#5sosff

Michael Clifford sits in the basement of his dormitory, a pile of dripping laundry beside him in a plastic basket with one of the handles broken, trying desperately to not fall asleep. It smells like dampness and mold and copious detergent spills.

He runs a hand through his hair and rubs along his neck, checking to see if there’s any excess dye from his escapades earlier with a bottle of purple he'd picked up on a whim last Thursday. There is, of course, and he wipes his palm along his denims.

Except he's forgotten that he's not wearing his black denims because they're all stacked up beside him. He's just wiped a streak of dark purple all down the leg of his last clean pair of pajama bottoms.

"Fuck me," he says, grumbling and rummaging among his laundry things for one of those fucking stain sticks that Calum always bugged him about getting whenever they went to the shops together. His fingers snag it but, as he's trying to extricate it from the tangle of wet, black fabrics, it slips out and rolls under one of the dryers that's still chugging along.

"Oh, fuck me."

He's so exhausted, but Michael knows from past experience that the stain will set if he doesn't treat it soon.

So, he gets down on hands and knees and just as soon as he's gotten his whole arm shoved under the dryer, fingers searching the dusty cement for the stick, and his face pressed up against the glass front of the dryer, there's clattering footsteps coming down the stairs.

"God, you fucking perv!"

What?

It takes him a second to determine that it's him that the shrieking voice is addressing, mostly due to sleep deprivation and the fact that one ear is filled with the tumbling thunder of the machine.

"What?" He didn't say he understood why he was being addressed. Through his one available eye - the one not stuck up against the glass pane showing all the pink lacy things - he can see a flurry of long limbs flying towards him and instinctively throws himself away from the dryer.

A girl stands before him in a floppy set of sweats, arms crossed and arms furious. “You think it’s cool to drool all over a dryer with my knickers in it, huh? Think you’re smart or something, perv?”

Immediately he puts his hands up defensively. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god, no! I dropped something under the dryer and I was just trying to reach it. Jesus!”

Grumbling under her breath, she whips through the laundry room towards the row of dryers and, in one economical movement that defies the laws of physics, manages to pile all five loads of pink lacy things into a basket, and leaves in a hurricane.

                                                          +

When they told him about university, there was a lot more emphasis on the amazing things he would learn and less on the amount of time it would take for him to learn them. A lot more emphasis on renewed perspectives and a lot less on how long it would take sitting at a table in the university library reading things dead people wrote over seventy years ago to actually understand why his perspectives needed renewing in the first place.

They also neglected to mention how much of a maze the university library was and how all of the easily-accessible tables were always taken ridiculously early in the evening.

Michael Clifford sighs as he pushes himself through the gaps between the shelves, turning his body sideways so he can get back to his table as quickly as possible and still have some time to complete his coursework before today turned into tomorrow.

Of course, as he’s making the final turn at an insane angle in a narrow passage that makes it impossible to see around the other side because this is university and why would anything as simple as walking back to his table be easy for chrissakes, he bumps into another body.

Well, bumps really isn’t the right word. Crashes is more accurate. Vaguely, his mind catalogs the sensations as he begins to fall backwards from the collision: long hair whispering along the side of his neck, sharp pain in his chest from the edges of textbooks, the condensation coating the outside of a water bottle soaking into his shirt.

“Shit!” The word explodes from his mouth as he bumpers off the shelves behind him, thankfully not knocking any books off the shelves.

He’s immediately chastised by a harsh whisper.

“Will you keep it down? We’re in a library, genius.”

Snarking back automatically, Michael says, “Oh, really? I thought this was a zoo.”

“Well, it might be,” the girl on the ground replies, giving a pointed look at his hair as she readjusts her glasses.

It’s the pink lacy girl, this time dressed in an entirely different set of baggy sweats, not a speck of pink or lacy anything on her.

Fuck this, fuck his history of religion paper on transcendentalism in 19th century America. What did those dead people know anyway?

“I don’t need to put up with this shit, thanks,” he says as he picks up his books from the floor and heads out the door.

He’s going to go take a nap.

                                                          +

When they told him about the textbooks that he would have, they expressed how miraculous they would be, how every page he turned would bombard his brain with information he couldn’t live without now.

They failed to mention how much each of those pages cost. After his trip to the bookstore at the beginning of term, one would have thought that each book was bound in genuine Italian leather and illuminated in gold leaf by an isolated sect of monks who only work once every eight days and take three month-long holidays each year.

Which is why, two days later when he actually goes about writing the essay on transcendentalism in 19th century America because he really doesn’t want to flunk out of uni and have to head back to the Southern hemisphere, he’s having a mild panic attack.

His book is gone, his history text that cost him more than two weeks’ worth of wages at his part-time job, and in its place is a pro-fem book detailing the struggles of minority women after the end of the Civil Rights Movement.

It’s actually quite intriguing, and he finds himself reading through the introduction before he remembers to look in the inside cover for a name.

Michael Clifford finds what he’s looking for in blocky script written with a hunter green gel pen: Tal Harrison.

To his horror, he searches her name in the student directory and finds that she lives in his hall, on his floor. The other end of the hall, granted, which is like over fifteen doors down, but still. On his floor.

His horror mounts as another realization strikes him. If he has her book, then she must have his.

The thought of more confrontation with the pink lacy girl makes him a touch queasy. Not as queasy as shifting the majority of the food-money in his monthly budget over to paying for another copy of this book, though.

Mustering up his nerve, he takes one last look at her room number before shoving his feet into a pair of slippers and grabbing her textbook. He shuffles down the hallway, counting the doorways under his breath.

He needs to know exactly how far away from him she is so he can forevermore maintain that distance at all costs.

Stopping in thirteen doors later, Michael bites nervously at his lip before bringing his hand up to knock at the door. Three knocks, then a pause.

Which stretches out obscenely long.

He knocks again, three more times. Another pause.

Goddamn, he really needs his book back, especially considering he’s fallen into another fit of procrastination and left off the essay until tonight, even though it’s due tomorrow morning at the beginning of lecture.

Michael is just about to knock again when the door to his left opens up and a head pokes out of the frame.

“They’re never in this early, so I would suggest you stop knocking and leave. Some of us are trying to study, y’know.”

It’s the girl. The pink lacy girl. The girl that has his book.

Tal Harrison.

He starts to talk, to try and defend himself and also to ignore the fact that he failed to correctly count to fifteen, when her eyes widen, gaze dropping down to the cover of the textbook he’s still got in his hand.

“Hey,” she says, “You’re the asshole who took my book in the library! And the asshole perving in the laundry room!”

“Excuse me, I’m the asshole trying to return your book right now, thanks. And I was not perving in the laundry, Christ! I was waiting for a dryer to open up because you had filled up every single one with your shit.”

To his surprise, Tal – he figures he better start actually using her proper name now – colors, cheeks pinking up just a few shades lighter than her pink lacy things.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, ducking her head. “I…mis-prioritised. Left the wash until I ran out of everything.”

“Is that even a word?” The question is out before he can catch it, and his face flushes, realizing exactly how rude he probably sounded, especially after she had apologized.

“Nope.” She pops the p, motioning him over to her doorway. “Here, I must have your book then, right? If you have mine, we must have switched them accidentally.”

Her room is nothing like what he had expected. Although, granted, his only expectations – bare walls with a magenta punching bag in the corner – stemmed from aggressive encounters with a girl who wears loose sweats and pink lacy things.

Instead, there’s only a minimal amount of painted brick walls exposed. The rest are covered with whiteboards, which themselves flash in a rainbow of dry-erase markers detailing out complicated-looking diagrams and equations with too many foreign symbols for him to understand.

There is a neat, patterned bedspread in shades of dark blues and purples as well, along with a full bookcase and well-organized desk crammed into the rest of the space in the small single.

“Here,” Tal says, locating and extracting his history book easily from one of the stacked piles at the corner of her desk. “That’s yours, right?”

He takes it from her absentmindedly, eyes still overwhelmed by the formulas on all the whiteboards. Michael honestly thought Luke was the only one crazy enough to be into all that maths shit.

“Physics.” She plays with the pencil behind her ear and readjusts her glasses. “I’m Physics and Gender Studies. Joint degree.”

“That’s…” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“Totally weird, I know, it’s difficult to explain --”

“I was gonna say that it’s really impressive. Like, really impressive.”

She pinks again, looking pleased. “Oh. Oh, thanks. What’s yours? I’m Tal Harrison, by the way.”

Now he’s the embarrassed one. “History, just history. And I’m Michael, Michael Clifford.”

                                                          +

Someone is being killed down the hall. If there’s any way to judge by the noises, Michael would suppose that whatever the method of homicide is, it’s not a clean one.

There’s another piercing scream that cuts through the guitar solo blasted through his ears.

They didn’t mention anything about mass murder in when they told him about living at uni.

Okay, hell, they really didn’t tell him anything actually applicable to life at a university in general, so he’s just going to stop mentioning it at this point.

Five more seconds of shrieking later, and he gets up in a huff, pulling on a jumper over top his boxer shorts and puts on his slippers again. Trekking out into the hall only amplifies the noise as it bounces down the narrow passage and back up.

After some investigation, Michael finds that the sounds take him to the door to the women’s washroom.

Fuck.

