don’t want to ruin you’d like to do it as soon as possible.

Realization dawns on Calum’s face, pulling his brows together. He pushes up to stand from the counter but says nothing. The moment surrenders between the two of you--a clear stalemated shock. Calum’s blinking, the furrow of his browline etching deeper into his skin. It’s the most you’ve ever given and there’s so much more behind it. How the shoes you had to return were for your brother, who’d outgrown the size you bought. Your sister is happy with her new Frozen backpack. Your parents appear to be sober, but you have nothing that truly confirms it. You only have hope. Maybe it started with them--your fixation on just the present and never thinking of the future. You didn’t have the luxury to hope your parents would change and drop their bottles. Fourteen years and nothing had changed. Not for you at least. But you do have hope for Charlie and Teagan.

“I’m just glad Charlie and Teagan don’t have to go through it.”

“Char-charlie and Teagan--and they are your siblings?” Calum asks. He’s not sure if he should ask for specifics about your experience. But given the tug of your lip between your lips, he thinks maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe your siblings are a safe middle ground.

“Can I ask how they are? Your siblings?” Calum’s voice is timid, like he’s afraid to shatter the moment. He hopes you don’t run off, that you don’t back away from the question.

“They’re good. As far as I can tell. Charlie’s outgrown his shoes though, even the new ones I bought.”

“Is that the return you had to make earlier?” You nod at the question, fingers trailing the edge of your coat, how thick it is now. You’re confessing. You’re confessing and hell hasn’t bust wide open to swallow you. There’s been no crack of thunder overhead. You haven’t combusted yourself. You haven’t imploded. You can do this. Even if it feels like picking at a raw scab, even if you feel like you’re oozing out of yourself, you can let him in.

“Thank you, for telling me.”

It should be a sufficient statement. But so much more teases the tip of Calum’s tongue to ask more. What happened? He assumes it’s your parents. But surely you had other family to care for you even if your parents weren’t the best fit at the time. If you didn’t, which it doesn’t seem like you do, where were they? How’d your sister and brother manage to stay with your parents if you were placed out of their care? And yet, all Calum has is the one sentence: I was in foster care for four years before I turned 18.

“My siblings are younger than me by a mile,” you offer. “He’s nine.”

“Twenty years?” Calum questions. You’re two years his senior. You nod again to the question. “That’s quite the gap.”

“Losing their first child seemed to do the trick.” You won’t offer more than needed. Not that it’s ever stopped Calum. But you like to know he’s curious. He’s willing to ask those questions even if you don’t always answer them.

“So, you’re placed into foster care at 14, right?”

“Correct.”

“You finished out school, graduated, and then what? How do you know about your siblings?”

“Parents found me at 22. I dropped all contact with them. Got a new number, moved out of town to study culinary arts. Got my degree. Then bounced restaurants for a little bit. I say they found me, but it’s more like we bumped into each other. They were eating one day where I worked. I’d gone out for a smoke, noticed my dad standing there. He noticed me. I noticed a little kid with them. And then well, found out about Charlie and Teagan.”

“But you don’t talk to your parents?”

“Not more than merely necessary for Charlie’s and Teagan’s sake.”

Calum laughs for a moment, not out of amusement, purely out of fascination and a bit of frustration. “You--you do realize you are altering the fabric of my reality right now? I fantasized about your story. I thought maybe you were just always bored of your hometown. Maybe you were actually a spy planted here and I was surely going to be the reason for an international leak or something.”

You snort. “A vivid imagination, Calum.”

“Yeah, it’ll take me many places I’ve heard,” he teases, and then steps in closer to you. It’s slow. Like approaching a scared animal. He does not want to spook you. “But what I’m saying is that I’m amazed how much of that you keep tucked close.”

“I don’t need pity,” you counter.

“No, no, you don’t. And I’d be a fool to insinuate as such. I just didn’t know. I’m seeing you…differently now.”

Different--that’s what you expected as a result of this conversation. Surely it was naive to think as such. You were stripping yourself, more so than you ever had in Calum’s presence. There’s nothing but everything to change in a situation like this. “That good or bad? Debating if I should actually brush my teeth or not.”

It’s too fragile a moment to ask what Calum’s actually thinking--if such confessions were a sign of truth. But he’ll take them as such. “It’s a good thing. Promise.” It goes quiet. He doesn’t know if he should pry. You don’t know if you can carry much conversation like normal. But Calum doesn’t want to lose you, so he diverts. “Have you painted anything new?”

“You know I’m a terrible painter,” you laugh.

“I’ve never seen such a painting to make a judgment.” He inches in again. Still with a foot between the two of you, he’s careful. He’s got to be careful.

“And you never will,” you retort.

“Not even one? I think I deserve it. Well, this is of course assuming, we don’t count you.”

“Count me? As what? A painting?” you whisper, as Calum closes in again.

He tips your chin back, not that it’s too far up you have to look given the closeness of your heights. But still, the gesture sets your skin on fire. The pit of your stomach grows hot and it makes your toes curl in your shoes. “You are a work of art,” Calum whispers against your lips.

It’s just a kiss--though you swear Calum’s swallowing you down with it. You’re sure right now you might kill to be consumed by Calum’s tongue. However, just as softly as the kiss comes, it goes. “I’m only going to allow so many cheesy lines per day,” you exhale. “You’re going to have a cap or a lot more is going to happen on one of these kitchen counters.”

Calum’s smile brushes over your mouth and like a warming sun you smile too at the feeling. “I’m not complaining.”

Draping arms around his neck, you kiss along his jaw. There’s no stubble, but you know soon it’ll show back up. You miss the light scratch and pray it returns faster than you think. “Care to direct me to your bedroom? I seem to have forgotten the way.”

“Most certainly, I can.”

It should annoy you that such horrible and cheesy lines are working. But you can’t find the will to let the annoyance be anything more than a tease. It’s a game. You give, Calum takes. Calum gives, you take. There’s no fight, no moment when you’re locked into his grasp, his mouth hot against yours that you feel like there’s any sort of imbalance. The scales tip and fall, and tip and fall gracefully, as they should between the two of you. This is nothing more than a fantasy that’s become real. It’ll be fleeting in the big picture but you’ll take what you can. You’ll cherish this--the dangerous trail of Calum’s hands over the band of your jeans. His fingers are hot on your stomach.

A sigh pushes up your throat, guided by the tip of Calum’s nose as he kisses up to your chin. The skin will be bruised. He’s kissing just hard enough. Payback undoubtedly for the stains you left last week. If not for the promise not to leave Calum marked again for his meetings, you’d push back, take his skin between your teeth and lips. Calum takes a particular hard nip at your skin and your fingers flex, forearm tensing. He laughs. “You promised,” he reminds you in a whisper. It paints your skin red hot you’re sure.

“Why prod the bull?”

“You’re bewitching riled up. Besides,” Calum starts and interrupts himself with a sniff of your throat. Like your pulse thundering under your skin is calling to him. “Shouldn’t I also get the opportunity to mark up what’s mine? Lay claim to you.”

If not for Calum’s hands pinning your wrist to the sheets, you know that you’d melt. Either that or float away but the sentence makes your stomach jump, breath catching in your throat for a moment. “Didn’t think I was a prize to be won. Perhaps I’ve had the wrong idea about you all along. Just another notch on your belt.”

