#daywaves

The stars were on full display, twinkling in the darkness. It was the last night of his vacation. In the morning, he would have to leave for a far away country for the start of tour. Of course, Calum wanted to stay with you, but that wasn’t in the job description.

It was silent between the two of you, even though he had a million words he still wanted to say to you. Calum was never good with words in person. Sure, he could write them down in the privacy of his bedroom at three o’clock in the morning. But when he was face to face with you, they always got stuck on his tongue, drowning in his throat.

Instead, he settled for squeezing your hand, hoping that the action would speak louder than the words that he wanted to say. He watched as you turned your head, your eyes finding his in the darkness. He watched as you took a deep breath, your tongue darting out to wet your chapped lips. For a moment, he thought you were going to speak, but you remained silent.

Sometimes, Calum thought, words weren’t needed to complete a moment. All he needed was to be alone with you, away from all the lights and cameras, the screaming fans that seemed to show up everywhere. Not that he hated meeting the people who supported him, but sometimes it was draining. Draining to always have to keep up with everything – with being the celebrity everyone knew and loved.

When Calum was with you, he was himself. He didn’t have to lie, or pretend to be someone he wasn’t. Things with you were easy. He was just a teenager from Sydney, not the rockstar that played for crowds of a few thousand people. He loved that life, but he also valued the small, quiet moments when he was off.

They mostly consisted of you. Which had surprised him, to say the least. You had gone to high school together. He remembered you as the person that sat behind him in his science class, always smiling at him when he entered the room. You were one of the people that always believed in him from the start.

He had always admired you for that. That was why when he returned home for break and saw you at the grocery store, he knew it was meant to be – as cliché as that sounded. You felt like home, and he hadn’t been home in forever.

He had taken you surfing, and alternatively, you had taken him to a drive-in movie theater. It rotated between the two of you, filling Calum’s time off with small adventures. It was all Calum needed to keep going.

It was only until the last week of his break that he realized what he had done. He knew he would have to leave you behind, to travel the world and cater to his fans, spreading the joy of live music. It was somewhere that you couldn’t follow. You had your own life without Calum, though you had been apart of his for the past three months.

And what had once kept him going, looking forward to each day, had started to make him sad. He wanted to keep seeing you, but he knew the more he did, the more let down you would be when he had to leave. It struck his heart whenever you looked at him with bright eyes, pulling him along onto the next adventure.

The sun was setting in your eyes, and Calum knew it would be the last time he saw the sun in your eyes for at least another few months, maybe even closer to a year. And he knew, by morning, he’d be gone. You had led him to the beach just as the sun was setting, planting yourself among the sand to watch the sky catch fire.

You both had remained until the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, the oranges and reds fading into the twilight blue until all the light drained out of the sky, revealing the stars.

“So you leave tomorrow?” You asked, finally breaking the silence between the two of you. Calum had been dreading the question, even if he knew you knew he was leaving. He thought, maybe if you didn’t ask, maybe it would make it less painful – leaving.

He took a deep breath, avoiding your wandering gaze. He held it for a moment, his eyes looking for the horizon, but he couldn’t find it in the darkness. All he could make out were the white tips of the waves crashing towards the shore.

He finally let the air out, his lungs deflating much like his mood. “Yeah,” he answered. “I leave in the morning.”

You nodded solemnly, turning to look out at the crashing waves like Calum had. “So where does that leave us?” You asked. Your fingers were still loose in his, resting on his denim-clad thigh.

Calum licked his lips. He didn’t know where that left the both of you. He knew he wanted more. He knew he wanted to be able to hold you in his arms, and call you his. But with so much distance going to be put between you, he didn’t know if he could manage it – manage how much he had fallen in love in such a short amount of time, and how much he wouldn’t be able to be next to you whenever he wanted.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. He glanced at your out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to gauge your reaction, but there really wasn’t one. Your face remained stoic. “I want –” Calum started, but broke off, the words once again dying before they could sneak past his teeth.

His jaw clenched, the muscle bulging out of frustration. He shook his head silently, letting his hand slip from yours.

“What do you want?” You asked silently, your voice strong, as if he hadn’t disconnected himself from you.