One lengthy internal debate later, he tamps down the urge to walk away and turn the volume back up on his headphones. The screaming has intermingled with sobbing now, so he grits his teeth and slowly pushes the door open.

In hindsight, knocking first may have been a good idea.

The door to one of the shower stalls has become inexplicably unlocked and now sways inwards. The contents of a shower caddy are dumped across the floor, shampoo bottles and those weird poofy things that his mom keeps in their bath strewn and rolling around on the slick tile.

Tal is in there, water turned off with the world’s tiniest towel preventing him from getting an eyeful, body quivering and legs knocking.

She’s staring, petrified at the drain in the center of the shower, shallowly breathing.

He clears his throat. “Um, Tal?”

Head snapping up, her eyes widen. “Michael, thank God. Help me, um, please?”

She gestures down to the drain, motioning to the thing he previously thought was just a clump of hair in stuck in the metal grate.

“Holy hell.”

There’s a big-ass spider down there, sitting on top of the drain. He stares at the big-ass spider. The big-ass spider stares back at him and twitches its legs threateningly.

Tal shifts nervously. “Michael?”

He and the big-ass spider exchange glances once more. The eight beady eyes only serve to harden his resolve. “Okay, you’re gonna have to jump over here. I’m not getting any closer to that.”

“Jump?”

“Yeah,” he says, motioning to the little bench where the plastic shower caddy once sat. “Just, like, step up there and jump across to me and I’ll catch you. No worries.”

She wavers, indecision showing as her eyebrows furrow. “But what if I slip?”

“I’ll catch you.” He sounds much more confident than he actually is. He hasn’t worked out in a few weeks, and he’s pretty sure that chicken-boy Luke could bench more than him at this point.

But, when she does jump, she does slip. Everything slows down to half time, and he can only watch, arms outstretched to catch her, horrified as she throws her hands out to break her fall. The world’s tiniest towel drops to the ground just as she crosses the last bit of the gap between them and lunges into his chest.

Boobs. Boobs pressed against him.

Michael takes a long, hard look at the ceiling tile and contemplates his grandmother’s undergarment choices and the last time he found Calum in their room dancing suggestively around to the newest emasculating pop song.

He tries to ignore the sensation of her wet hair dripping on his collarbone as she shakes, repeating over and over, “Oh my God, oh my God, I touched it with my foot, I touched it, oh my God.”

“Tal,” he starts after she’s beginning to calm down. “Tal, um, I’m going to let go of you now and close my eyes so you can get your towel, okay.”

“Okay.”

She’s not brave enough to get anything else besides her room key and robe, and, honestly, Michael’s not either. So, they end up in his room, her in his borrowed shirt and sleep trousers – the one with the purple stripe down the leg because he didn’t end up getting to it in time after all – perched on the edge of his desk chair while he sits on his bed and makes them a cup of fortifying coffee.

They end up talking until three in the morning, even though they’ve both got early lectures the next day.

                                                          +

Okay, he lied. They did tell him one thing about uni that seems to be marginally true.

There is, often as not, a greater chance of finding really good mates at university. Some of those friendships might happen after traumatic incidents because, hey, sometimes, near-death experiences with spiders in bathrooms really bring people together.

Some of those people might be certain particular girls. Those particular girls might live on his floor.

Those particular girls might be named Tal Harrison and smell nice and are the optimum combination of really fucking smart and really fucking cute.  

Michael Clifford might have a little bit of a crush.

Tal ends up routinely saving him a spot at her reserved table in the library when he wakes up late from his afternoon nap. In return, he supplies the coffee and the occasional apple that he manages to steal from Calum’s hoard of assorted fruit.

“Hey,” she says, grinning. “Make yourself at home.”

Silently, he presents the traditional offering of coffee and fruit and they settle down to their work, her on more physics coursework and him on a mountain of history readings he needed to complete by yesterday.

He can’t keep quiet for long though, as he’s distracted by the question that’s been burning on his mind for weeks. It finally bursts out.

“Why were you so mean to me when we first met?”

She twirls a piece of hair around her finger as she continues to copy down notes from her book. “Well, you were in a compromising position. You were kind of a dick. And kind of cute. So, I got flustered.”

Michael blinks. Cute?

“Also, you really did look like you were perving on my knicks so I was totally justified there.”

“You’re cute.”

Oh God, he said that out loud.

She pulls her head up to look at him for a long moment, before her eyes crinkle up in a smile. “Thanks, Mikey.”

So, when he takes her hand later as he finishes his reading and she works through the rest of her notes, it isn’t weird at all.

“Sadie! Come back here!” you shouted, desperately hoping that the dog would turn around and sit patiently for you to clean up the mess that you’ve made.

“I don’t think she’s coming back,” he said, bemused. You refocused back on the dude that had your iced chocolate spilled all over his shirt, nearly soaking through his entire shirt.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” You grabbed the three napkins from your pants pocket, offering them to him, hesitating. If it had been someone you knew, you would be trying to dab the stains out immediately. But now, with this handsome stranger, you had some restraint.

“Nah, you’re good,” he said. You dropped the now empty plastic cup into the trash, that was conveniently nearby the two of you. “And to be fair, I spilled my iced coffee on you too.” That’s why your shirt was sticking to your skin.

“God, I’m gonna be late,” you groaned, checking your wristwatch at the time. You maybe had enough time to head back to your apartment to wash up before you would drop off Sadie to the daycare, and barely make it to work on time. “Hey, I’m really sorry, and I’ll pay you back for the coffee, but I need to find Sadie before I inexplicably lose my job.”

“Woah, woah,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “I’ll help you find Sadie, and I should be paying you back, since I ran into you.” You shook your head.

“No, I won’t let you.” Your phone dinged, taking your attention.

unknown number:

hi. I think I found your dog?

omg! thank you!

I’m still in the park, by the greek.

will be there in 3. thank you again

You nearly praised the heavens, seeing that text. Then you almost forgot about the guy.

“Listen, I gotta run, but thanks for the offer!” And you sped off, before he could say another word.

The second time you met, it was in a target. 

You were getting your weekly groceries (and maybe a couple of extra things) at the ungodly hours of the morning, just because hardly anyone would be there. Not that going to target a few hours later from now was bad, it just wasn’t ideal, especially when other ladies and moms alike would stare at you funny for having too many chip bags in your cart and wearing sweats with slides.

It was at the produce section, you debating if it was worth the extra 1.89 for getting an avocado over the regular salad mix in your futile attempts to have a healthier diet (and also to show any judging cashiers or judging moms that you did not eat just chips and instant ramen even though you totally did).

“Dog walker?” You spin around, to see him grinning at you, the red basket in hand.

“Coffee boy?” He looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“I’m a boy?” You snorted, turning back to your avocados and salad mix.

“Sure why not,” you grumbled under your breath. It was at this point that you were silently thinking through eeney-miney-moe, because decision making? Who was she?

“Get the avocados, they’re healthier than the salad mix that’s mostly full of sugar from the toppings.” You hesitated, before grabbing two avocados and gently placing them in the cart, next to the two chip bags you picked up earlier.

The two of you continued to walk down the produce aisle, which consisted of Ashton mostly recommending something probably green and definitely healthy but also totally over your budget.

“Are you a dietitian? Or a trainer?” You said suddenly, while he was picking up a bunch of kale. You presumed so, as he was clad in a hoodie, basketball shorts and slides, along with the food advice that he’d been giving you for the past 10 minutes.

“Nah,” he chuckled, “I just like to keep up a healthy diet, especially cause my life kinda crazy and it doesn’t give me much options at 1 am.” You nodded, following him to the dairy section.

“At least you’re better than me, I would eat all the taco bell and mcdonalds if I would be eating at 1 am.” He laughed, tilting his head back.

“You’re just like Cal and Mikey,” he said, shaking his head. You raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for an explanation. There were a few beats of silence, save for the whirr of nearby shopping carts and the faint pop chart music playing in the background.

“Cal and Mikey..” you trailed. He looked up from the container of greek yogurt, his eyes studying your face.

“Oh right,” he said, nodding. “Cal and Mikey are my best friends, and we work at the same place.” You tilted your head, waiting for more. He put the greek yogurt into the basket, before continuing.

“And we all end up finishing around 2 am, but Luke and I planned ahead with healthy snacks and salads and shit, while those two would order from postmates from the limited choices at 2 am.”

“And I would join them,” you followed, without any pause. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“But now you don’t have to! Cause I’m changing your meal plan!” He pointed at the items in your cart. “Well, except for those,” he said, mentioning the noticeable chip bags and sleeves of cookies that were next to everything else that he had helped in choosing, “those were there before I got here.”

Shopping continued, along with you convincing him to put a doritos bag and a package of oreos (abit the thin ones, but hey you tried with the double stuf at first), because “you never know when your friends hang out at your place and to their disappointment, all you have are booze and kale chips.” You both checked out in the same line, reading the titles of the gossip rags in hushed yet mocking tones.

“Jennifer Aniston with another man?!”

“Kendall Jenner takes another spill on the road?!”

And then, after he helped you put your groceries in the trunk of your car, he waved you off, both of you completely forgetting to get each other’s number. Or even each other’s names.

The third time you ran into Ashton, it was at a party.

Your friend, Karoline had dragged you to said party, because “you don’t go out enough,” and to be fair you haven’t but she didn’t know that admission.