“How dare I insinuate such a thing?” Calum’s teeth graze over the shell of your ear. “You’re nothing I hunted. You’re not prey. There’s no harm here. But I want what’s mine.” His lips caress your cheek. “How can I describe it to you? It is a selfish desire that I have--to have you all to myself. I simply wish not to share. ”

“Then what? What am I if not prey?”

Calum’s tuft of laughter tickles your neck. His kisses now work down over your throat, pressing at the bottom of your throat and top of your chest. “You’re fishing.”

It’s easier now to slip your hands free, trail your nails over Calum’s ribs. He shivers just a hair above you but he’s watching. You see every breath he takes, the rise and fall of his chest. “I like to think it’s all a part of the game we’re playing. I tease, you tease.”

It’s hedging. Calum knows it, sees it in your darting gaze. It’s not just sex. It never was. Perhaps you’d always assumed so, but now is Calum’s opening. All he needs to do is give a tiny seed. “I’m much too old for games.”

“Then I must be ancient history for games,” you snort.

Calum drops his head, weight settling into your body, between your legs. It’s easy, like this, to trail your nails up his back, over his shoulders and tease the hair at the nape of his neck. His face is buried in your shoulder, the exhale tickling your skin as he breathes. “No, you’re not ancient history.”

The two of you are almost naked--undergarments being the only thing not discarded yet. Chest to chest now feels more intimate than any other kisses or touches you’ve shared.

Calum’s voice interrupts the silence. “What do you want this to be?”

“As if I have a choice. You’re a Prince.” It should be so obvious. Yet he continues to treat it as it’s so much more. And perhaps, it had legs. Why else would Calum talk about you to his parents if not for the fact of what could be?

“I’m a human. Much like you. A person with feelings, desires, and responsibilities. But always human.”

“How’d your parents react? When you told them it was me? Seriously. No bullshit. No sparing my feelings.” The question feels too big for the room you’re in, though you’re sure this room is bigger than the first floor of your shared apartment--kitchen, living room,and your bedroom combined. You don’t want this to implode on you yet. But the reality is that it shouldn’t have gotten here and it had. Now, you need to know what fallout awaits you. You could still have time to leave gracefully, or at least quietly, if need be. Banking on this only being casual is a naive wish now after hearing Calum’s persistence.

“Mum’s cool about it if that’s what you're asking.” It’s a nonanswer, attempting to starve a fire of its oxygen but not getting a full enough seal. You’ll hear what he’s not saying. The truth still leaks out even if it’s quietly.

You urge Calum to sit up, face you. With your legs crossed under you, you watch over Calum’s face as you speak,“No, I’m asking for their reactions. When you said it was me, how did they react?”

“There was surprise, obviously. They’re happy. But initially, I saw worry. They think the same as you do about the situation. What will others say? Are you looking for money or status? But I know that it’s not that. I told them that.”

You snort. “Of course I want money. I’d like to not be poor forever. Your parents pay fairly. I don’t know about your economist on staff, but things are getting quite expensive.”

Calum sighs. It’s a fact he wishes he didn’t have to see. Yet he does. He rolls to the very edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor and back hunched as he presses the heels of his palms to his closed eyes. “Trust me. I know. Milk should not cost nearly as much as it does! It’s ridiculous!”

“You actually know the price of milk?”

Calum rolls his head up to look over his shoulder to you. A faint smile paints his face. “My economist on staff keeps me well informed.” He means it as a joke, but you hesitate for a moment before catching the sarcasm. “I ran a few errands for some folks I know. Meat’s expensive too.”

“It’s why I steal yours.”

There’s no reason to hide anything for too long. It always comes out when least expected. Calum sighs, before he speaks.“Dad’s…hesitant. I’m sure he’s happy that I’m happy. But he’s a tough nut to crack sometimes. They do like you. They really do. But they’re--they’re my parents. They’ll always worry.”

That’s the truth you needed. You don’t blame his parents. It does mean should you and Calum want more you’ll have to prove them wrong. But it’s what you expected. Pushing up to your knees, you walk yourself behind Calum, pressing your chest to his back. His skin is warm and the scent of his lotion still lingers as you press a kiss to his shoulder. “Good. I would hope one, if not both, of them to be worried.”

“You don’t have to worry though. I’ll keep talking to them.”

He offers it swiftly, like he’ll be too slow to put out the fear. Of course, there is fear. No one is immune to the concern of parental approval. “I really don’t think that’s something you can talk them out of,” you offer softly.

Calum finds your knee, fingers caressing over the textured spot. You’d be unsure if he was touching you if not for the occasional jolt of electricity up your spine. His voice is soft as he speaks, “I don’t want you to worry.”

“If I ever get served resignation papers, I’ll worry then. I’ll know I’ve fucked up.”

“Seriously, you’re not getting fired. Please--”

“Okay,” you concede interrupting Calum’s begging. His voice cracks and you know it’s a genuine plea. “I’ll quit the jokes.”

“Thank you,” he hums. “I don’t want them to scare you off.”

You know what he wants. It would be nice to assuage his fears and say that you’re not scared off easily. But the truth is: if his parents don’t scare you off, you worry the rumor mill might. Your world has been yours for years now. Since school, all you’ve ever had to do is worry about yourself. To think thousands of eyes could get into your business is terrifying. But that’s a little too far in advance. Even if this broke ground, would it ever have legs enough to stand on its own?

“I’ve yet to run off at this news,” you settle for instead and press a kiss to Calum’s neck.

“Good, because I like you here. With me.”

“Besides, I’m a rather cheap date,” you tease. “Quick sandwich, a serenade--easy peasy.”

Calum groans. It was a mistake to tell you about the song he’d been working on. Something he’d started really when he wanted to turn his brain off and unwind in the gaps during the day and in the evening. Though you hadn’t been pestering him about it, it’s clear you hadn’t forgotten about the mention of it either. “God, no. I don’t think I’ve played in front of anyone in ages.”

Your arms snake around Calum’s waist. “C’mon. I’ve not zero musical ability. I wouldn’t be able to judge even if I wanted to.”

“How about a deal? I’ll play you the song if you let me see a painting?”

“Calum, I’m literally awful at painting,” you laugh in return. Your cheeks warm at Calum’s insistence. You feel like a teenager again, when Calum turns just a little in your hold, arm slipping around your body.

“It’s only fair. We can both be awful together. I promise I won’t judge. I’ve got no artistic ability to paint or draw. Wouldn’t be able to judge you even if I wanted to,” he hums. His voice is close, nose brushing along your warmed cheek.

“I prefer to be thoroughly wined and dined if I’m going to embarrass myself this much,” you huff in return. “Treated properly.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Calum laughs. “Or is this your way of prompting me to ask you on a date?”

You huff, pulling away slightly from Calum. “Do you really think I need to wait for you to do anything?”

“If I do recall, I made the first move.”

“Oh, a kiss, please!” you scoff. “One single kiss. But I distinctly remember I was the one that made it plainly clear that we could take it further.”

His fingers curl, tips dancing over your ribs. Your body recoils, attempting to cut off the tickle. Though all you manage to do is trap Calum’s hand against your torso. Your shriek is abrupt, a huff of Calum’s name and a demand--that’s panted out--for him to stop. “Please!” you huff. “I swear!”