Calum pulled his legs up, letting his arms brace against his knees. He picked at a loose thread in the dark denim of his jeans. What did he want? He knew the answer was simple, but getting it out in the air seemed to be a trying feat.

“Calum,” you coaxed after he remained silent for a few moments. His dark eyes flashed to yours, the stars reflected in his gaze. “What do you want?” You asked again.

Your voice was just a whisper in the wind, soft and the ocean breeze that swirled over the waves. Calum still stayed silent, his eyes searching your face. It was outlined by the soft moonlight. He could have sworn you looked just like an angel in disguise. He just didn’t know if he was ready to sin.

“You,” the word left his lips before he even realized he said it. He felt his breath leave his chest, swallowing hard but he couldn’t swallow the word that was already out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put this on you the night before I –” Calum was cut off.

You had turned, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him back against the sand. Your knee slipped between his legs as you hovered over him. Your hair fell around your face, the ends of it brushing against his chest. “Calum,” you said again. “Stop talking.”

His eyebrows drew together, a wrinkle of confusion forming in between. His lips parted to ask what you meant, but they were silenced by your own. Calum’s lips separated, a gasp escaping them. He hesitated for a moment before his hands were burying themselves in your hair, pulling you closer to him.

He knew that he should probably stop, that it would only leave the two of you only wanting more when he knew that he wouldn’t see you again for a couple months. This was only going to make it harder to say goodbye. But for the moment, Calum threw all caution to the wind, moving his lips against you with fierce fervor.

He could feel the smile on your lips, your fingers tugging on the short strands of his hair, your legs pressing against his. He was hyperaware of you. You pulled back, one of your hands coming around to cup his cheek. Your thumb washed over the two moles that dotted his cheek. You then traced the bottom line of his lower lip, feeling his mouth pull into a small smile under your fingers.

“I want you too,” you murmured.

Calum’s smile slowly vanished. “I can’t be here for you,” he said, watching as you laid your head against his chest, your cheek resting against the plane of his chest just below his collarbone. His hands came up to your hair again. “I’m going to be away for most of the year. I don’t want you to be stuck waiting here for me when I can’t return when you’re missing me.”

You moved your head, resting your chin on his chest so you could still see his eyes. The dark brown of his iris was now almost black in the darkness.

“I don’t care,” you returned. You knew that Calum was just being cautious. Guarding his feelings for you, so he wouldn’t get hurt and your heart wouldn’t break. “We can make this work.”

Calum’s hand slid to your cheek, cupping it as you moved into his touch. “You deserve someone better. Someone that can be there for you whenever,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering from yours. He didn’t want things between you and him to decline because the miles between the two of you had increased.

“Don’t say that again,” you warned, poking his chest for good measure. “I don’t deserve anyone else but you. I don’t want anyone else but you. We can make this work. But only if you’re willing,” you continued.

Calum was silent for a moment, searching your eyes as if the answer was hidden somewhere within them.

What made it all worse, was that your boyfriend, Michael, hadn’t returned home from work yet. You worried even more knowing that he would probably have to drive home through the thick sheets of rain, squinting through the rain dotted window shield.

 You bit the inside of your lip, hoping that the metallic taste of blood didn’t taint your tongue. You continued your rounds to all the windows in your home, making sure they were closed and latched, the curtains pulled together to try and minimized the flash of the lightning.

 Just as you pulled your bedroom window down, a loud clap of thunder rumbled through the sky, shortly followed by a bright strike of lightning. It shook you to your core, bringing goose bumps to your skin. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, racking against your ribs much like the thunder outside.

 You quickly drew the curtains shut before another lightning strike came. Despite all your efforts, your bedroom still brightened ever so slightly every time the lightning flashed. You dove onto your bed, situating yourself under the covers, pulling them tight underneath your chin.

 Your fingers found the headphones that you kept on your nightstand table, quickly plugging them into your phone to hopefully drown out the sounds of the thunder. As you inserted the buds into your ears, the rain had started. It beat wildly against your window, the drops streaming down the pane as if the sky were crying.

 But these were anything but silent tears.