The party was at a club in downtown LA, the name leaving you, but it was three things that were seemingly the worst combination: dark, loud, and full of absolutely smashed people.

“Why do we have to still be here?” you said, whining. Karoline shrugged, handing you another drink.

“Because it’s part of my work and I’m dying up here.” Oh yeah.

Karoline’s work had always thrown wild parties, filled with the social elite of the city and those trying to climb to that position. The record label that Karoline was apart of always had “some excuse” to throw these wild ragers, usually along the lines of some artist that they produced had reached number one in the nation.

“I’m gonna find something to eat.” You got up from your spot from the barstool tables scattered on the edges of the dancefloor, your eyes searching for those promised tables of fancy hors d'oeuvres that she would always rave about the following day, hungover in your apartment.

Once you found said table, surprisingly still full of different finger food with names that you could barely pronounce, you nearly tripped into the lined up pastries, due to someone bumping into you.

“Sorry,” he said, with a voice garbled in the loud atmosphere, yet oddly familiar.

“It’s alright,” you said. He turned around, nearly spilling his drink all over you.

“Dog walker!” he said, his eyes lighting up as he recognized your face.

“Coffee boy!” you replied, trying to say it with the same amount of enthusiasm as he did.

“Coffee boy?” someone said, now standing next to him. He had dyed blond hair, with his dark roots and scruffy eyebrows, staring at you with a smirk.

“He spilled coffee on me,” you said, hoping to give some explanation. The blond boy’s eyes widened in recognition, a grin spreading on his face. “So you’re dog walker with the same terrible eating habits as me.” Then it clicked.

“Mikey, is it?” He shook his head.

“That’s Cal,” Ashton said, “and the other two are somewhere else.” You nodded.

“Wow, so you guys work for Capitol Records?” Cal snorted, while Ashton took a gulp of his drink.

“You didn’t tell her?” You stared at the two of them, watching them have a internal conversation filled with head nods and shrugs, waiting for an explanation.

“I didn’t see the need to,” Ashton finally said. Cal sighed, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna find Luke,” he said. The combination of names, the ones he mentioned at target coupled with the knowledge that they all worked together at Capitol Records ticked something in your head, but maybe it was the alcohol and lack of food that prevented you from making the full conclusion.

“I’m Ash,” he said, extending his hand out. You giggled, shaking his hand, as you said your own. He then repeated it, and something between a smirk and a grin was slowly spreading on his lips.

“And you do?” He shakily laughed, tilting his head down.

“I’m a drummer, for a band,” Ashton said, meeting your eyes. You raised an eyebrow. “Might I know of said band?” you questioned the red-haired drummer.

“I’m only slightly offended that you have all the pieces, but haven’t connected the dots yet.”

“I’m kinda tipsy and I mostly listen to indie or alternative artists?”You shrugged.

Ashton shook his head, smiling. “The boys and I are in a pop punk turned alt pop band, called 5SOS?” His voice got progressively higher, his demenour much more tense than moments ago, or even the other two times that you two had run into each other.

“Never heard of them,” you said immediately, watching his expression change with raised eyebrows and a smirk.

“You’re truly something,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Nah, I’m just me. And here for the free fancy-pants food.” He barked in laughter.

“Of course you are.”

You head to your bathroom, and take a few pics of you in your bikini before heading to your kitchen. You find plenty of corona in your fridge, you always have to have it on hand for them, and you snap a couple pictures of that before heading out back to take a picture of the pool.

You arrange the photos and send off a text to Cal.

-been thinking about you a lot. Pool day?

You watch the bubble indicating he was responding. You stand, nervously, chewing your nails, maybe you were too forward, maybe it was legit just a one time thing.

But he finally responds, it’s a picture of his shirtless chest, Duke cuddled into his side.

-can I bring a friend?

You giggle and nod, before you realize you’re texting and he can’t see you.

-of course. I’d never deny that face.

He sends back a picture of his face.

-what about this one?

-why don’t you come over and find out?

Cal’s at your door an hour later, he’s got a case of beer under his arm, and a towel slung over his shoulder, a hat and sunglasses on, and Duke at his side. “You look good.” He grins, pulling you in, hand landing on your ass. He squeezes it a couple times, “such a nice ass.” He praises.

You roll your eyes but grin at him, “thank you.”

“Don’t take it too lightly babe, I know you work hard for that ass.” He leans in and kisses you, “I probably owe you a few of those. I definitely didn’t kiss you enough before I filled you with cum.”

You raise your eyebrows, “romantic.” You lean down and let Duke off his leash and into the house. Cal grabs your hand and you pull him through the house. He puts the beer in the fridge and grabs two cold ones, popping the tops and handing you one.

“So… I’ve been thinking about you too.” He admits. “I’m really glad you texted me today.” He rests his hand on your ass again and leans over to kiss your head. “Now let's see where this day takes us.”

You both get set up on chairs, relaxing for a bit with some music and beer. Cal’s touching you as much as possible. He finally gets in the pool and you both chatter on about the parties you’ve both been too.

He swims up to the side in front of you, “are you gonna get in? I didn’t come over here to watch you roast your skin.” He points out.

“Yeah yeah.” You stand and he immediately splashes you.

“The water is nice, come on in!” He encourages. You quickly pull your hair up and jump in over his head. “Hot.” He laughs, when you surface.

A couple more drinks later, and after a pizza break, the sun is going down and you’re both thinking it’s about time to get out of the pool as the day cools off. His hat and sunglasses abandoned long ago. He swims up to you and grabs you by the waist, pressing his lips to your mouth.

“This was a good idea.” He smiles.

You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. “It was too hot to function this morning.” You agree.

“You ready to get out?” He asks, lips pressing to yours.

“I’m ready to get out of something but I don’t know that the pool is exactly it.”

Cal raises his eyebrow and moves his hand to your ass. “You ever had sex in a pool?”

“No, but there’s a first time for everything.” You smirk.  

“Fuck baby… I really like fucking you.” He admits.

“I like when you fuck me too.” You retort.

“All it took was one down and dirty time and you’re all Ashton who?” He smirks.

“Why don’t you stop talkin and start fuckin?” Your lips start to press along his neck and Cal walks you to the shallower end.

He backs you against the wall and then pushes your bottoms down. “You’ve been waiting all day for this, haven’t you?” He grins. He drops the bikini bottom on the side of the pool behind your head and you nod. You reach your hands to his swim shorts and push them down, he steps out of them and drops them with your bottoms. “You want this off?” He tugs at the strings of your top before completely undoing them with his lips pressed hard to yours, never letting you answer. It’s the first time you’ve been completely naked with Cal and your response is to wrap your legs around his waist. He chuckles.

“I already told you I’ve been thinking about you since you’re back yard.” You point out.

“Mmm yeah… you did mention that and I’ve definitely been thinking about you… you’re so pretty, baby.” His hands come up to cup your breasts and he gently swipes his thumbs over your nipples before giving them a firm pinch, and he leans in to kiss you, one hand falling to your back, and other slipping between you two. “Fuck your body feels so good pressed to mine… you really wanna fuck in the pool? I know it was my idea, but I’m just thinking about all the things I’ll miss.” He grins.

You shrug, “where is your new proposed spot?” You smirk.

“Kitchen counter… you on it, of course, you were so good bent over my table.”

“Eh, I’m in. It’ll be warmer inside anyway.” You unwrap your legs from around him and move to the stairs to get out of the pool.

You turn and look over your shoulder as you walk to your towel and Cal’s still standing where you left him. You quirk an eyebrow at him. “I’m just enjoying the show.” He smirks, “you’ve got a great body, babe.”   

“You aren’t so bad yourself, Hood.” You wink, walking inside. You grab two Coronas from the fridge and pop the tops, you’re hopping on the counter with the towel under you as Cal walks in.

“You’re so thoughtful.” He says, taking a drink of the beer you’d set out for him. He pushes his lips to yours and then slips two fingers along your pussy. “So wet for me too.” He whispers against your lips. Cal uses both hands to push your thighs wider apart. You both look between your bodies as he uses his cock to first tease you and then push in. “Mmm.” He moans. He rests his forehead on your shoulder and watches as his hips work in and out of you for the first 5 minutes.

Your fingers tangle in his hair and he seems to remember where he is, his lips start to press along your collarbone and then he’s sucking and nibbling it too. “Cal.” You whimper, pulling his hair so he looks at you. His mouth immediately presses to yours.

“You’re so tight.” He moans into the kiss. His one hand is grasping tight to your thigh, the other rests on your back.

“I’m not gonna last babe.” You mention.

His lips move up your neck, to your jaw. “That’s ok babe. We can stop when you want.”

“No one said anything about stopping, I’m just gonna cum quick. And probably again if you last longer.” You mention it so nonchalantly Calum isn’t sure he heard you right. His hips keep moving in you but he pulls back to look at you and you shrug, but pull one of your legs up so it’s bent and your foot is resting on the counter. You lean back and rest your weight on your arms.

“You are something else.” He smiles. “S’pose you don’t need any of this then?” He asks, rubbing his thumb on your clit.

You suck in a sharp breath, “please don’t stop anything you're doing.” You whimper. “Fuck Cal it’s so good.”

“Yeah babe… you are so fucking good on my cock.” He praises.

