"why would i be asked that?"

"how do you do that?"

calum is engrossed in the plethora of Instagram filters, but squeezes your leg that is resting over his in acknowledgement, "do what, love?"

"that," you gesture impatiently toward his instagram story, "how do you just like...glow all the time?"

you can hear the rumble of calums throat all the way from where you're sitting next to him when he laughs; there's another one. His laugh. From boyish chuckle to hearty cacophony, calums laugh always stands to remind you that you are with A Man now.

"You sound jealous, are you jealous?" Calum finally posts the story, satisfaction and the slightest bit of narcissism gracing his features. You never tell him, but you like when he's a little cocky; it reminds you of the change he's experienced.

"Don't flatter yourself, Calum." You pull out the government name and his chuckles only grow louder and somehow fonder, like he's amused. Like he enjoys when you amuse him.

"You just like," you start, but as calum is looking up at you again, the sun catches his melanin and holds tight, and you quite literally forget your words. In this light, calums dark eyes transform into mahogany; his hair that you've been begging him to grow out curls  wildly away from his head and he looks...angelic? heavenly?

"I just what, baby?" Calum takes your hand from where it rests on his lap, kissing each of your knuckles carefully before laughing again and throwing his arms across the back of the sofa, "if you're going to compliment me, try getting to the compliment part a little faster, yeah?"

It's your turn to giggle. You close your magazine and move closer, your eyes parallel to the tattoos adorning his neck. Even after a few months your fingertips still tremble at the thought of calums skin - in all its imperfections and the things he says about it, you think the boy is a marvel. An absolute wonder and you just are never prepared for when he takes his beauty into the sunlight. Calum does not just glow; he shines. He dazzles and sparkles and straight up bursts when he wants to. When he's with you, in the LA heat under the LA Sun.

"You're like...a star..." you breathe into the skin of his neck. You can feel his muscles quiver underneath the light touch of your fingertips and you know that you will always be this with Calum; glowing and touching and loving and thriving.

"Go on..." Calum chides, his voice slipping into a murmur as he places his head back against the wall. It's so easy for him to get lost in your touch. In you.

And that is what you have. Calum glows. You enchant. And it works.

"I like you best out here," you press on, "in the sun, skin gold and eyes closed. You're like the Melanin Messiah I've been dreaming about"

Another deep laugh rumbles underneath you and you press your fingers into his chest so you can read it. he is happy.

"Melanin Messiah...where do you come up with this stuff?"

"No need to come up with anything if it's true. You are literally the most beautiful man I've ever seen." You answer, sliding your hand gingerly from chest to neck. "And I need you to believe that, Calum."

"Tell me one more time?" His mahogany eyes are shadowed by the sunlight but you can just faintly see the slight twinkle in them. Calum is equal parts mischief and desperation and you have nothing but time and love to give him right back.

"I think" you leave a small kiss just below his earlobe, smile wide when you notice him smiling as well, and god, you could look at him all day. He looks so at peace outside; the sun rises and falls every day just to catch a small bit of Calum and honestly, you couldn't be more grateful . "I think you're beautiful, Calum.

A touch at your back. Familliar . Definitely  warm. Definitely Cal.

Always Cal.

Luke isn’t one to say “I told you so”. 

Because it’s rude! And it doesn’t make you feel any better about the situation you’re in now (but let the record show that he did, in fact, tell you so).

He told you and you didn’t listen; you stuck it out with that son-of-a-bitch for as long as you possibly could because you’re a good person. And you’re kind. And your heart has this overwhelming capacity for love, even when people do not respect it. 

Luke has always admired that about you. 

And he knows he is the last person you want to see right now. You’ve ignored every single call he’s tried and only responded to one of his texts (a crying face and a middle finger emoji was not what he expected to wake up to), so he’s decided to take matters into his own hands. He’ll only be in town for a few more days, and those last few days he wants to spend with you; you’re one of his best friends, after all. 

It takes several obnoxious pounds on your front door for you to get out of your bed; you haven't spoken to anyone except your ex in the last thirty-six hours. Maybe some different company will be good for you. 

Luke looks cheesy; he’s got flowers in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other. You can't help but think that he’s going to make someone very happy one day, with the way he cares about you. It’s endearing. 

“That middle finger was supposed to keep you away.” You mutter, wiping your swollen eyes with your sleeve. Luke scoffs in the most gentle way, sidestepping you and entering your apartment. 

“You know, every time Calum flips me off, I bite his finger. I’d be glad to try that out with you, if you’re into it.” 

Luke holds out the chocolate and flowers for you to take, and you giggle softly despite yourself. He knows his way around enough to navigate to the living room, and that’s where you see him again; long limbs sprawled out on your couch. He’s always been too lanky for his own good. 

“I’ll pass on that, but I appreciate the sentiment.” You collapse next to him, staring at the dark void of the TV screen. 

Several moments pass as you and Luke sit in your living room in silence. He knows you well enough to let you take hold of this conversation. 

“One of the girls they were fucking hit me up,” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat as you relive the last three days of your life, “told me they’d been sleeping together for months, that they had never stopped talking even. Can you imagine that?” 

A sort of blind rage flashes in Luke’s brain. This is so much more than you being cheated on; he’s angry because he knows how deeply this person got into your head and your heart. He knows how difficult trust and love and being twenty-something can be, and he’s so violently angry that someone would take advantage of you - the kindest person he’s ever known. 

“So, you dumped them, then?” He says after a while. You nod, not looking at him at all but he understands the gesture. You see him clench his fists a couple of times before you reach out and take one of his hands, squeezing hard. 

“I will never understand,” you’re crying now, tears streaming down your face as you try so hard to compose yourself; Luke has seen you in some pretty bad times, but never anything this bad, “how you can do your best to be everything for someone and still not be enough.” 

“Hey, don’t do that to yourself,” Luke turns to face you, using his sleeve to wipe down your tears, “you are more than enough for anybody, and I know you don’t need me to tell you that.” 

“But-” 

“I don’t care,” Luke plows on, “I saw how much you loved them, okay? You...you have this unbelievable ability to just feel shit and love people unconditionally, no matter how much of a jerk they are, and that is something that will always be enough, do you hear me?”

You do hear him. You’ve never been so glad to in your whole life, in fact. Luke has this preposterous ability to make you feel better, even when you want to be down. He is all sparkling eyes and lopsided smiles. He keeps you guessing, keeps you on your toes; he’s your best friend. 

“I love you, and you’re gonna make it through this.” He says after a while, and you can't help but start crying all over again. 

“I love you too,” you turn and rest your head on his shoulder, the final shudders of your crying episode passing through you. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for those chocolates now.” Luke mutters, his fingers anxiously drumming on his thigh.