“Nope. You insult me. I tickle back. You’ll have to agree to those terms in order to get this to stop.”

You can only thrash for a moment, breath caught in your throat and the laughter preventing anything like a plea from coming out. When your breath comes back, you know you can’t survive this for long. “Okay, okay, okay!” You huff. “Fine!”

“Agree!” Calum laughs, kneeling over your curled up body.

“I’ll show you a painting in exchange for a serenade!”

Calum’s fingers stop dancing over your skin and you exhale, wiping the corners of your eyes. “Thank you. I’m quite interested in seeing what you’ve been up to.”

“You’re an evil man,” you huff out with a smile. “Pure evil.”

Calum’s nose brushes over yours. “Will that stop you from seeing me though? Knowing the horrors I’m capable of.”

“I like your horrors,” you whisper back, stretching up just a hair to seal Calum’s lips in a kiss. Hopefully, Calum likes yours. Though you’d peeled yourself back in ways you hadn’t done in a long time with anyone, Calum hadn’t run. You’re not sure if you’re hoping if this means he won’t run or if you’re hoping this is a sign that maybe you should be more forgiving with people.

___________________________________

Your phone beeps. Frustration bubbles over your throat and you push up from the mattress--still cool--to check on the noise. A text blares back at you in the faux dark of your room: Is there any way you can help? It’s a code red. You double check who the text is from and notice it’s Janet. Janet hardly texts you. You dear say she’s never once texted you. Though, you know that could very well be faulty recall. Maybe she texted you once before to help cover for a shift, but most often Janet spoke to you in the morning right around shift change about anything.

You push the comforter back off your body and call Janet. The phone rings once before it connects. No doubt, she was waiting by the phone for your response. “I’m sorry to ask this,” Janet says before you can fully speak.

“Ask away, Janet,” you hum.

“There was a last minute change to the catering. We’ve got all the food assembled. But I’ve got very little hands at my disposal to set up. Could you come back? We’re down to the last hour and a half before their lunch break. Please. We weren’t supposed to be hosting. But the town hall had a plumbing issue. I should be okay to tear down but right now, we won’t be set up in time. I’ve tried everyone. No one else is answering.”

“Your timing is impeccable, Janet,” you sigh. It’s hardly been an hour of you being home. “I’ll be back there in half an hour. I will not be in the right uniform though.”

“You could show up in a potato sack and I’d be happy. Thank you, thank you so much. It’s overtime pay too. You can’t refute it.”

“Well, overtime pay does sound nice. Sure you have enough hands to tear down?”

“I-I think so. I’d hate to be a bother. You need rest. You work too hard as is,” she returns.

“Just give me a quiet corner to nap and I’ll stay to tear down too. I don’t need to be tempted by a good paycheck.”

Janet laughs. “Okay. Half an hour. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.”

You’re not sure what you’ll find when you get there. You supposed you’ll find mayhem at the least and Janet in tears at the absolute worst. She doesn’t crack easily--a byproduct of her job, to be able to handle the curveballs with ease. It’s easy to tug yourself into a black t-shirt and black jeans though your limbs feel heavy with the sleep they haven’t gotten but desperately yearn for. The sun is bright and you nearly curse it as you climb back into your car. It’s good weather. You’re sure, if not for the pipes at the town hall, this would be the kind of weather that might assuage fears. You hope, as you wait at a red light, that the weather is a bright spot for Calum.

You hadn’t spent too much time with Calum over the last week given his prep for the meetings happening this week. You’d show up early to shifts and get an hour or two with Calum but you could tell he was antsy. So you’d excuse yourself from his room early and bring him tea or a snack for the late night work you knew he’d be up too. In the mornings, he’d escape a little earlier than usual but not before speaking with you for just a few minutes. There’s still a dance--having to keep appearances up around others, but you’re sure Calum’s interest in speaking with you so directly anyway is enough to raise some eyebrows. As much as you wanted to be discreet, you’re sure you’re not being as inconspicuous as you hope for.

It’s not absolute mayhem when you walk inside through the service entrance. You can hear the clack of heels, voices echoing as the kitchen doors open and close. And just above it all, you can catch the clank of Janet’s keys. “We need tables up ASAP people,” Janet calls out, a tray on her shoulder.

You carry on after her, calling her name, “Janet! I’m here.”

She stops and turns. Some of the panic leaves her face at the sight of you. “An angel--that’s what you are. Can you please help with those tables?”

“Aye, captain,” you call out and scurry on to the great hall. Only two serving tables are up, with three more waiting on the floor to be set up. You grab the first one off the top and take it to the end of--a guess of where the end will be anyway--and set it up. When the legs click into place you push it up and off its side. You know you need to wipe it down before you put the tablecloth on it, but you think it might be better to get them all up and then cleared off. Janet will still have space on table two to set her tray down on. One by one the tables click into their locks and you get them up straight. The cleaner sits the carrier in a corner and you whip out a clean rag to wipe them all down. The nozzles hisses and you wipe, thinking solely about spray, wipe, spray, wipe.

“Do you need some help in here? Sounds like quite the commotion.”

“I believe we’re okay, Your Highness,” you answer, standing now stick straight. If your limbs were heavy before, they are now on full alert. Calum’s mother nods, but approaches all the same. “Have sessions ended already?”

She shakes her head, the click of her heels steady as she closes the gap. “God, no. I think they might be late. Had to step away for a moment. Get some air.”

You know sessions are on the third floor, but you don’t question why she’s stepped away. You’re not sure what to do with yourself. The tables still need to be assembled. Janet’s still counting on that. But you know in the back of your brain the only true introduction you’ve had to the Queen has been getting caught making out in the kitchen a week ago. Not the best impression to have either.

“I didn’t know we were doing red tablecloths. I guess it’s fitting,” she comments, picking a cloth from the corner of the second table. She unfolds it and slides over to you. “Is this table clean?”

“Oh, uh, yes, it is.”

She nods, fanning out the material and then smooths it out over the table, ensuring there are no wrinkles. You force yourself down to table four. Janet still needs you. Spray and wipe. You can’t let your only impression be that of what teenagers do. Spray and wipe. You go in silence for a minute longer and you realize you’ve got to say something. “Thank you,” you offer. “For helping, Your Highness.”

“Joy, please. And of course. I know the late minute change is probably not easy on Ms. Janet. Have to help where we can.” She seems so unphased, like she’d do this in a heartbeat. Like it’s nothing to think about. Maybe it’s where Calum gets it from. I ran a few errands for some folks. You hadn’t even questioned that. Maybe you should’ve. Who had Calum run errands for? Did he really see past status and class?

“I-I’d like to apologize for last week and not properly introducing myself or anything. That won’t--”

“Sweetheart,” Joy laughs. “If you promise it won’t happen again, you’d be making yourself out to be a liar. That boy’s not smiled brighter since he was a child.”

You can’t tell if it’s the sleep that you keep wishing you were having or if the confession from his mother is doing it, but your cheeks warm and you don’t feel tethered. “Oh.”

Joy taps gently at the table beneath her hands. “If he’s happy, I’m happy. And I can’t say he’s made a bad choice.”

“I’d-I’d hope not. But I mean, it is me. Give it time.”