 Your mother had always told you that the angels were bowling when thunder resounded through the sky. And the flashes of lightning were their strikes. You had never believed her, nor did it ever seem to ease your anxiety of the temperamental weather.

 You quickly picked a song, turning up the volume. Though you could still hear the deafening cracks of thunder and lightning. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that the storm would pass, and that your boyfriend made it through unscathed.

 Ironically enough, the song had ended, only for Angel With A Shotgun by The Cab to come on. Maybe the angels weren’t bowling, maybe they were shooting guns. But you hardly believed that either.

 You pulled the covers down over your head, hoping that the thick layer of the blankets would keep the flashes of lightning out. You wished that you could fall asleep, but you knew sleep would evade you until the thunder, lightning and rain died out.

 You wished that Michael were by your side, whispering sweet nothings into your ears instead of blaring angry music that would probably damage your eardrums. But when you felt the blanket being pulled back you couldn’t help but scream, the sound punctuated with a bright flash of lightning.

 “It’s just me!” Michael exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender. Your headphones had been torn out as you startled, turning to find what had disturbed you. But it was only your boyfriend.

 His clothes were soaked through from the heavy rain, his black hair plastered to his forehead. But yet, in the darkness, his eyes were bright as the first rays of sunshine on a spring day.

 You shuttered as another rumble of thunder shook the house. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Michael cooed, letting his hands drop to his sides.

 “I don’t care,” you said. You were just glad he was safe and sound inside your house. “Just hold me, please.” You knew he knew how much you hated storms. It was a rare occasion that you had to endure them by yourself.

 Michael’s gaze softened as he unbuckled his belt and undid his zipper. He pushed the wet denim down his legs, kicking them off into a wet mess on the hardwood. You didn’t care; you’d get them when the storm was over. He pulled his tee shirt off by the nape of his neck, the action mussing up his damp hair even more.

 That left him in his boxers, but he didn’t dare get dressed because he knew you needed him, and now. You lifted the covers for him to crawl beneath them, pulling you into his arms when he was settled.

 You instantly felt safer inside, wrapped up in his arms. Your cheek rested against his bare chest, his skin still cool from the rain that had soaked his clothes. But beneath that, you could hear and feel his heart thumping against your cheek. It was your own personal claps of thunder, but these beats were the only thunder you ever wanted to hear.

 Michael’s fingers found your hair, slowly combing them through the strands. “I’m glad you made it home safe,” you murmured, your eyes drifting shut as your finger traced his collarbone.

 You felt Michael’s lips press against your forehead, letting them linger for a moment. “I’m glad you’re okay, too,” Michael replied. “I know how much you hate storms. When I heard the thunder, I knew I had to get back to you.”

 A low rumble of thunder filled the silence between you, Michael pulling you tighter against him. You breathed deeply, listening to Michael hum lowly in your ear that you were okay – that when you were with him, nothing could touch you. He was your warmth, your safety, and your umbrella when the rain wouldn’t cease.

 But even when the thunder died down, and the sky remained dark, Michael’s fingers didn’t stop moving through your hair, the pads of his fingers occasionally brushing against the skin of your temple. He knew you were tired. He knew you wanted nothing more to sleep, but the sound of rain wasn’t soothing to you as it was to others.

 That’s when his voice rang out in the darkness. It was a very rare occasion that Michael sang to you, especially after a long day of working in the studio after he had sang line after line for his own album. But yet, his voice was low as he sang a simple lullaby.

You stepped out of the vehicle, shutting the door behind you as your mother rounded the car towards the truck. Your dad would have been here to see you off, but he had to work. You were slightly upset, seeing as you wouldn’t be seeing him for a long three months, but you could always video chat him whenever you wanted.

  “I’m going to miss you so much, honey,” your mother cooed as you entered the busy airport. It was only now that the nerves were starting to sink in. You were going to be basically on your own for three months. This would be the first time that you’d spend an extended amount of time away from your parents. But you wanted this, and you weren’t going to back out.

 “I’m going to miss you, too, mom,” you turned to her, propping your suitcase up and pulling her into a hug. She squeezed you tight, her face buried into your neck. You stayed embraced for a few more seconds before you parted to go through security.