You lean forward again and kiss him, you grab his hair as he bites your lip, “fuck Cal.. I’m gonna…”

“That’s it pretty girl, squeeze my cock.” He grins. His thumb comes off your clit, but he doesn’t stop his hips, both hands are gripping your thighs now as he pounds into you.

“Fuck Cal, yes… oh my god.” You hold onto his neck with one hand, your other hand grips his wrist. “Please don’t stop.” You whimper.

“Don’t worry sweetheart.” He grins. He lets go of one your thighs and grips your jaw, pulling you in for a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, you pull out of it to moan and he bites your lip. His tongue is immediately finding its way back into your mouth.

“Calum…” you moan, nails digging into the skin beneath them.

“Fuck, you are gonna give me another one aren’t you?” He looks so proud of himself.

“Yes, yeah, fuck… oh god Cal, please.”

“I’ve gotcha.” He promises, hips thrusting harder into you still.

“That… fuck… that’s it.” You wrap your leg around Cal, “yeah, fuck baby.” You grip tighter, squeezing your leg tighter around him, pulling him closer as you cum for him again.

“Fuck… squeeze baby, that’s it… shit.” Cals hips start to slow as his orgasm races through him. His plump lips find yours in a slow kiss. His hand slips on your neck and his thumb caresses your cheek as you both come down, he’s still buried deep in you. His hips twitch slightly, drawing an extra whimper out of you, his other hand comes up to your other cheek, still kissing you softly. “You’re going to drip so much cum.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Mmm.” You agree.

He grasps the leg around his hip and your other leg and push them up onto the counter, spreading you wide as he pulls out. Cal can’t take his eyes off you, he’s torn between looking at and kissing you and staring at his cum leaking out of you. “Fuck. You’re so hot babe.” He praises. His lips press to yours. “Should we shower?” He asks, still pressed against your lips.

“You hanging out?” You ask, pulling back, giving him a questioning look.

“Uhh yeah… I thought we’d get dinner and there’s still more beer for us to drink.” He points out. “Plus… I wouldn’t be mad if I made you cum again.” He shrugs.

“You think so?” You quirk an eyebrow and he grabs your hand and pulls you to your bathroom.

You and Cal take a quick shower, and as you’re getting dressed, he watches you grab a pair of underwear, “you should probably not even bother.. we’re just going to be taking them off again.” He mentions.

You think it through and decide he’s right. You meet Calum back on the couch and he’s got two Corona’s, ready to go.

cigarette || corona || rolling papers || black on black|| stuck || navy button down || a hotter touch || pancakes || the second thing || ours || losing you || little toes || holy water || date night || me, you and little hood || five years later

masterlist || ashton || calum || luke || michael

Pursing her lips as she sat in her bedroom after getting her two year old son Parker to sleep, Brielle looked down at the cell phone in her hand.

She wasn’t even sure why she checked her twitter notifications most days because she knew she wouldn't like what she saw. Wouldn't like seeing the countless fans in them who were always sending her hate over how she parented her child, or even the ones who sent her hate on stuff that happened in the past. Like how she had cheated on Michael with Luke.

She got pregnant by Luke while she had still been with Michael and, even at least for a bit, tried to raise her son with Michael until Michael had cheated on her with Crystal.

Brielle was the one who ended things with Michael finally when he hadn't been able to choose between her or Crystal. Maybe it had been for the best.

After all, they had put each other through hell and back. Her by cheating with his best friend and having a baby by said best friend. Him by cheating with groupies, which had been the reason she turned to Luke anyway. The eventual nail in the coffin was when he had hooked up with Crystal after a group trip to Bali.

Even after the trip he had kept hooking up with her. So, despite how much she had truly loved Michael, she had ended things.

She decided it was best for her and her then eleven month old son.

It had been best too as she felt happier after that break up. She got to be single and just focus on raising Parker with Luke, who by then was dating Arzaylea.

Brielle had to be honest even with herself though, she had always hated Arzaylea. The woman had just struck her wrong. Even the fans could sense the tension between the two women though most speculated it was because Brielle wanted Luke.

They felt somehow she realized her missed chance with Luke too late but no, she had just hated the girl and the feeling had been mutual.

Luckily somehow, maybe by the grace of some god, it hadn't made co-parenting with Luke hard. Probably because Brielle had set one rule up...the moment Arzaylea tried to step into her and Luke's parenting Brielle would take it to court. She would set up a strict plan and ruin the lax one they had mutually come up with on their own.

But now Arzaylea was gone, having cheated on Luke and ruining things all on her own. Again fans were speculating saying Brielle had played a part in it. Especially when it seemed that ever since Luke's breakup he and Brielle had started hanging out together twenty-four seven. Which they had but so far it was nothing.

They were just two friends who were co-parenting their child together and Parker was going through a phase, now that he was two, where he wanted to see his daddy more. He was somehow slowly becoming a daddy's boy.

Coming out of her own head though when a text message alert interrupted her browsing her twitter notifications, she raised an eyebrow as she saw it was a text from Luke.

Without second guessing herself she clicked to open it.

Luke 11:54 Just now leaving the studio. Kind of missing you and P. Can I come by?

Brielle 11:59 P is asleep but yeah, you can come by and see me. Maybe bring some food too you hoe :-p. I kind of haven't eaten much all day. Was too busy chasing your spawn around the house.

Luke 12:03 Haha. I will see what I can do on the food. Just let me in when I knock on the door.

Laughing, Brielle only shook her head as she slipped out of bed. Taking her reading glasses off and laying them on the table beside her bed, she glanced down at what she was wearing. An old band t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants. It wasn't her best look, but she was too lazy to change.

Anyway, she was sure Luke had seen her in worse so he'd just have to survive if he didn't like what she was wearing. Not that he had ever complained before. Not even when she had been so sloppy with her appearance in the first few months of Parker's life.

*****

"I think I'm stuffed now," Brielle sighed as she leaned against her couch after finishing her container of fried rice that Luke had brought from a Chinese place not far from her house. "So fucking stuffed that I don't think I'll be able to move for a week."

Luke let out a loud laugh at that which only made Brielle blush.

"Parker's going to love that," Luke told her sounding sure of himself. "No mom to chase after him or stop him from potentially setting the house on fire or something."

"He wouldn't set the house on fire," Brielle defended as she shook her head. "He may be going through his terrible twos right now but he isn't that bad....yet," she finished and her last word again made Luke laugh out loud.

Brielle wasn’t sure why tonight his laugh was doing funny things to her. Things she hadn't felt since her break up with Michael last year.

Maybe it was just the beer she had drank with her food, the alcohol messing with her somehow. That had to be it she was sure.

There was no other explanation. None that made Brielle feel good anyway.

Luke scrunched up his nose before speaking again, "He did accidentally run into that table yesterday with the lit candle on it and knock it off."

"True," Brielle conceded with a playful sigh. "Our son the accidental arsonist," she teased before standing up from the couch.

She picked up her trash to take into the kitchen, and she became acutely aware of Luke's presence behind her.

It was enough to make her skin prickle in a good way. Again, it was something she wanted to blame on the alcohol. She didn’t want to consider any other options, even if they made sense.

Brielle was just that damn stubborn. It was a trait she was sure she had picked up from her father. The man who had raised her on his own after her mom had run out when she was three because she just could never cope with having a husband or a baby.

It was something Brielle had never been able to comprehend. Even more so now that she had her own kid.

She just couldn't imagine one day walking away and leaving Parker like it was nothing. Not after carrying him for nine months. Not after holding him for the first time and feeling a love she had never known existed.

Hearing Luke clear his throat, Brielle blushed as she realized she had been standing in front of her trash can for way too long after throwing her stuff away.

A blush rose on her cheeks as she turned to face the man behind her, forcing a smile. She hoped that somehow he didn't think her an idiot but then again he'd seen her at worse moments and he was still here. Still her friend despite everything.

"You okay Bri?" Luke questioned her with a raised eyebrow. Brielle not sure why right now she felt that he was looking right through her.

It felt as if he could see every thought in her head. Like he knew she was feeling weird thoughts towards him tonight.

Brielle kept her forced smile as she nodded her head. "Just thinking," she told him, being somewhat honest. "You know I'm bad at thinking."

"True," Luke retorted playfully. "You and thinking is a bad thing," he smirked and Brielle only blushed more as she leaned against a counter in the kitchen. "But I've been thinking too. I mean not right now but today when writing a song I was doing some thinking," he revealed and his words made her pause.

Made her wonder just what he had been thinking.

"Oh?" Brielle questioned her voice soft. Softer than she had expected it to be.

Luke nodded his head as he walked a bit closer to her. Brielle could feel her heartbeat picking up as he soon boxed her in against the counter.

The closeness of their bodies not at all helping the weird feelings she had been having today with Luke. It was just a weird day all around it seemed. A weird day with no end in sight for her.

"I think the fans are right," Luke told her, her eyebrow raising higher but she remained silent so that he could explain himself. "I do still have feelings for you," he admitted.

Brielle felt like her heart had stopped at his admission. It was something she thought they had danced around for years, their feelings for each other. It never seemed to be the right time to bring it up.

First, she had been dating Michael when they had conceived their son. Then, after her break up he was already with Arzaylea and he wasn't available. Now, here they were both single at the same time, spending most days together and of course it could lead to thinking about what the fans said online.