Joy’s snort is quick, but she shakes her head. “I meant that you’re not in uniform. And I know for a fact I saw you this morning. Means you came back here after someone called you.”

“Janet called,” you offer. You’d normally know your role in a situation like this. You’d know just how much of this conversation to have and how to gracefully exit without being rude. But now, you feel stuck, like you’ve been plucked out of one dream and into the next without context. The only thing you can think of right now is to apologize. Would she care that deeply about your clothes? You did stick with black to try and hide the error. “I hope my lack of dress isn’t counted against--”

Joy stops you before you can finish. “Hey, hey, whoa, you’re absolutely okay. If anyone has something to say about your clothes, send them to me. I just hope you get some rest in all this. You’re back again tonight, right?”

“I am now,” you nod. Your day off wasn’t until Friday--two days from now.

“If you need, we’ve got rooms to spare. Sleep here and then head down at your shift. Don’t want you in any accidents getting back home if you’re too tired to drive.”

“Thank-thank you, Your--” Joy’s arched brow is fierce. “Joy. Thank you, Joy.”

Her smile is bright, causing creases by her eyes. That’s where Calum gets it from too. You see it--the toothy grin on her face mirrors the smile you’ve seen on Calum’s. “You catch on fast.”

The doors to the great hall creak open and you watch more morning staff coming in with trays. You look back and see there’s still one more table left to be wiped down and covered in the tablecloth. “I’m sorry to do this, but I should get back to work. Even if sessions are late, I’d rather not keep anyone waiting.”

Joy nods. “Of course, of course. I didn’t mean to take this much time up of course. Let’s get this last table ready to go.”

She’s quick to grab the last cloth and you spray the top down. With it cleaned and the cloth on, you pick up the caddy with the cleaners. The dinning tables have been mostly assembled and you know it’s really a three person job to get them all set. You can at least get started until someone else becomes available.

At the doors, you hold them open for Joy. She steps through with another smile and nod. “Would you like to have dinner together? I’d love to get to know you a bit better.”

“I-you want to get dinner with me?” You ask.

Joy nods. “Yes, away from the boys. Though I’m sure David would like to speak with you too. Maybe we’ll get lunch and then dinner at some other point with all of us. When do you have another day off?”

“Oh-I-the schedule’s not up for the next two weeks, so I don’t know. I can talk to Janet. Is-is there a day that works best for you?”

“No worries. Right now Wednesdays are the best days for me for lunch. But I’ll make it work around your schedule. Just let me know. And promise me you’ll get some rest today?”

You nod. “Pr-promise.”

“Good.”

The halls echo with her heels and the clatter from the kitchen. As much as you watch the faded silhouette of Joy on the walls, you know you’ve still got work to do. Something about Joy’s presence makes you want more. You’d never really noticed it before, or maybe the lines surrounding you two were vastly different. But it’s not lost on you how much she’s insisted that you sleep, that she treated you first like a human. You’d even hazard a guess and say she treated you like you think a mother would treat a child. Is this what you’ve been missing? Is this what Calum does to you too in a way? Was this what love--platonic and romantic aside--was supposed to feel like?

“Are those tables up?” Janet asks. Her voice snapping you from the trance of Joy’s long gone shadow.

“Oh, yeah-yeah. They are. I’m going to start getting tables set.”

Back in the kitchen, you dig out the plates needed to set the dining tables. It’s not until you’re halfway through getting plates on the table that you realize you have no real way to reach out to Joy. You don’t have her phone number. You know where the sleeping quarters are, but it would not be a good idea to show up to her bedroom door. Maybe you could try the offices once you got the schedule. No doubt Calum would know but maybe she’d respect you more for doing it directly. No reason not to continue to make good impressions with her.

Penelope joins you soon, the silverware clicking in the caddy she’s got on her hip. “You’re saving our asses,” she laughs, huffing a little to get the grown out pieces of her bangs out of her face.

“It’s just what I do on a normal day,” you return with a smile. The two of you don’t share much else. But it’s a comfortable silence as you get the last of the plates out. When you turn you can see Yvonne and Declan already working to get the glasses out too. Off their cart, you grab a caddy with the clean glasses, rims down and stems up. “Meet in the middle?”

“Is there any other way?” Declan teases.

“Absolutely not.” You huff it out as you hoist up the container.

It’s head down mode. Though you can feel the seconds ticking by, you keep focused on one task at a time. It’s the only way to survive in a position like this. But as you place down glasses, and return empty bins for full ones, you are listening. Joy said they were running late and you pray for all your sakes they are. You don’t think it’s a lie. But you know that it will not be a great look for sessions to end and there still be a delay on getting to their lunches.

There are three tables between you, Declan, and Yvonne. Each of you has broken off to tackle them and you keep listening, straining against the hum of the AC and the voices from the kitchen. Please be late.

“Done,” Yvnonne calls out.

“One more!” Declan returns.

You sit the last glass down. It teeters for a moment. Your breath catches, praying it doesn’t fall into the plate and shatter. If you try and catch it you know you’ll knock it over, making a mess of the plate and silverware too. Years in this job have taught you sometimes taking a step back saves the day. “Don’t you fucking dare,” you whisper to the glass. It wobbles and then settles--still standing. “Done,” you call out.

You are careful of your bin when you stand. You do not need to clean up glass in the middle of all this. The three of you are scurrying out of the great hall when you catch the sounds of dress shoes on the stairs. You risk a peek back--everything is settled. The servers past you, Yvonne, and Declan like ships in the night with nods and salutes. The kitchen is a disaster. Carts, caddies, bins, extra pieces of uniforms are scattered about. The containers are clear housing the extra of foods that can sit out and you're sure the fridge is still packed too. But you know the mess is better contained here than in the hall.

Janet settles into the stools. “I swear this job’s going to make me go gray.”

“You’ll be hot when you go gray,” you tease, rubbing a hand over her shoulder.

She snorts. “Apparently, still not hot enough to have caught the eye of the Prince.”

Your touch now feels like it stings, like Janet’s shoulder’s now a hot pan. You snatch it back from her. You knew it might be obvious, but not that obvious. “I-what are you talking about?”

“Oh, c’mon. I see the way that boy looks at you. And you’re just as bad.”

“Fuck. Is-I can’t-I can’t afford to lose this job. I swear-”

Janet squeezes your hand. “As long as you can still chop an onion and show up on time, I don’t truly care. I also can’t afford to fire you. You easily do three people’s jobs and no one’s really fond of the early call time.”

“I mean, the biscuits are good company though.”

Janet laughs. “I’ve heard. Also, if I fired you I think the King would throw a fit. He tells me all the time that the breakfast biscuits are to die for and wants the recipe. I try to tell him every time that I don’t have it because you won’t give it up.”

“It’s a family recipe.” Not that you’d tell Janet that you picked it up while still in culinary school taking shifts occasionally at a homeless shelter to cook breakfast. There Ms. Shirley taught you her famous biscuit recipe. There in the wee hours of the morning with her staticky radio playing you helped her knead dough until you were sure your fingers might fall off. You still hum now--to yourself--What’s Love Got to Do with It by Tina Turner under your breath as you work.

“And it better not die with you either. Because they are delicious.”

“Marry me,” you tease, “and I’ll give it to you.”