 This was where you had to separate, since your mom didn’t have a ticket and wasn’t going on the flight. She hugged you close again, kissing you on the cheek and then bidding you adieu. You waited in one of the stiff-backed chairs, your headphones drowning out the outside world. Though, you were sure not to miss your plane.

 And once your flight was called, you made your way to the gate, following the stream of people and onto the plane. You quickly found your seat, shoving your carry on in the space above your designated set of seats. You looked out the window, though you didn’t have the window seat, searching the runway outside of the plane.

 Your music flooded through your ears, silencing the strangers that were finding their seats around you. That’s when you felt the tap on your shoulder. You looked to where the touch came from and almost lost your breath when you set sight on a boy looking at you expectantly.

 His eyebrows were raised, his golden hazel eyes sparkling with question. You blinked once before you realized that he had probably said something to you. You yanked the headphones out of your ears, “what?”

 “That’s my seat,” he pointed to the one closest to the window.

 “Oh,” you muttered. “Sorry.” You stood so you could let the boy pass, secretly ecstatic that you would be sitting next to a Greek god all the way to California.

 “It’s okay,” the boy said as he stepped pass you, sitting down swiftly in his designated seat. “First flight? You look kinda nervous,” he asked, his eyes glancing to yours as you sat down again.

 You nodded. “Is it that obvious?” You laughed, trying to suppress the blush that wanted to warm your cheeks.

 The boy chuckled, swiping his curls out of his eyes. “Just a bit,” he shrugged. He then held his hand out for you to shake. “The name’s Ashton.”

 You took his hand, shaking it slightly as you introduced yourself. You stayed silent for a while as the rest of the passengers found their seats, an older gentleman sitting down on the other side of you. He didn’t care to offer you a smile or even a nod of acknowledgement.

 And before you knew it, the flight attendants were giving a little speech and then you were putting on your seatbelts. It was a few minutes before you felt the plane move beneath you, your heart dropping into your throat. You tried to convince yourself earlier that you wouldn’t be scared about taking off, but you couldn’t like to yourself.

 You gripped the armrest, your fingers turning a ghostly wipe from the vice grip you had. You tried to take deep breaths, watching as the surroundings outside the window moved as you lined up with the runway.

 You almost started when you felt someone grab hold of your hand – but it was just Ashton. You glanced down to your hand, seeing that he had pried your fingers from the armrest to hold them between his own. You glanced up at him then, raising a brow in question.

 “Holding hands helps,” he smiled, dimples poking deep into his cheeks. You returned his smile, though it didn’t do much to ease the queasy feeling plaguing the pit of your stomach. “So what are you headed to California for?” He asked, trying to keep your attention.

 You swallowed hard. “Just a vacation. Staying with my aunt and uncle, though,” you explained. “What about you?” You asked, looking to him for answers.

 He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze as you both felt the plane speed up. “I want to be a musician,” he grinned, a twinkle in his eye. Just from that one sentence, you could see how passionate about what he did already. “I’m gonna try and make it big.”

 “What do you play?” You asked, trying to keep your mind off of what was going on around you.

 “Drums, mainly,” Ashton rambled on. “But I can play loads of other instruments. I sing a little bit, too,” he smiled at you. He gripped your hand tighter as you both felt the plane lift off, rising higher in the sky with each passing second. You felt yourself let out a deep breath at the same time your ears popped. “See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” He asked, letting go of your hand.

 You shook your head. It wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be. You were lucky that you were sitting next to someone as nice and friendly as Ashton. If you weren’t, you probably would have been freaking out a little bit more.

 You glanced at Ashton out of the corner of your eye, trying to make it as if you weren’t watching his every move. He was unfurling his headphones, inserting each of the buds into his ears before scrolling on his phone to find what song he wanted to listen to.

 You took that as your cue to do the same, placing the buds in your ears and grabbing the book you had brought along for the ride. You flipped through the pages, finally finding the one that you had folded the corner down. You smoothed out the crease in the page and picked up where you had left off.

 It felt like you had been reading for hours when you started to get drowsy. Your eyelids felt like they weighed more than you did – you could barely keep them open. You marked your page again, slipping the book into the pocket on the seat in front of you.