How they speculated about their relationship and feelings for each other.

"You do?" Brielle asked him and again her voice was soft. A part of her still feeling as if her heartbeat had stopped though she knew it hadn't.

It was still beating perfectly in her chest.

Once again Luke nodded his head a frown on his face now. "If you don't feel the same way I'd understand," he told her softly.

His words made Brielle hurt because she was sure she did feel the same but she could see why Luke thought differently. She had, after all, not said much in response. She had just second guessed his feelings without saying anything in regards to how she may have felt for him.

Heaving a tiny sigh, Brielle decided not to answer Luke verbally. Instead she leaned in and kissed him on the lips softly. Hoping he'd get the hint.

That he'd realize she felt the same way for him as he did her. That she believed she may have had feelings for him too, but of course she had ignored them for so long because of the crappy timing they both had.

Feeling him respond back to the kiss, Brielle let her eyes fall shut. A shiver ran down her spine when Luke's hand slid under her shirt.

Their hips slowly bumped into each other as he moved closer to her. It was enough to make her moan out softly before she bit down on his bottom lip. She didn’t care that his beard was scratchy against her skin which was a different feeling than she was used to.

The last time they had kissed he was a few years younger and had no beard. Also, Michael had rarely kept any beard for long either.

But she really didn't want to think of Michael during this kiss. During anything with Luke really because Michael was a can of worms she had locked tight and never wanted to open again.

Pulling away from the kiss Brielle looked at Luke, his blue eyes connecting with her green ones and she gave him a slow, easy smile. "Does that answer how I feel about you?" she asked him hoping that it did.

"I'd say it does," Luke answered with a smile of his own before he leaned down to kiss her again and this time as they kissed he somehow slowly picked her up.

Placing her down onto the counter she had been pressed against and as his hands came to rest on her thighs Brielle wasn't stupid. She knew what they'd be doing before the night was through.

They'd be having sex more than likely with her still on the counter but hopefully they had sense enough to use protection this time.

April 27th, 2015 

Arwen’s POV

The boy walking down the aisle of the bus was wearing a Black Sabbath tee shirt.

Arwen eyed the shirt curiously. She wondered if he actually liked Black Sabbath or if he was just wearing it for the aesthetic. She found that so many people these days wore classic rock band shirts because they fit the “grungy” look they were going for.

Her eyes drifted up to the boy’s face as she wondered what kind of person could be wearing such a shirt and her lips parted in surprise. He was cute. Like really cute. He had messy blond hair that curled up around his ears and cheeks. His lips were full and pink and his nose was perhaps the most adorable button nose that she ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. And his eyes. Even from her spot at the very back of the bus she could see how blue they were. She was a sucker for blue eyes.

Arwen was taken off guard by how downright attractive this boy was. As he approached she quickly ducked her head and busied herself with scrolling through her music library to cover up the fact that she had been staring. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him pause beside her seat. He hesitated there for a moment, probably waiting to see if she would move her backpack for him to sit down beside her. When he realized that she wouldn’t he began to move on.

In that moment something strange came over her. Arwen did not consider herself an impulsive creature and yet she found herself yanking out her earbuds and calling out to him, “Wait you can sit here!” The words tumbled out of her lips before she could stop them.

The boy turned around and looked down at her with wide, startled blue eyes. She was just as startled with herself. Oh no, what have I done? she thought. I just made myself look like the biggest weirdo in the world.

“Uh, m-me?” he stammered.

There was no choice but to roll with it now. “Here, it’s all yours,” she forced herself to say. She took her backpack off the seat and shoved it between her knees.

“Thanks,” the boy said in disbelief.

He pulled off his own backpack and sat down beside her. Their knees brushed as he settled down into the seat. He flinched at the unexpected touch and quickly slid himself away from her.

“Whoops, I’m sorry,” Arwen apologized.

He said nothing even though she was sure she spoke loud enough for him to hear.

It was hard not to notice the way he was sitting, with his arms hugging his sides and his body angled away from her. She scooted closer to the window to give him more space. Was it her fault for making him so uncomfortable? She silently hoped it wasn’t.

Her face was burning with embarrassment. She had no idea what came over her. Why did she think it was a good idea to let him sit down beside her? Now she would have to ride the rest of the journey in uncomfortable silence when she needed to be focusing on the destination ahead. She was en route to her first tour rehearsal and there were only a few stops until they got to hers.

Last November she applied to become a roadie through the Australian Institute of Music’s gap year program. The program was supposed to give prospective AIM students real-world music industry experience, gained by traveling on the road with a live band. Arwen found out in January that she was among the few lucky program winners.

All of the roadies were required to fly out to Sydney for rehearsals before the tour kicked off on May 4th in Lisbon, Portugal. The email AIM sent her a few weeks ago hadn’t said much more than “show up here, at this address, at this time, on this date, in this city”. Not very helpful, really, but she went along with the instructions anyway.

Regardless of the lack of information, she was still excited about the whole thing. She was going to get to travel with a real live band, see new places around the world, and learn a thing or two about the music industry. How could she not be excited? The only thing she was wary about was spending months on tour with a bunch of strangers, but if she kept her head down like she planned on doing everything would go smoothly.

Three songs later the bus pulled up to the Belvoir Street stop. Arwen pulled her backpack into her lap and stuffed her phone and earbuds into the front pocket. She yanked the zipper shut and was about to turn to her left to politely tell the cute blond boy that this was her stop, but looked over to find that he was already standing and pulling his backpack onto his shoulders.

I guess we have the same stop, Arwen thought as she stood and watched him leave.

She handed her fee to the impatient bus driver and stepped off onto the busy street. It was a gorgeous day. The sun was shining, the sky was a clear blue, and there were barely any clouds to be seen. And it was warm. Arwen tilted her chin up to let the glorious warmth wash over her skin. In London, where she lived with her father, the temperature tended to hover around 10°C in the springtime. Most days it was overcast and rainy, so the sunshine and warmth in Sydney felt like heaven on her skin. She lived for warm weather, which she suspected was due to her Hawai’ian blood.

She took a deep breath of fresh air then set off toward The Soundstage. From the research she conducted about her destination she learned that it was essentially a huge warehouse that tours could rent out to run through their performances, practice using the stage, and work out any kinks before live shows. She wasn’t exactly sure yet what her role in these rehearsals was going to be, but hopefully that was something she’d find out today.

As she hung a right at the corner of Marlborough Street her teeth began to chatter, a tick she got when she was particularly excited or nervous. She clenched her jaw to try and stop the chattering, which helped to stop her teeth from knocking together, but didn’t stop the spasming jaw muscles or the accompanied shivers.

Why does this have to happen now? she thought in exasperation.

She tried focusing on tamping down her excitement and taking calming breaths, but her concentration was broken when she spotted a familiar figure. Walking about a half a block ahead of her was the boy in the Black Sabbath tee.

Oh jeez, please don’t let him be going to same way I am.

She hung back a safe distance so he wouldn’t realize she was there and silently hoped he would diverge from her route so she wouldn’t be forced to relive that embarrassing moment on the bus. Yet every turn she intended to make he made first and every crosswalk she intended to cross he did first.

Much to her horror the route took them to a busy road with a traffic light.

Turn green, turn green, turn green, Arwen chanted as the boy stopped at the corner.

She hung back, walking slow to keep her distance, but the light just wasn’t turning green and she was afraid the he was going to turn around and notice her there slowly creeping up behind him like an absolute weirdo so she steeled herself and walked up to the corner to stand beside him.

He glanced down at her. She glanced back. They both glanced away.

Oh god, he probably thinks I’m following him.

Out of the corner of her eye Arwen saw him glance down at her again. She looked up and he was staring at her with the same wide-eyed “there’s no way in hell you could possibly be talking to me” look he gave her on the bus.

Shit. He totally thinks I’m following him.

“Uh, hi,” Arwen broke the silence. “I promise I’m not following you. We just happen to be going the same way.”

He blinked at her.

No answer? You’re just going to stare at me like I’m speaking another language?

“Maybe we’re going to the same place?” she offered.

More staring and blinking.

“Maybe not then,” she pushed on. “I’m going to The Soundstage for a rehearsal. I’m pretty sure it’s just another block or two, but this is my first time going and I’m not from around here, so it’s completely possible that I’m utterly lost and not meant to be following you at all. Not that I was trying to follow you in the first place! I wasn’t. The following was pure coincidence, like I said.”

Silence.

Oh my god he thinks I’m the biggest freak ever. I should have just hid behind that trashcan I saw back there.

Then, miraculously, he murmured something too quiet for her to hear.

“Sorry?” she said politely.

“I, uhm, I s-said I’m going there t-too,” he stuttered with an embarrassed flush to his cheeks.

Arwen couldn’t help the flutter of excitement she felt in the pit of her stomach. He was going on the tour, too! That meant she was going to get to spend the next six months on the road with him. Not that she planned on befriending him, she reminded herself. She was going to keep her head down, no friends allowed.

“Awesome, we can walk together then,” she said brightly. “So I don’t have to walk behind you like a weirdo.”

He showed no sign that he agreed with this plan, but the light turned green and they set off side by side anyway. Arwen took note that he made sure to keep a barrier of several paces away from her. Once again she wondered if it was something she did and once again she hoped that it wasn’t. Was she doing something wrong? Maybe she should try to clear the air with some light conversation

“So is this your first time going on tour?” she asked.