Janet can only shake her head while laughing. This is the most of a conversation she’s had with you in a while. But she’s not mad about it. In fact, she adores seeing this side of you--quick witted and fearless. However, just as quickly as you’ve cracked the joke, you push away from her. Another side to you: studious and dedicated. It’s clear as you gather the uniform pieces that you’ll be staying for a while. But Janet hadn’t meant to make you sacrifice this much of your time. “I know you’re tired,” she tries.

“I’ll pop into your office and take a nap when it gets bad, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course it is,” Janet nods.

You continue on gathering ties, gloves, and getting them back into the garment bag they came from. It’s busy work and you know it is. You’re not really sure why you’re lingering. You should go get some sleep. If you stay to tear down, you’ll need all your mental facilities. Just as much as you didn’t want to drop a glass setting up, you really didn’t want to drop one in the clean up either. Just as soon as you get the clothes up, you settle down on the bench. The tables in here are long, sitting about eight people comfortably with bench seating. Maybe you won’t even need to go as far as Janet’s office.

The doors to the kitchen open swiftly, knocking any idea of napping in the kitchen out of your head. You catch how the hinges squeak a little and the door stops thuds with the weight of the door. “Glass! On all days, it has to be today.”

You spin and spot Declan huffing. “Someone dropped a glass?” you ask.

He nods at the question, already moving to grab a new glass. You push up and grab the broom alongside a trash bag. You know you should grab gloves to avoid cutting yourself, but you’ll worry later about that.

“Thanks,” Declan offers, holding the kitchen door open for you.

“Of course.”

At the doors of the great hall, Declan pushes open the door again for you. It’s a scene you’ve witnessed many times before. Stuffy navy and black suits. Gray hairs sprinkled in through the tops of everyone’s head in the room. A clear and awkward diversion of attention away from the help even as their plates are filled. You’re used to being invisible in a room like this.

“Oh, Calum, you could cut yourself.” You turn to the sound of Joy’s voice to spot her standing over a crouched figure--Calum you assume at the scene of the crime. Your feet are swift as you start out in the direction of them. Declan’s right behind you.

“We’ve got a new glass for you,” Declan states, as you two close the gap. “Let us take care of this.”

“No, it’s my fault,” Calum huffs.

You crouch down next to him, taking in the navy tie dangling from his neck. His suit is a dark gray, but it’s a nice balance and a contrast to everyone in the room. “Let us clean this up, alright?” you offer--part of it a tease, part of it serious.

His head snaps up, brows pulled together, “I though-shit!” Calum drops the glass immediately into the waiting bag, before shaking out his left hand. Trickles of blood fall into the clear plastic too. You hiss, a little knowing it’s got to sting. Before you can stop yourself, you catch your hand drifting upwards, wanting to cradle the injured digits to get a better inspection.

“Oh, did you cut yourself?” Joy questions, crouching down. Her involvement makes you draw back and work to get the glass up. There’s not seemingly a lot of glass left but you wait for Joy and Calum to step out of the way before you start sweeping the area just to be sure.

“It’s alright, Mum. I’ll be okay,” Calum returns.

“Yeah, you will be. But still,” she tsks. A cloth napkin is pressed tightly into Calum’s palm.

“We-we’ve got first aid in the kitchen,” you offer, standing to your full height. “If that’s not too terribly far.”

Calum’s smile is soft, a lifted corner of his mouth as he exhales a small tuft of laughter. “No, I don’t think the kitchen’s too far actually. Care to lead the way?”

You only nod, mindful of who’s around. The tug of your smile is winning against your better judgment though. You carry the broom and the bag of collected broken glass in one hand, ensuring to hold the door open for Calum. He slips through and takes only a couple steps ahead before pausing. You carry on ahead and let him into the kitchen first. He heads to the sink first. You drop off the broom and glass before sliding up next to him. Janet’s gone but clearly coming back. A glass of water sits on the island counter in the same spot she was before.

Calum’s already in the midst of washing his hands, under the sink’s running faucet. The water drops into the basin with hardly a twinge of red to it, but you watch carefully to make sure it’s not a deep gash.

“How’d you cut yourself?” you ask.

“You. You shocked me and I forgot I was holding glass.” A sigh interrupts whatever word his mouth was working on next. “Thought you would’ve been long gone by now--sleeping until your morning.”

Straightening from the crouch you lowered into to grab the first aid kit, you pop it open. “You say it like something is wrong.”

“No, no, I’m actually really glad to see you. I just-” The words trail off as Calum continues to apply pressure to the cut with a piece of paper towel now. You reach over to give your hands a good scrub and in all the time it takes to clean your hands, including your wrists out of habit, Calum’s still hasn’t gotten the words worked out right over his tongue.

“Is everything okay?” you ask instead. It would be too easy to press for clarification so you start through a slant. Maybe you can work backwards towards the true problem.

Calum gives in easily when you gingerly take the paper towel away from his palm. You can see better the cuts along the lines of his four fingers, under the second knuckles. His palm looks cut the worst so you start there, dabbing with clean gauze. You work without hesitation, cleaning up the blood that still seeps out. Calum wonders if maybe you’ve gotten used to the sight with your siblings, if you’ve cleaned up scraped knees and elbows. He doesn’t let the thought distract him for long. You squeeze gently at his hand and he comes back to reality.

“This is all going to shit if I’m honest,” Calum finally answers.

“The PM of Education I’ve heard is quite the prick, so when you’re dealing with folks like that it’s bound to happen,” you laugh. “Alcohol’s gonna burn--want something to squeeze?”

Calum’s brow quirks. “I mean.”

“Besides me,” you amend quickly.

“I’ll be okay,” Calum states with a nod. You take it as a sign to take the wipe and clean the area once more. His fingers flex for a moment but then the tension leaves and he relaxes in the hold.

“So they’re being pricks. But you’re well aware of that. So what else? Are they still treating you bad?” you ask.

It’s how you ask, and while bad feels too simple of a word for what Calum feels, it makes his chest lighten. Someone gets it. Or at the very least is listening. Of course, you may not understand all the specifics, but you were listening. He’d take being heard any day of the week at this point. “They’re not blatant with it. But I keep getting interrupted and they’re all just…it’s a giant circle jerk and if I’m honest I’d like to replace them all.”

“Your people decided on the term system,” you offer with a taunt, peeling back the edge of one side of the bandage.

“Do not remind me.”

“Four seats are up in the new year, right? Give ‘em hell and make them retire early.” You reach back for another alcohol wipe, peering up at Calum with an apology dripping off your gaze. “I could forgo it, if you prefer. You did wash your hands.”

“Go for it, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“Your funeral,” you shrug and tear into the packet. You take Calum’s hand again once the square wipe is unwrapped. It’s one arched brow from you and a nod from Calum that signals for you to wipe over the tiny cuts on the digits. You assume by the way he was gripping the glass shards, he closed his fist around them not thinking and the pressure was just enough to break skin. He tenses once again for a second, maybe two, and then relaxes. “Bandage or no? They look pretty shallow but your palm got the worst of it.”

“I think I’ll be okay, doc.”

You nod, tossing the used wipes, paper towels, and gauze into the trash. “But seriously, I am sorry that it’s not going well.”

Calum nods. “I appreciate that. I don’t think Dad loves my ideas either. He sees the merit in them, but given how close he’s coming to stepping down, he doesn’t want to ruffle feathers. It’ll look better for him to have a united front than to have a divided one.”