 You sat back, your head resting against the headrest. You wished that you had paid a little more on a ticket so you would at least have a semi comfortable seat. But you wanted to be cheap so you could spend more in California when you got there. You let your eyes ease shut, your music lulling you to sleep with the small jostling of the plane.

 When you finally woke up, it took you a while. You were comfortable, which surprised you, seeing as the seats were stiff when you were trying to fall asleep. But when you realized your music wasn’t playing anymore, your eyes popped open, only to find that your phone and headphones were wrapped together, stuck in the pocket beside your book. That, and your head wasn’t on the headrest anymore.

 Instead, it was cushioned on Ashton’s shoulder, a small spot of drool dotting his grey shirt.

 You sat up quickly, pushing your hair out of your eyes. “I am so sorry,” you apologized hastily, finding Ashton’s eyes. “You should have woken me and told me to get off of you.”

 But Ashton only shrugged. “Its alright,” he assured you. “Sleeping makes the flight go fast. We’re almost there,” he informed you. “Plus, it was kinda cute.”

 This time, your blush made an appearance, tinting your cheeks red with a warm heat. “Did you take my headphones out?” You asked curiously.

 Ashton nodded. “They fell out when your head met my shoulder. I turned off your music and stuck them in there. I hope that’s okay,” he said, taking his own headphones out seeing as you wanted to talk so much.

 You nodded, “yeah, that’s okay.”

 For the rest of the flight, you and Ashton had talked about anything and everything. You talked about your high school experiences, what made you choose to go to California after all this time, and how Ashton planned on getting a record deal. You knew it was a far-fetched plan, especially since Ashton just planned on busking in front of label record’s buildings.

 You were sure there were other aspiring musicians that planned on doing the exact same thing as him. But you kept your mouth shut. You weren’t going to be the one to crush his dreams – you were never that kind of person.

 Ashton held your hand again when you landed, though this time around you weren’t nearly as nervous as you were for take off. And then you were getting off the plane, grabbing your carry on and filing out of the plane behind the other passengers. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach that you’d never see Ashton again.

 He was your only friend here in California besides your aunt and uncle, but that was different. Ashton was your age, you had some of the same interests, and not to mention, he was nice to look at. You knew he was right behind you, following you to the baggage claim.

 But when you looked back, he was gone. You waited for your suitcase, grabbing it from the conveyor belt and went to find your aunt and uncle who were here to pick you up. But as you started towards the exit, your phone rang from your pocket. You answered it, only to find that your aunt and uncle were running a little late and that they’d only be there in about an hour.

 You sighed, and hung up. You decided to find some food. You waited in line at Subway, ordering a six-inch before finding a table to eat at. You bit into your sandwich, savoring the taste just as someone touched your shoulder. You looked to see whom it was, only to find Ashton smiling down at you.

 “I think that’s my seat,” he grinned, pointing to the seat beside you.

 You couldn’t help but laugh as you swallowed what was in your mouth. “Oh,” you smiled along with him. “I’m sorry.”

 Ashton shook his head affectionately, dimples poking into his cheeks as he took the seat beside you, dumping his luggage beside him. It was then that you noticed the guitar case that he had been lugging on his shoulder. “Did you really think I was going to leave here without saying goodbye?” He asked. You opened your mouth to speak but he continued. “Or without someway to contact you again?”

 “Are you asking for my number?” You questioned, a smile pulling across your lips.

 Ashton chuckled softly. “Maybe,” he shrugged. “But my number may or may not be in your phone already. All you need to do is text me when you want.” You blanched, but Ashton was already standing up, collecting his luggage and winking at you as he made his way out of the food court.

 You grabbed your phone, scrolling through your contacts until you came across his. Ashton Irwin (plane buddy). You smiled at your phone, tapping the new message to him.

 “Did you really think you were going to leave here without a hug?”

 You looked to Ashton, who was almost out of the airport when he stopped and fished his phone out of his pocket. He read the message quickly, and once he did he turned, meeting your eye. He shook his head, and continued walking.

 You felt the disappointment sink into your skin, but your phone vibrated in your hand, Ashton’s name printed across the screen.