He glanced over at her, his expression again registering in utter bewilderment that she was speaking to him. “Uh, y-yeah, it’s my first time.”

She gave him a smile that she hoped looked somewhat reassuring. “Don’t worry, it’s my first time too. It’s exciting but scary at the same time, you know?”

He nodded his agreement. “Yeah,” he murmured with his eyes turned to the ground, “I know.”

“So how did you come to be a roadie for 5 Seconds of Summer?” she asked because she was curious.

It was odd, but he seemed to cringe ever so slightly at the mention of the band.

“Well I, uh, I applied through this university program,” he replied vaguely.

Arwen’s stomach did a little flip. She had a sinking suspicion that he, too, was a program winner because of how young he looked and her suspicion was correct.

“You don’t mean AIM’s gap year program?” she asked just to be sure.

“Yeah, that,” he said with a nod, confirming that they would indeed be future classmates.

Her mind warred between excitement and yelling at herself for being excited. You aren’t allowed to be excited about that, you idiot! You aren’t supposed to be making friends, remember? And he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you anyway. Why the hell would he?

Arwen was glad the walk to The Soundstage only took a few more minutes, because she couldn’t bring herself to whip up any more topics of conversation to fill the uncomfortable silence. It was a major relief when the huge black building came into view.

Her former excitement came rushing back to her at the sight of The Soundstage and unfortunately so did the teeth chattering and shivers.

It’s just a big black warehouse, let’s not get too excited here, she scolded herself.

She glanced over at the blond boy, curious to see if he was as excited as she was. She found him looking up at The Soundstage with an uneasy expression. His cheeks were drained of color and he looked a little green around the edges. He was nervous about his first rehearsal, which was completely understandable.

“Nervous?” Arwen couldn’t stop herself from asking.

He looked down at her, his anxious expression unchanged. “Maybe a little.”

“Don’t worry, we’re in the same boat. I’m feeling kinda nervous too,” she told him even though it wasn’t quite the truth.

She was about to reach out to give his arm a reassuring pat, but she stopped herself, remembering how uncomfortable it made him when their knees touched on the bus. And that was only an accident. It was better to keep her hands to herself and respect his personal space.

“Ready then?” she asked him instead.

He nodded. Together they walked up to the front door where a security guard was posted with a clipboard. As they approached he held up a hand to stop them.

“Got passes?” he asked them.

Right, her pass! She forgot that she’d need it to get into rehearsal. She had a tendency to be disorganized, so it was a good thing she didn’t forget to pack it. She swung her backpack around and pulled it out of the front pocket to show the guard.

“Arwen Kalani,” he read.

He flipped through the sheets of paper pinned to the clipboard until he found her name. “There you are. Kalani-comma-Arwen J. Got it. Okay next?”

The blond boy stepped forward and pulled out his pass, which was already hanging on its lanyard around his neck. Arwen didn’t notice it earlier because it was tucked into his shirt. He pulled it over his head and handed it to the guard.

“Lucas Hemmings,” the guard murmured to himself as he scanned the list. “Alright, gotcha. You two are free to go in. Please have your passes visible at all times.”

Lucas Hemmings. Lucas Hemmings. Hemmings-comma-Lucas. Arwen tested the name in her head, twisting it this way and that, repeating it and considering it. She decided she liked the sound of it. It felt right in her mind. He seemed like a Lucas Hemmings.

The guard handed Lucas’ pass back to him. Arwen followed his lead and hung her lanyard around her neck, too.

“Go to the right and down the hall. It’s through the doors at the very end,” the guard instructed.

“Thank you,” Arwen said gratefully.

She held the door open for Lucas and proceeded after him into the building. They followed the guard’s directions down the hallway on the right to where it ended at a set of glass double doors. Beyond the doors was an enormous warehouse easily the size of an American football field. A large group of people - perhaps fifty or so by her estimation - were milling around the space waiting for the setup to start.

“This looks like the right place,” she decided.

She glanced over at Lucas, who was peering through the glass doors with a nervous expression. He didn’t look so good.

“You okay?” she asked him.

He didn’t seem to hear her question. He was gnawing at the corner of his bottom lip, eyes distant, off somewhere in his own head. She reached over and tapped him lightly on his arm to grab his attention. He flinched like she’d pressed a hot coal to his skin.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she apologized, feeling guilty for causing such a reaction.

“N-no, it’s okay. I was, erm, distracted,” he stammered.

“Are we going to go in then?” she asked. She didn’t want to go in unless he was ready.

He nodded. “Yeah, I guess we should.”

They pushed open the doors and stepped into the big, open space. It was surprisingly chilly inside. It feels like Antarctica in here, Arwen thought to herself as she looked down at the goosebumps that were already covering her arms. At least now she had a cover up for her shivers and chattering teeth.

It was a lot louder inside than she expected, too. Everyone was standing in groups, chatting and laughing. Her and Lucas’ entrance drew a few curious glances, but mostly their appearance went unnoticed. It was clear that they were outsiders to these people.

“So, should we go introduce ourselves?” Arwen suggested, because that was what people did when they started a new journey in a new place, right? Or, she considered, would that be too friendly and forthright?

“Uhm, you can, but, uh, I think I’m going to stay here,” Lucas said, still gnawing nervously at his lip.

It was clear by his body language and his facial expression that the last thing he wanted to do was walk out into that crowd of people. Arwen was hoping that this would be her chance to finally ditch him and go off on her own like she wanted to, but she realized that it wouldn’t be right abandon him. He clearly needed someone to be with him. Plus she was secretly a little relieved that she wouldn’t have to face this gigantic group of strangers all by herself.

“I think I’ll stay here with you, actually,” she said. “If that’s okay.”

She knew she made the right decision because of the instant relief she saw in his eyes. He nodded his consent and together they moved out of the way of the doors and took up occupation against the wall. Arwen removed her backpack and dropped it to the floor by her feet. Lucas watched her do this and followed suit.

She leaned her head back against the wall and looked out across the vast space. To her left was a row of huge garage doors. There were four tractor trailers backed into them, their rears open and packed full of black utility cases of all shapes and sizes. Over to the right of the space was a switch-back staircase that led up to a series of walkways suspended high above the floor. It send a shiver up her spine just looking up there. It had to be at least six stories high, maybe more.

A flash of movement to her left drew her gaze and Arwen looked over to see the glass doors swing open and a lanky Asian guy with shiny quiffed black hair and larger than average ears come into view. Strangely enough he stopped dead in his tracks and turned toward Arwen and Lucas as if he sensed them leaning there, watching him. Instantly the guy’s face broke into a huge toothy grin.

“Thank god! Some people my age!” he exclaimed as he strode over to them. “I was worried that I was going to be stuck on tour with a bunch of old-ass dudes! You could imagine my relief when I got back from the loo to find you guys standing here!”

Arwen peered past the guy to get a look at the rest of the crew. She saw a handful of men that could be in their twenties and a few women here and there, but mostly he was right. The majority demographic seemed to be middle aged men or “old-ass dudes” as he so eloquently put it. She, Lucas, and he were by far the youngest people here.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t know what I would have done with myself!” he proclaimed, shaking his head. “I would have been bored out of my fucking mind for the next six months!”

“Oh and the name’s Rory by the way,” he added as what seemed to be an afterthought, “In case you were wondering.”

Arwen was rather taken aback by how incredibly animated and energetic this dude was, but remembering her manners she quickly regained her composure so she could introduce herself in return.

“I’m Arwen,” she said with a friendly smile.

“Arwen. Why does that name sound familiar?” Rory asked, his dark eyebrows knitting together.

“Probably because it’s from the Lord of the Rings,” Arwen told him with a short laugh. “My dad is a huge fan of the series. He chose the name.”

Rory laughed. It was a musical laugh that made his chin tilt back and his eyes crinkle with handsome laughter lines. “So if you were a boy would you have been Legolas? Or Elrond? Or what about Thranduil?” he asked, grinning.

Arwen couldn’t help but crack a smile at the thought of having any of those names. “No, I think I would have been Ben actually.”

“Ben? Pfft, that’s lame. It’s a good thing you were a girl then,” Rory remarked. “Arwen is a thousand times more interesting than Ben.”

“I guess so,” Arwen agreed.

Rory then turned on Lucas, who up until that point was silent. Arwen looked over at him, too. He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his hands tightly clutching the fabric of his shirt. In his expression she read discomfort and unease.

“What about you, string bean? What do they call you?” Rory asked him. He bumped Lucas’ shoulder with his fist and Lucas jerked violently. He clearly had a thing about being touched.

“Luke,” he murmured in response after regaining his taut composure.

Luke? There was a brief moment of confusion in Arwen’s mind before she realized that Luke was simply a nickname. His real name was Lucas. She hadn’t misheard the security guard. He just preferred Luke. Duh. Why didn’t she realize that earlier?

“Luke,” Rory echoed with an approving nod. “Were your parents Star Wars fans? I freaking love Star Wars.”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t think so,” he stammered.

“Well I have no idea where ‘Rory’ came from. I don’t think my parents do either, honestly. They must have been smoking something when they came up with it,” Rory said with an unconcerned shrug.