You hum, a little unnerved by the news. “But that means more work for you? And that doesn’t seem fair either.”

“Is anything about this really fair? As much as we make it out to be, let’s face it. It’s not,” Calum returns. He falls back into the kitchen island, arms folding over his chest. You have half a mind to tell him to be careful of the cuts, but let it go for the moment. Perhaps, Calum just needs the space to vent.

“That’s my line.” You tap the toe of his shoe with your sneaker.

“Are you here for the day? Have you actually slept?”

“You know this isn’t about me right? You’re the one fighting old greedy men. That’s bound to be more riveting.”

“I take that as you have not slept,” Calum remarks.

“I’m here until lunch ends at the very least. But you don’t have to worry about me. Not right now at least.”

Calum taps the toe of your sneaker with his dress shoe. It hardly feels like a tap and more like a brush, a caress, if shoes could sense such a thing. “I’ll always worry about you. No need to tell me otherwise.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

“If-If you’re going to be here the whole day, my room’s up for use. Promise it’s not a mess.”

With a shake of your head, you smile. “I only said until the end of lunch. What are you insinuating, sir? Hmm? Who do you take me for?”

Calum’s survey of the room is quick, watching mostly for the door before pushing off the counter and standing toe-to-toe with you. He sweeps the pads of his fingers on the uninjured hand under your jaw. “I take you as mine,” he whispers. He could kiss you. He wants to. God, does Calum want to, but he knows that you’re not fond of the idea so he lets it go for now, lets the pads of his fingers soak up the warmth of your skin. “I don’t want you driving tired.”

It’s not lost on you how long the two of you have been back here, in the kitchen. The seconds feel long but you know that you shouldn’t push it too far. “I told Janet I’d nap in her office. But should I find myself here by the time sessions end, I might wander around a little.”

“Wandering feels fitting for a soul like yours.”

“You could call it a hobby.” Just over your sentence, the clack of keys grows louder. It’s really now or never if you’re going to do it, steal the kiss you want. You push in closer, lips just brushing over Calum’s in a whisper of a kiss. “Wreck havoc out there,” you command, nodding over your shoulder to the door. But you really mean through that door into the great hall and even beyond that to the rooms above.

Calum holds the air that once held you, frozen but electric. His skin tingles with the taste of your lips. You’re moving on now, putting the first aid kit back up and grabbing cleaner. Calum doesn’t see what kind before the kitchen doors open. He drops his hand, pressing down over the bandage to attempt to act natural--as if he was smoothing out the edges of wrapping.

“Oh, are you okay?” Janet asks, pausing just a few steps shy of Calum. “Is that from the glass?”

“Yeah,” it comes out thick and Calum clears his throat for a moment. “Yeah, I’m okay. Found the first aid kit with some help.”

“Please let us clean it up next time, alright. Hate to see you get hurt over a little glass,” Janet coos.

“Yeah, next time, Ms. Janet.” With a call of your name, Calum bids goodbye with a thank you. You nod in return. You can read what his eyes are saying: Will you actually stay? Will I catch you actually wandering the halls of the fourth floor? All you can do is stare in return though, hoping your graze says what you want it to say in reply: I’ll still be here.

“Was anyone else hurt?” Janet asks. “If it was staff, that’ll be an incident report.”

“No,” you reply. “No one else was hurt. I’m sure your ink pens will be glad to hear it.” Janet snorts a little at the joke. “Lunch is over in another 40-ish minutes, right?”

She nods. “Yeah, sounds about right. Office is unlocked if you want to sleep a little.”

“We still get dibs at left overs?” You ask, placing the rag into the pile for cleaning to get. You do drop the ruined cloth napkin into the biohazard bin. Surely it could be washed out but protocol is protocol so you don’t raise a scene.

Janet’s glass clicks as she sets it back down on the counter. “I’d never send you all home hungry after something like this.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you in 30.”

“35!” Janet counters as you start for the door.

“32!” you retort, letting the door close behind you.

The great hall falls more and more behind you as you walk towards the service doors. Janet’s office is just off to the left of the hallway’s fork. But you imagine the scene you’re walking away from: stuffy and ill fitted black and navy suits, salt and pepper hair thinning, the awkward eye dance, the tight lipped smiles. No one wants to address just how much their lives might fall apart if not for staff and yet the policies and theories they debate all impact the very lives of the ones that serve them. How awful it must be to have to look a reminder in the eye and tell them, please and thank you. You really hope Calum is able to create catastrophe for them. The cogs of political machines are slow. However, at the very least you can hope that change crashes over them well before they see it coming.

The couch in Janet’s office is small, but soft. Its brown cloth is worn with time and accepts you with ease as you curl up on it. Your phone’s timer counts down from 30 minutes and behind closed eyelids you can see the orange seconds ticking away. Thankfully though, the orange fades leaving you to happily fade into the nothingness sleep promises. You don’t even think that this position might leave a neck ache for your waking self. The cushions are much too soft as they hold your heavy limbs to think about what anything truly waits for your awake self.

The blare of your alarm comes much too soon though. The incessant honking striking against your consciousness aches. You push up anyway. Janet’s computer stares back at you, blank but you know it’s waiting by the orange light on the bottom of the monitor. Her desk feels buried in files and boxes. You don’t envy her position. You’re just thankful you do not have to deal with paperwork and schedules. You grab your phone, tap to turn the alarm off and stand. There’s only a tiny ache in your shoulder, but you carry on. It’s just how life goes. Carrying on and on and on when one desires nothing more than to give it all up.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Janet greets you.

“Begrudgingly.”

Tear down is thankfully easy. Though you know folks on dish duties are going to have a hell of a time. Dishes are collected first. Tablecloths follow and are placed into the bin for cleaning to grab. Tables are broken down in phases and carried back to storage. But you think of the plate to be made for yourself at the end of it. The nap you can get again in Janet’s office, or if you manage to time things right, curling into Calum’s sheets. Whatever you all don’t eat will be taken personally to a shelter and divided out there. You’re grateful the food’s not wasted though you’re mindful to take only what you really need. A plate of leftovers would be nice for dinner too. Janet encourages the lot of you all the same to take all that you want and need.

The plus as you watch the room gather around the counters and plating to their hearts desires is that you can slip out. After grabbing a plate to eat and setting your dinner plate in the fridge, it’s easy to slip away. With your food label no one’s going to take it. Even if it does go missing, you don’t think you have too much room to complain. You ease your way closer and closer to the door. There’s laughter bouncing around your skull. You want to laugh too, but the longer you stand the more you can feel the sleep you didn’t get pressing against your eyelids. You just want to sleep--may it be for a few hours or a few years you will not voice a single complaint.

A large bout of laughter swirls and you crack open the door. The hallways are eerily quiet. Perhaps, you should be used to the silence, considering it greets you in the dead of the night when you’re working. You would’ve thought more life happened during the day. Maybe just as quiet as it is during your shifts it’s quiet during most of the day here too. Perhaps the times you catch the bustling in the evenings ventures to the castle or just the flukes. But you let the silence fall over you and are thankful that your sneakers don’t squeak. You opt not to take the elevator and instead climb the backstairs. It’ll take longer but it feels safer.

