#cthlftv

“I’m not in prison Calum,” Michael says rolling his eyes, but hits save and closes his laptop. With Calum around him in this mood there’s no way he’s going to get anything done.

“You might as well be, I haven’t seen you in days Mikey,” Calum says petulantly. “And Luke says you haven’t left the dorm apart from to eat since Monday.”

“Yeah because I’m busy, I’ve got 3 finals next week,” Michael says crossing his arms defensively. “And stop gossiping about me with Luke. I knew this would happen when he started dating Ashton.”

“I don’t gossip,” Calum says holding his hands up. “He’s just worried about you.”

Michael sniffs grumpily, “I’m fine, I’ve just got to get through these chapters tonight.”

“No you don’t,” Calum says cheerily, coming over to Michael and wheeling his chair away from his desk with him still on it. “I’m here on best friend duties to make you take a break.”

“Calum,” Michael says. “No I can’t.”

“Come on Mikey, I brought dinner,” He says, gesturing at the bag he left at the doorway. “The nice Thai you like. Let’s just go outside and eat it.”

“I’m not going outside Cal, it's November,” Michael said stubbornly.

“Yes you are, you’re not staying in this room a minute longer,” Calum says firmly. “Now stop being so grumpy, put your shoes on and let's go.” 

Michael sighs dramatically but he knows he’s not going to get anywhere protesting. When Calum is in this mood he can out-stubborn even Michael, so he reluctantly puts on the socks that bounced off his head 5 minutes ago. He gets up to pull on the hoodie Calum had also tossed at him, struggling to get his hands through the sleeves for a second before Calum, who had been watching him get ready, comes over with a laugh and gently unfurls them, sliding the cuffs over his wrists gently and brushing Michael’s hands with his thumbs slightly before pulling away. Michael blushes at the contact and tries not to think about why before stuffing his feet into his shoes and tying the laces. 

“Can I borrow this?” Michael hears Calum’s voice come over from his wardrobe, and looks up at him holding one of his hoodies. “I only brought my coat.”

Michael just nods silently as Calum smiles and pulls the hoodie over his head, deciding that the look of Calum in his clothes is something else that needs to be shut behind the door in his brain labelled “forbidden thoughts about your best friend”. Concerningly there’s quite a few behind there.

“Okay let’s go,” Calum breaks Michael out of his daze, coat on and bag in hand by the door.

Michael quickly pulls on his own jacket and joins Calum by the door. Calum positively beams at him, and throws his arm around Michael’s shoulders, pulling him closer and dropping a kiss on top of his head, before opening the door and tugging Michael out of his room.

They wander out of the building into the cold evening and over to the green space just opposite, Calum finds a bench under a tree and slings himself down, patting the space next to him.

Michael sits down whilst Calum pulls out various containers and hands him some plastic cutlery, and they eat for a while, Calum regaling him with stories of the football team and Michael complaining about the amount of work his professors have given him between bites of their food.

Calum pauses for a second during his latest rant about Ashton doing yoga and Buddhist chants in their dorm room and slides closer to Michael on the bench. 

“You’ve got a bit, hang on,” He reaches up and swipes his thumb softly across Michael’s lips, and Michael’s breath hitches as he looks into the deep brown of Calum’s eyes. There’s a pause, neither of them breathing, Calum looking like he’s trying to decide something as his eyes map Michael’s face. 

Calum bites his lip and smiles slightly, before leaning forward as if he can’t help himself and follows his thumb with a brush of his lips. He moves back for a second to meet Michael’s eyes, before sliding his hand up to the back of Michael’s head and tilting his face towards him to kiss Michael properly. Calum tastes like thai food and slightly of cigarettes and something so inherently Calum, Michael hums into his mouth and hooks his arms around Calum’s neck, the food forgotten beside them. They pull apart a few moments later, blushing and giggling slightly.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” Calum mumbles, reaching out and sweeping Michael’s fringe out of his eyes.

“Been wanting you to do that for a while,” Michael responds, stroking a thumb over Calum’s jean-clad knee. 

Calum grins at him, his whole face lighting up and eyes crinkling, and pulls Michael back towards him. They kiss for a while longer before Michael feels Calum shiver under his hands.

“I told you it was too cold,” Michael says with a smirk, a bit breathless.

“You might have been right,” Calum says, sneaking his hands up to Michael’s neck and pressing his ice-cold fingers underneath the collar of his hoodie.

“Calum, what the fuck!” Michael protests, trying to bat his hands away, but Calum just clutches tighter. “How about we go back inside?”

“Only if you promise not to work, you have to kiss me instead,” Calum says childishly, leaning in and nosing against Michael’s cheek.

Alex spins around, wooden spoon held up to his mouth in a crude approximation of a microphone, and sings as badly as he possibly can along to Vegas, which is what’s currently blaring through his speaker from his phone’s Spotify.

“It’s a banger!” he counters, holding out a hand to Jack. “Come dance!”

“I thought we were making dinner.”

“We are,” Alex says impatiently, “after you dance with me to our shitty old music, you bitch. Come on.”

Jack goes willingly, bowing low and exaggerated to Alex before sliding into a waltz with him that doesn’t work at all with the song. Not for lack of trying; they get through the whole bridge before Alex dissolves into giggles, footsteps jerking to a halt as he buries his laughter in Jack’s shoulder. Jack shakes his head, giggling himself.

“You’re the most insane person I’ve ever met,” he says, grinning. “Can we please get on with the food?”