Arwen opened her mouth to say that Rory wasn’t such a bad name, but before she could say anything there was a loud, ear-splitting screech that resonated throughout the room.

“Whoops, sorry guys,” a male’s voice echoed through the speakers.

The voice belonged to a tall, gangly dude with long dark hair who kinda looked like the type of guy you’d find living in his parent’s basement playing video games all day. He was standing in front of the crowd of people holding a microphone, smiling apologetically.

“Hey. So for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Julian Whitehall, the Rock Out With Your Socks Out tour’s production manager. So we’re just going to go ahead and get started. If you have any questions you can ask the lighting manager, Nate, the sound manager, Breezy, or myself.”

It was clear that everyone except for Arwen, Luke, and Rory knew where they were supposed to go and what they were supposed to do, because as soon as Julian finished his short speech the crowd dispersed in all different directions to start their jobs.

“Anybody know what we’re supposed to be doing?” Rory asked Arwen and Luke.

Neither of them did, but behind Rory Arwen saw that Julian Whitehall himself was walking over to them. Hopefully he would have the answer.

“Hey guys,” he greeted them with a wave. “I’m Julian. You’re the AIM kids, right? Rory, Arwen and Lucas?”

“String bean over here actually prefers Luke,” Rory didn’t hesitate to blurt out.

Luke looked immensely embarrassed, but he didn’t correct him.

“And as far as I know Arwen goes by Arwen,” he added.

Julian looked at Rory with an amused expression. “Thanks for clearing that up for me. So is this your first time going on the road?”

All three confirmed that it was indeed their first time going on the road.

“Okay, cool beans. So I’ve got to warn you guys, this is going to be a lot of hard work. You’re going to be sore and exhausted most of the time. I won’t hold it against you if after today you decide this isn’t for you, but you’ve got to know that if you’re going to sign on with us it’s going to be six months of hard work. The roadie life isn’t easy. Got it?”

Everyone indicated that they understood.

“Okay, so you guys are probably wondering what your job is going to be, right? You guys are going to be production assistants.” Julian put air quotes around the words production and assistants. “Basically you’re going to help out with the production in any way possible. At the beginning of the setup you’re going to help the riggers unload the trucks and bring all the equipment to their respective locations. Then you’re going to help set up the production. Maybe that will mean helping the riggers build the lighting platforms or helping sound with wiring. You want to help out in any way that you can. Don’t ever be standing around twiddling your thumbs. If you can’t find a job to do by yourself, ask me, Nate or Breezy. I’m certain we’ll be able to find something for you.”

Arwen had a sinking suspicion that “production assistant” was a nice way of saying slave. She just hoped that helping out in any way that they could didn’t mean fetching anyone coffee.

“Alright so any questions?” Julian asked them.

“Oh, I’ve got one!” Rory announced enthusiastically like a kid who had just been called on in class. “What are we, like, supposed to do during the actual performances?”

“Good question. Well I’ll probably have you guys on hand to help take off the opening act’s equipment and bringing on 5 Seconds of Summer’s stuff, but after that I’m okay with you guys just watching the shows. Everyone here knows their jobs during performances and probably don’t want anyone who isn’t familiar with how stuff works getting in the way.” Julian shrugged apologetically. “But I’d like you guys to be there once the performances are over so you can help with tear-down. It’s really important that we get everything packed away quickly so we can get moving on to the next location and that takes all the hands we can get. Did I answer your question?”

“Yeah, but what if we’re interested in learning about what goes on backstage during a performance?” Rory prompted. “Isn’t that what this program is about? Getting real world music industry experience? Learning our trade?”

Rory was right. How were they going to learn anything of substance if they couldn’t observe people doing their jobs? Arwen already knew that she wanted to learn a thing or two from the sound techs.

Julian pursed his lips. “Okay, I get what you’re saying. Learning is important or whatever. Well if you find someone you’d like to shadow during a performance feel free to talk to them and see if you can work something out. I’m sure they’d love to talk to you about what they do if you prove that you’re truly interested. There’s a big difference between hanging around and taking up space and a willingness to learn a thing or two.”

At this point Arwen wasn’t quite sure if Julian considered the three of them burdensome little kids or young adults with bright minds ready and willing to learn more about the music industry. Right now she was leaning more toward the first.

“Alright, sweet,” Julian said, clapping his hands together, “Let’s get started then. I’ll be around if you need me.”

And with that he turned and disappeared into the flurry of crew members and left the three of them standing there alone.

“He seemed nice,” Rory said cheerfully.

Arwen wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic. The cheeriness sounded genuine but the impish quirk to his mouth suggested otherwise.

“So I guess we should go find something to do so we’re not ‘taking up space’ or ‘getting in the way’,” Rory said with the same smile.

Upon Rory’s suggestion, the three of them made their way over to the tractor trailers where a large team of crew members were unloading utility cases. Rory walked up to the man who appeared to be in charge. He had massive arms and a barreled chest, but eyes that were etched with laughter lines.

“Hey, I’m Rory,” he introduced himself. “And this is Arwen and Luke. We’re production assistants and we’d like a job to do.”

At first the man looked surprised to be confronted in such a direct way, but his face quickly softened into a wide smile. He laughed, a deep, jolly laugh, the kind that came from the pit of your stomach. And when he spoke his voice was just as deep and rich.

“Production assistants, eh?” he chuckled. “So you’ll be coming along with us for the ride. That’s wonderful. I’m Murphy. I’m in charge of the all the rigging. So you’re looking for a job you said? Why don’t you three help wheel those road cases out of the trucks and bring them to where they're supposed to go. They all have labels so it shouldn’t be so hard. And don’t you go exerting yourselves, you hear? If there’s something too heavy for you just let one of my guys take care of it. I don’t want any of you getting hurt on my watch.”

“Don’t worry, I think we can manage,” Rory assured him with a grin.

“Thank you for the help,” Arwen added politely.

“You’re welcome,” Murphy laughed. “Glad to have you kids coming along with us.”

Without further adieu Arwen, Rory and Luke set to work helping the riggers unload the trailers. Arwen quickly discovered that pretty much all of the utility cases were extremely heavy for her, but not wanting to appear weak or useless, she put her back into it and muscled the heavy cases down the ramps and into the warehouse.

Rory, who was clearly much stronger than Arwen, seemed to be having a grand old time slinging around the heavy utility cases. “We’re going to be ripped by the end of this tour,” he laughed as he passed Arwen with a waist-height utility case.

How is this guy so upbeat? she thought incredulously.

Some time later she stopped to catch her breath against the side of one of the trailers. Her muscles were burning from exertion. If only she knew how hard this would be on her body maybe she would have worked out in the weeks before her flight to Sydney.

As she rested against the trailer she spotted Luke rolling a large utility case down a ramp two trailers over. They hadn’t spoken since the setup began despite crossing paths numerous times. His hair looked damp from sweat much like Arwen suspected her own did but it seemed to take a lot less effort for him to move the case that it took her. He didn’t have the muscular build that Rory did, but he was still strong.

Julian wasn’t exaggerating when he said that being a roadie was a lot of hard work. It took them a total of eight hours to get the entire stage, lighting and sound, up and running. By the end of it all Arwen was utterly exhausted and her limbs were shaky from overexertion. She, Luke, and Rory worked non-stop helping Murphy and the other riggers build the stage.

Truthfully the setup was awful. Arwen constantly felt like she was getting in the way because she had no idea what she was doing. Murphy was kind and patient and gave her direction when she needed it or corrected her if she was doing something wrong, but some of the other crew members weren’t quite as kind or understanding. More than a few times she was shouldered out of the way or told not so nicely to move. She also overheard one of them mutter ‘newbie’ under his breath and had another laugh at her for holding a drill wrong. She wanted to turn around and snap “Well if I’m doing it wrong, why don’t you just show me the right way instead of laughing?” but instead she kept her head down and ignored him.

Needless to say she was incredibly relieved when they finally finished the set up at nine o’clock. Before they left Julian called the crew together so he could say a few words.

“Hey guys,” he began. “So great job today. I know that probably felt like it took forever, but once we get into the groove of setting up it’ll go a lot faster. By the end of the tour we’ll probably be able to get everything set up in under six hours. But overall great work today. Tomorrow we’ll meet back here and we’ll run through the tear-down, which hopefully won’t take as long as the set up. Okay, so you guys have a great night and get some sleep. See you all back here tomorrow, same time, same place.”

It was clear by the collective sighs of relief and groans of exhaustion that the crew was glad the day was finally over. Arwen couldn’t wait to get back to the hostel she was staying at so she could take a nice, hot shower and go to bed.

After Julian dismissed them for the night she planned on getting her things and leaving straight away to catch the bus, but as she was gathering up her backpack she heard Rory calling her name. She turned to see him making his way toward her in the crowd, waving enthusiastically and grinning like he always seemed to be doing.

“Arwen! Hey, wait up!” he called.

Her mind was sending up all sorts of warning signals. Warning! Warning! Do not engage! Over-enthusiastic humanoid shows signs of desire to become friends! Danger! Danger! Abort! Do not pass Go! Do not collect 200 dollars! Do not -

When Rory reached her he instantly began rapid firing words at her. “God I’m fucking exhausted! That rehearsal was the literal worst. I’m going to be sore all over tomorrow, I can feel it. I was thinking I’d go back to my flat and watch some movies or something until I feel tired, because I don’t feel tired right now and I need something to do until I feel tired, which gets me to my point of asking you if you wanted to come over to my flat and watch some movies with me. I was going to ask Luke if he wanted to come, too, but he bolted out of here as soon as the rehearsal was over and - ”

“Wait, Luke left?” Arwen interrupted.