Your lungs ache just a hair when you finally reach the correct floor. It’s only at the hallways opening that you realize where you’re carrying yourself. Janet’s office was closer. Only a few feet down from the kitchen. And yet, you’ve carried yourself up the stairs, several flights to peer down the sleeping quarters. It’d be easy to say that Calum’s bed is more comfortable than the couch in Janet’s office. Of course, coming here can be reasoned away by saying that if you sleep you can most likely get more decent sleep. There’s less threat of Janet coming back with jingling keys that could wake you.

But you know it’s more than that, even if you can’t bring yourself to admit it to yourself. There’s a deeper drive to take you up here. “Oh, but you’re not going to unearth that right now,” you mutter to yourself, carrying on to Calum’s bedroom door.

The door opens with ease, unveiling that the lights are off. A tiny bit of sun peeks out from the curtains that are clearly ruffled from constant opening and closing. You use the light of the sun to slide out of the shirt, jeans, and shoes. Calum’s sheets are cool when you settle into them but his scent invades your nose as you pull the comforter up. You can feel your body sink. This feeling, the warm hum you feel in the back of your brain, is more than any logic or reason. But you don’t care right now. A yawn escapes you and you tuck the comforter to your chin, curling into yourself.

Calum tugs at the tie around his neck, jacket draped over his arm. Wreak havoc out there--the words swirled long after he went back to lunch. It would be stupid. Calum knows that. If he started stirring the pot, the first thing his father would do is blame you. The second thing his father would do is chew him out. But Calum’s sick of fighting fair, especially when he’s getting the bucket of shit at the end of the day. He’d held his tongue through lunch and even through the second part of sessions. But when his words were swallowed down by some other voice for the seemingly thousandth time, Calum snapped.

“Is this actually a meeting or have we all decided to waste time and endanger lives for selfish gain? I’m here to do work, find ways to get money back into citizens pockets and keep food on their tables. If that’s not your objective, I highly suggest we cut today short then.”

“That was so stupid,” he whispers to himself. It’d done the job though. It’d gotten everyone to sit and at least listen. He’s sure that when votes come, there will be none. His father’s hot stare still raises the hair on the back of Calum’s neck.

“You’re a brilliant man with a lot of ideas. But do not let that ambition get you burned,” his father warned outside of the elevators. Maybe a burn or two would actually get something done. But Calum knows in order to make any substantial change, he needs folks on his side. By god, it feels like he’s always on the short end of the stick.

Lifting his head from the door, Calum finds himself only staring. He hopes he finds you. Curled up on his sheets. He hopes he can curl up next to you as well. He can hide away until dinner, maybe even skip it and worry later when he’s got less chance of dealing with his father. The thought alone of you actually sleeping in his bed is enough to propel Calum forward. He’s gentle as he turns the knob and pushes into the door. The door’s thankfully not sticky nor does it creak. When he peers inside, there’s an extra lump in the bed, on the far side of the bed, closest to the wall.

So much for wandering, he thinks and then slips inside. He uses his body to block out as much light from the hallway as possible.

You don’t stir. Face pressed into the pillow, curled up and almost hidden. Just your nose and above stick out from the comforter. Your face looks soft like this, in sleep. There’s no pensiveness to your gaze. Not that it makes you fully unapproachable, but it always makes you like if anyone is to approach you it ought to be worth your time. Calum knows it now as a defense mechanism. It keeps everyone away, but should one take the leap you’re quite warm. Attentive in a way that makes someone else feel seen. Like you care. And you do--or at least that’s the way it seems in those moments when it’s just you too first talked.

Calum peels out of the dress shirt and pants easily. The belt clicks and clacks but not enough that it disturbs you. As he gets the clothes into the appropriate hampers, he spots your phone. He checks for the battery and then plugs it into a spare charger. It lights up and lets him know it’s charging. Still in the undershirt and boxers, Calum is careful as he climbs into the bed. He’s careful not to climb in behind you but instead crawls up from the end of the bed. Only at the shift in the mattress due to Calum’s weight seems to startle you. You push up, eyes hardly open but body clearly taking note of alarm.

“Hey, whoa, it’s just me,” Calum starts softly, pushing back a hair.

A soft groan leaves you. “I literally forgot where I was for half a second,” you mutter.

“Okay if I join?”

“It’s your bed.” You drop back into the pillow but nod at the question regardless. “Please?”

“You must be utterly exhausted. Pleading with me for a nap together? Who even are you?” Calum teases, sliding in on top of the sheets. You slide over, meeting almost in the middle of the bed. The two of you lay on your side facing each other, but you tuck your head into Calum’s chest.

“I am exhausted,” you mumble into his pecs.

Calum’s arm winds around your middle, pressing you in even closer. “Rest then.”

“My alarm’s set for 6? I think? Can’t remember if I set it honestly.”

“I’ll make sure you’re up by then. Do you need anything?”

You shake your head. “I want to hear about the meetings, when I’m alert. If I’m allowed.”

“Oh they’re boring.”

You bring your face out of the burrow and raise a brow. “That sounds like something bad happened.”

Calum sighs. Of course you’d see through it. “I’ll tell you, when you’re alert.”

It’s a half nod before you settle back down. Calum kisses your temple. He’s not sure if sleep will actually find him. Worry has swallowed him, but it feels a little better when you near. It’s not that Calum thinks you can fix it. Not that he even wants you to fix it. But you’ll listen. When Calum tells you, you will lock in like you always do with care. That’s what he needs more than anything right now is just to know someone cares.

Calum’s not sure how long he’s slept, if it really is sleep at all. But he hears the buzz of a phone and peers up over your head. Your phone is not lit up. He looks over his shoulder and finds his phone to the culprit. He’s careful as he slides out from you and notices 6:23 PM above the notification. A text sits from the group chat--one with his friends from his soccer days and a few friends from outside of the teams too. Nothing of importance, but clearly a lot of activity from the day that he’s missed. He expects that much given how much he’s had his head buried in the sands of litigation.

Calum sets the phone back down and sighs. Dinner’s served at 6PM sharp. No exceptions. Calum has missed dinner occasionally over the years--plans with friends, losing track of time to work. But he knows his lack of presence will be sourly noted after his outburst today. The only saving grace is how he approaches his father and maybe distance will give him clarity. He’s not sure, but the thought of having to sit through dinner right now across from his parents is not appealing. The bed shifts and Calum looks over to his right. You’re splayed out now, a bit diagonal on the bed but still deep in sleep. He knows he promised to wake you at 6, but he wonders if he can squeeze out the extra seven minutes without consequence.

As his mental debate runs on, you shift again, head lifting. You’re facing away from Calum now. He watches your hand fumble for your phone. The screen is bright and illuminates your figure. “It’s 6:24 and I was not awoken.”

“To be fair, I only woke up because of a text on my phone,” Calum answers. His voice sounds gruff even to his own ears and he thinks maybe he got more sleep than he thought in the hour and a half gap. He’s not sure if you knew he was awake or not, but he’ll fess up now.

Your phone clatters back to the bedside table--the signal before your flop back onto the bed. “The biscuits might be dry at breakfast,” you laugh. “Apologies in advance.”

“You can always rest longer. I’ve got no plans.”

You shake your head, the cotton pillowcase rustling with the action. “You do have plans. To tell me how the meetings went.”