Alex nods and picks his head up. “Pizza bagels and beer, baby!”

“Low risk, high reward,” Jack says, nodding in approval. “I like the way you think.”

“I know you do.” Alex kisses his cheek, and Jack blushes. “Bagels are on the counter. They need to be cut.”

“Damn, these are fresh,” Jack says, grabbing the plastic bag from the countertop. “Giant?”

“Obviously,” Alex says. “Who do you take me for?”

“An animal.” Jack retrieves a baking sheet from under the island. They’re not specifically for pizza bagels, but they’re not not for pizza bagels. So. It’s probably fine. He dumps the bagels out onto the sheet and they tumble into a haphazard pile. “Sesame? Poppy seed?”

“Felt adventurous,” Alex says with a shrug. He plucks the bread knife from the knife block and delicately passes it to Jack. “Get to work, slacker.”

“Can you have, like, an ounce of patience?” Jack says, taking the knife. “I’m wielding a sharp object.”

“That’s how I like you.” Alex wiggles his eyebrows. Jack snorts.

“Masochist.”

“Yeah,” Alex says agreeably, and slides in his socks across the linoleum to wrap Jack in a frankly dangerous hug that jostles him and nearly makes him lose his grip on the knife. “You fucking knew that, you weirdo.”

“Be careful, Jesus Christ, I am holding a knife,” Jack huffs, rolling his eyes. Alex just buries his chin in Jack’s shoulder, so Jack picks up a bagel and sets to cutting them in half. It’s not hard, and kind of nice to do with Alex’s arms around his waist, swaying them gently to the rhythm of Dancing With A Wolf and then Guts.

“Did you shuffle our entire discography?”

Alex nods, prodding Jack with his chin. “What can I say, we’ve made some hits.”

“You are so full of yourself.”

“You’re in the band too. I have a crush on the lead guitarist.”

“You’re probably thinking of the bassist. He’s a cutie.”

Alex hums. “You’re right. I probably am.”

“Hey, fuck you!”

Alex laughs openly, leaving a sloppy kiss against Jack’s neck before finally detaching himself. “I’m gonna get the other shit out, get some of these started.”

Jack finishes cutting the last bagel as Alex slides a jar of tomato sauce and a bag of pre-shredded mozzarella onto the island. “Shouldn’t we put, like, parchment paper on the trays?”

“We’re out,” Alex informs him. “I checked already.”

“Was that before or after you went to the grocery store?” Jack asks dryly.

Alex ignores him. “It’s fine. As long as we soak them after —”

“Dibs not doing the dishes!”

“You’re a child, but okay,” Alex says, shaking his head and smiling. “Just set them up.” As Jack follows his instructions, Alex grabs a spoon from the silverware drawer, twists the top off the tomato sauce, and begins to spread the sauce across the bagels. Guts ends and Thanks To You starts up. Jack laughs. Sometimes he forgets how much music they’ve made. 

“God, we have a lot of songs,” he says.

Alex nods. “Some better than others.”

“I don’t know,” Jack says thoughtfully. “Come One, Come All is really growing on me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Alex says. “Put cheese on these bagels and not another word about that song.”

Jack laughs and sends a small prayer/telepathic message to the Spotify gods to play that song next, just for irony’s sake. He gets moving sprinkling cheese with a heavy hand over the sauced-up bagels. It’s kind of nice to just stand side-by-side with Alex, elbows brushing every few seconds, listening to their old music and making dinner in tandem. It’s not, like, a gourmet meal by any measure, but they’re not gourmet-meal people anyway. 

The oven beeps at 350 degrees, and Jack finishes sprinkling the last of the cheese on the last bagel just as the song ends. Walls starts up, and Jack looks up, catching Alex’s face as it breaks into a bashful smile. 

“You’re a sap,” Jack points out, although when he turns to put the trays in the oven he feels himself smiling too, a mirror image of Alex. “Big fucking sap. You’re just sap poured into a human mold.” 

“Don’t be gross,” Alex insists. “It’s cute. I’m cute. We’re cute.”

“Sap,” Jack says again, closing the oven. “How long?”

“Ten minutes.” Alex comes up behind Jack once again, trailing his fingers up Jack’s arm while he sets the timer, which is sufficiently distracting. More distracting, though, is Alex grabbing hold of Jack’s hand and using it to spin him around until they’re face to face, steadying themselves just in front of the oven.

“Hot oven,” Jack feels obliged to remind Alex.

“No sense of adventure,” Alex counters coolly, and chases Jack’s lips for a kiss. Jack leans into it, slightly stressed that letting Alex push will back him up against the oven, and, okay, sue him, he doesn’t want his back flush against a hot oven.

“Are you trying to seduce me to death?” Jack says when he leans away. “Did you not hear me say hot oven?”

Alex rolls his eyes and takes an exaggerated step back, heel bumping against the baseboard of the island. He tugs and Jack follows, bracing himself with an arm on either side of Alex. “Happy?”

“Very,” Jack says, self-satisfied, and this time kisses Alex, slow and easy. Alex hums, fingers dancing around the hem of Jack’s shirt, skimming his waist, hooking on his jeans. After a moment, Jack pulls back, I wanna fall so in love with you echoing around the kitchen. He wrinkles his nose.

“Did you eat the tomato sauce?”

Maybe,” Alex says. 

Jack considers this. “If I ate some of the cheese, do you think kissing would taste like pizza, or…?”