Rory nodded. “Yeah, as soon as Julian said we were done he was out. Gone with the wind. Can’t say I blame him. I’m ready to get the hell out of here, too.”

Arwen looked back at the wall where she and Luke had left their backpacks. Sure enough his was gone. Oddly, she felt a pang of disappointment. She wondered why he left so quickly.

“So is it a yes?” Rory asked.

Arwen blinked at him in confusion. “Huh? Wait, is what a yes?”

“Coming to watch movies!” he exclaimed. “I’ve got this cool popcorn machine and everything and some super comfy beanbag chairs that we can sit in. There isn’t a couch because couches are expensive, but I promise they’re the comfiest beanbag chairs your butt will ever have the pleasure of sitting upon.”

“Thank you for the offer, really, but I think I’d like to get some rest,” Arwen rebuffed.

Rory’s face fell and his entire enthusiastic demeanor deflated like a popped beach ball. Arwen instantly felt guilty for saying no, but she was tired and didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about her willingness to become friends. However, he bounced back quickly and covered up his disappointment with a nonplussed shrug.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a lighthearted smile. “So, are you staying around here? I mean, you’re clearly American with the accent and all so I can only assume you flew in, right? I could give you a lift back to your hotel if you want.”

Arwen was exhausted and her feet hurt and the last thing she wanted to do was walk all the way back to the bus stop, but she didn’t want Rory to have go out of his way for her sake.

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Arwen told him.

Rory waved her off. “Please, it’s hardly any trouble. I don’t want to leave you stranded. C’mon, let’s get going. You can tell me where to go once we get to the car.”

Rory left no room for argument so Arwen decided to just go along with it despite her qualms about accepting the offer. What harm would one car ride do? It would get her back to the hostel faster anyway.

So she followed Rory outside to his car. It was a boxy black Volvo that looked like it had seen better days, but he had brightened it up wide array of stickers like ones that said “Chewie is my co-pilot” and “Guns don’t kill people, George R.R. Martin kills people” and another that said “You shall not pass!” paired with a tiny silhouette of Gandalf the Grey.

“Sorry for the mess,” Rory apologized as they climbed into the car. “Just throw the shit onto the floor.”

The seats and floor of his car were covered in CD’s, granola bar wrappers and empty water bottles. Arwen brushed a handful V8 cans and those gross health smoothie bottles onto the floor and moved another handful of CD’s into the pocket of the door.

“I keep telling myself that I’m going to clean it, but I never seem to get around to doing it,” Rory told her. “Soon I’m going to be buried up to my neck in garbage.”

“Maybe you should move it up on your list of priorities,” Arwen said with a laugh.

“Maybe,” he agreed, grinning.

He turned on the car and rolled down the windows. “Right, so where to?”

“I’m staying at the Blue Island hostel,” she told him. “It’s on Macleay Street.”

Rory looked over at her like she was insane. “You’re staying in a hostel?” he asked incredulously. “Dude, those places are fucking awful! I stayed in one when I went to Seoul and some douchepants stole my phone charger. Never did find out which one of them it was, but I can promise you that I will not be setting foot inside one of those places again if I can help it.”

Arwen couldn’t help but agree with his sentiments. Blue Island Hostel was loud and crowded with travelers and lacked any sort of privacy, but she was working with a tight budget and any other option was simply too expensive. Plus sleeping in a hotel room by herself was a no-go. At least with the hostel she could go to sleep with the comforting presence of other travelers asleep around her.

“It could be worse,” she suggested with a small shrug.

Rory shook his head. “No way am I going to let you stay in a hostel when I’ve got a perfectly comfortable air mattress up for grabs at my flat. We’ll stop by the hostel so you can grab your stuff, then you’re coming to stay with me. No arguments.”

“Rory, I can’t ask you to open up your place for me,” Arwen objected.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. And I won’t take no for an answer. Plus it’s free and meals are included, no charge. It’s the whole package,” he insisted.

Arwen didn’t have any problems with Rory. He may have been a tad bit too energetic and talkative and more enthusiastic than your average human being, but he was also friendly and welcoming and incredibly nice. She had no doubt that he was perfectly harmless. And yet he was still a stranger. And agreeing to stay in a stranger’s flat was just not a sensible thing to do.

Warning! Warning! Do not agree to stay in unfamiliar humanoid’s living space! It may take agreement as an extension of friendship! Beep boop!

“I’m sorry, Rory. I really do appreciate the offer, but I think I’m going to stay at the hostel.” Arwen did her best to sound grateful while still maintaining that she would not be swayed in her decision.

“Alright, if you say so,” he finally relented. “The offer stands if you change your - hey, is that Luke?”

They had just swung around the corner at Marlborough Street and sure enough there was Luke passing beneath the light of a street lamp. He was alone and walking quickly with his head bowed and his hands gripping the straps of his backpack.

Rory slowed the Volvo beside him and rolled down the window.

“Get in loser we’re going shopping!” Rory shouted.

Luke startled. His head snapped toward the sound of the voice, his eyes wide and frightened. Somehow he hadn’t heard the car pull up beside him. He must have been lost deep within his own thoughts.

“Uhm, I d-don’t really want to go sh-shopping,” he sputtered.

Rory laughed. “No, dude, it’s a quote. From Mean Girls. Haven’t you ever seen Mean Girls?”

Luke looked absolutely bewildered. “I, uhm, no I h-haven’t.”

“No kidding! Well I’ll add that to the list of super fun stuff we’re going to do on tour together,” Rory said.

Oh god. He already has a list, Arwen thought. Somehow this didn’t really surprise her.

“But seriously dude, hop in. I’ll give you a ride to wherever it is you’re headed,” Rory told Luke.

Luke began to sputter a reply, but Rory cut him off. “No arguments, string bean. I can’t leave a fellow bro out in the cold like this. It would totally break the bro code of conduct. C’mon, dude, get in. It’ll be faster than walking and I’ll even let you choose the tunes. That’s a once in a lifetime opportunity that can’t be passed up.”

For a moment Luke stood there with a conflicted expression, chewing at the corner of his bottom lip. Then, finally, he climbed into the Volvo. Rory let out a cheer of victory.

“Uhm, is it okay if I move this stuff?” Luke asked, unsure.

“Yeah, dude, of course!” Rory exclaimed. “Just throw it wherever.”

There was quite a racket as Luke pushed all the CD’s and litter over onto adjacent seat to make room for himself. Arwen thought the front seats were messy, but the back seats looked like a Whole Foods threw up on them.

“I kinda just throw stuff over my shoulder when I’m done with it,” Rory clarified. “But anyway where are you staying, string bean? If it’s in a hostel I have no choice but to insist that you come stay with me. I have a super comfy air mattress up for grabs.”

“Oh, uh, n-no that’s okay. I’m going to go home. I t-took the train in,” Luke struggled to explain.

“Where do you live? Is it far? I don’t mind taking you,” Rory asked.

“I live in, er, Riverstone. It’s not too far. Only an hour and a half on the train,” he told them.

“An hour and a half? That’s ages! Wouldn’t it be easier to just come and stay with me?” Rory asked incredulously.

“I-I’m sorry, but I think I want to sleep in m-my own bed, if that’s okay,” he stuttered apologetically.

Rory shrugged. “If you want to ride an hour and a half on the train that’s your business. I’ll drop you off at Wynyard Station first, then next stop will be the hostel, Arwen.”

And that’s what they did. Wynyard Station was a ten minute drive from The Soundstage and they drove the distance listening to loud punk music that Luke had chosen, Rory approved of, and Arwen was unfamiliar with. At a stoplight she glanced over her shoulder to see if Luke was enjoying his choice of music, but it looked like he was barely listening to the music at all. He was sitting rigidly in his seat with his arms wrapped tightly around his backpack. His face was expressionless and his eyes fixed blankly in his lap.

Arwen opened her mouth to say something to hopefully ease his discomfort, but she stopped herself. It was best to leave him alone and keep to herself. She clearly made him more uncomfortable anyway.

“Here you go, string bean. Wynyard Station,” Rory announced as they illegally double parked in front of the station entrance. “Have a safe journey home. We’ll see you tomorrow for more torture.”

Without responding, Luke started to climb out of the car. He didn’t seem like he heard Rory’s goodbye.  

“Bye, Luke,” Arwen called after him, hoping that he would hear her. She was at least allowed say goodbye to him, right?

He glanced around in confusion until he found Arwen looking back at him from the front seat. She smiled at him and offered him a wave in parting. He stared at her for a moment with disbelieving blue eyes before his gaze dropped and he flushed with embarrassment. “Bye,” he murmured.

With his backpack draped over one shoulder, he climbed out of the Volvo and gently shut the door behind him. As Rory began to pull away, Arwen turned her neck to watch him walk into the station. He ran a hand through his rumpled blond hair and stopped for a moment to look up at the nighttime sky.

As the car rounded the corner and he vanished from sight, Arwen found herself wondering what thoughts were running through his mind when he looked up at the stars.

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