Calum sighs, gazing up towards his ceiling. It’s white now, like the rest of the walls. Though if he were to chip away at the layers, he knows he’d find the green he had for a while. “I used to have stars on my ceiling, like, until very recently. I bought paint and covered them up myself.”

The sheets rustle again and just out of his periphery, Calum catches your figure. You’re resting on your elbow to look down at him. He turns his head just enough to gaze up at you directly. “Do you miss them? Those stars?” you ask. Maybe it’s not just about stars, but you’ll start with the easy question.

“No, not the stars.”

“Then what do you miss?”

“I miss how easy it was when I wanted them on my ceilings. How my parents drove me to the store. How I got to pick out the color. How they let me cut out stencils. I miss when my biggest concern was not getting paint on my face or hiding grassed stained pants.”

You hum, trailing a finger over his jaw. “I thought I told you to wreak havoc.”

Calum’s laughter is soft, a wistful smile lifting his lips. “I almost started a fire.”

“Almost?”

“I might’ve started a fire,” Calum corrects. It’s not that he didn’t try. He meant to push some buttons but he has no idea if the fire’s going to take like he wants or if it’ll burn him. But either way, the match is struck. It’s sitting on dry land now primed for blazing.

“What happened?” you ask in a whisper.

Calum pulls himself up, sitting crossed leg next to you. Your gaze seeps into his skin. He feels you watching him even if he’s not watching you. “I just--I’m tired. They never want to make actual change. And I reminded them what we’re actually supposed to be working for. We’re not here just for games. We have a job, to take care of others. I might not have said it in words or ways that others like, but it’s true. It’s not our job to keep ourselves out of trouble. It’s our job to help those that are in trouble.”

“It’s a romantic notion to miss those stars,” you start. “But the truth is they’re still there. Just hidden. And when this room becomes someone else’s room, the stars will still technically be there, even if the other person does not know. And when that person outgrows this room, the stars will still be there. But all those people won't know where to look for those stars. Unless they’re told of course.” You sit up, resting your head into Calum’s shoulder. “Why did you tell them off like that?”

“I wouldn’t say I told them off,” Calum returns. That’s far from what really happened.

You hum at the correction. “Okay. Well, when you said what you said, why did you do it?”

The question brings about pause. And the seconds fall like sand, slowly and then in a rush. “Because I wanted to do what we were supposed to do. Because I refuse to take on a cabinet of folks that don’t want to do the actual work.”

“I know he’s still your father. I know that you recognize how much better it looks for him to leave on a good note, but perhaps you have a conversation with him. Every action has a reaction. Every choice has a consequence. If he’s going to be chummy with politics that screw you over, I think it’s only fair to voice that.”

“Maybe they’re all right about me.” Having a conversation is the best thing to do, but it feels like he’s begging. Nearly six years in cabinet and it should be obvious that Calum is more than capable. Yet, it’d proven nothing more than a checkmark on his record. It all feels like motions and no real action.

“Right about what?”

“That I’m still just a child in this whole game.”

“How long as your father been doing this?” You know the answer, but you still ask the question.

“Twenty odd years,” Calum answers.

“How many years has this cabinet been active?”

“Twenty odd years,” Calum laughs.

“How long have you been doing this?” you return.

“Four years shy of a decade.”

“You’re not a baby. You’re not a child. You’re just not as experienced. Your roots aren’t as deep. Would you tell someone just picking up the guitar to compare themselves to rockstars with twenty odd years of experience in the game?”

“No, it’d be a terrible idea,” Calum states. “The thing that’s different is that I’m expected to be on the same level. It’s expected of me to know how to play the field.”

“How do you think they play the field? Do they hash it all out in sessions?”

Calum turns into you. You push away from his shoulder to accommodate the change. “No, it’s clear they don’t.”

“Then why are you playing fair with cheaters?”

“I don’t want to become a cheater. If I play their game their way, I’m just as bad.”

You only shrug in response. But Calum doesn’t want to let the thought go. He takes your hands into his. “What-What are you saying?” he asks.

“I am no politician. But I know a dirty game when I see one. I know a losing game when I see one. You know it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not fair. Doesn't mean I don’t want it to be fair.”

“And wanting something is not the same as it being that thing. You want a fair game. It is not a fair game--objectively so it’s not. Would you rather spin out your wheels or do the actual work? You don’t have to be slimy. Don’t ruin your good name over the likes of this cabinet. But I don’t think I want you stuck in their mud either trying to clean up a mess that doesn't want to be cleaned.”

“So you are worried about me.” It’s a tease, a way to break the tension and Calum relishes in the sound of your snort. You fall into his shoulder, the comforter falling away from your body just a little.

“Maybe more so than I’ve ever considered. But the point,” you huff, poking at his chest, “is that you get smarter than them. You don’t have to get into the mud. There’s no stick or shovel strong enough for that.”

Calum presses into your neck. His words are soft, like too much volume could shatter them. “What if there’s no way around? What if I just get dirty?”

“What do you think will happen if you get dirty?”

“I think I’ve failed, if I’m frank. That seems like the worst possible outcome. There are some messes you can’t clean up.”

You squeeze at Calum’s hands, careful of the injured palm. “Then, I guess you make a mess. And if it’s not one that can be cleaned,then it’ll just stain. But I like to think the world keeps spinning. What happens any time you make a mess, hmm? When you spill a little bit of milk or you drop a glass, what happens?”

“I do what I can to make it right. But the world does keep spinning.”

“Well then,” you whisper into his neck. It makes his spine shiver--the caress of your breath over his neck, how low your voice sounds from your chest. “If you make a mess that can’t be cleaned up fully, you’ll do what you can to make it better. And the world will keep spinning and we’ll both know you tried your best.”

“I like the sound of that. ‘We’ sounds nice.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you tease.

“Only for you.” Calum pauses. There’s more on his tongue but he’s waiting. Surely you’ll have a retort, but all that you do is stay. You stay pressed into his body. Actions confess so much more than words with you. Calum savors that. That you’ve stayed. “Thank you. For listening.”

“I’m happy too.”

“Any news from Charlie or Teagan?” You’d mentioned briefly having to meet up with them, but hadn’t said how it went. Calum thinks it was supposed to be a couple days ago, but he’s lost track of days. He hates to think this might be just how he lives his life. He doesn’t want you to feel secondary.

“I meet with them next week.” It’s a soft assurance. Not an ounce of maliciousness in your voice but still Calum’s chest deflates. He could’ve sworn it was this week.

“Oh, have I lost track of days that poorly? I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Still, I’m sorry,” Calum returns. “Remind me again. When do you meet with them?”

“Thursday.”

Calum nods. “Tell me how it goes?” He wants it to be a full sentence, a single yet gentle demand. But fear devours his confidence.

“It’ll be boring,” you counter.

“I love boring. I crave it.” He craves you-- in the fullest meaning of the phrase. “Can you tell me about today? I know I might’ve witnessed most of it, but I’d still like to hear.”

Your soft tuft of laughter floats over his skin like a breeze. “Sure, since you love boring.” Calum grins, mostly to himself as you recount the details, trailing his fingers up and down your spine.

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood smut #calum hood series #prince!calum #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #5sos imagine #calum hood imagine #tw: neglect #tw: alcoholism

18 notes · View notes