 “Save it for a later date. Can’t wait to see you again.”

He pushed the door open to the corner store, walking up to the counter. “Pack of Camel Menthols, please,” Luke said, pointing to the wall of cigarettes behind the cashier. The cashier retrieved one of the packs and tossed it onto the counter, ringing it up and then telling Luke the price.

 He fished the money out of his guitar case, handing it over and then collecting the change. He tucked the cigarettes away into the pocket of his hoodie and then he was back out on the streets on his way to meet Calum and his girlfriend.

 He remembered the first time he had met her. It was the first time that Calum had performed in front of a crowd. She had ran and hugged him after he was done, whispering something into his ear. He had never seen his roommate close with someone as close as he was with her.

 She had cracked him open and completed the parts of him that were missing. Somewhere deep down inside, Luke wished that he could find someone like her – someone to complete the pieces of him that he didn’t know where absent. Though, he did know that he didn’t need someone else to be happy.

 Luke spotted the café up ahead, people coming and going from the busy shop. He waited as a stream of girls fled from the coffee house, Luke grabbing the door once they were gone and stepping inside. His eyes quickly scanned the maze of tables, finding Calum and his girlfriend seated near the back.

 He quickly maneuvered his way through the crowd, shrugging off his guitar case when he got to the table. “Here,” he said, digging the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and tossing them to Calum. His best friend easily caught the pack.

 “Thanks,” he murmured, tearing the cellophane off of the box in one swift motion. “I’ll be back soon.” He adjusted the beanie that was smothering his naturally curly hair before stalking off towards the exit.

 “Still haven’t convinced him to quit?” Luke asked as he sat down.

 She shook her head solemnly. “He’s cut back to one pack a day,” she informed. “My goal is to get him to half a pack and then wean him off.” She said, peeling her eyes away from her boyfriend and to Luke. “How was the busking?”

 Luke shrugged his shoulders, but the girl popped into his head again - her smile, the dimples poking into her chubby cheeks when she laughed. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t forget her. And he was slightly happy that he’d get to see her again tomorrow night.

 “What’s up?” She asked, narrowing her eyes. Luke glanced at her, but shook his head. “No, there’s something going on. You’re unusually quiet,” she said, leaning forward onto her elbows, his chin cradled on her fingers threaded together in a makeshift tent.

 Luke shook his head again, but her pressuring stare lingered. He sighed, rubbing at his temple. “There was a girl,” he revealed, watching as her eyes lit up at the small bit of information she managed to weasel out of him. “She approached me after my set and, I don’t know,” he said, rubbing at the back of his head. “There was just something about her. She wasn’t like the usual kind of girl that approached me. She wasn’t interested in me – as a face – but instead me, as a musician.”

 “That’s great!” She exclaimed, a broad smile stretching across her lips as she pushed at his arm slightly.

 “What’s great?” Calum asked, taking up his seat beside his girlfriend again. He had finished his cigarette, the end of his nose and cheeks were tinted with a light blush from the plummeting temperature outside. His dark eyes settled on Luke and then to his girlfriend in question.

 “Luke’s got a crush,” she grinned, crossing her arms over her chest with a raised eyebrow. Calum mirrored her facial movements, sending the blonde a curious look.

 “I don’t have a crush,” Luke defended himself with a scoff. “She just made a good impression on me. You’ll get to meet her tomorrow night if she shows up. I told her I was going to be playing here.”

 “Finally some estrogen to drown out this testosterone filled group,” Calum’s girlfriend grinned. “I have high hopes for this girl.”

 But her words were only a muffled echo in his head as he glanced towards the door. He thought he had imagined it, her walking through the door. But it really was her, the girl from his set, walking through the door of the coffee shop. She was with a friend, making their way towards the counter to order.

 “Are you in there, Luke?” Calum asked, waving a tattooed hand in front of his best friend’s eyes.

 “It’s her,” he murmured, focusing back on his friends. “It’s the girl from earlier,” he pointed out, watching as she and her friend joined the end of the line.

 “Oh my god,” Calum’s girlfriend smiled; following the direction that Luke was pointing. “This sounds like me and Calum! How I had seen him on the streets and then he ended up here! You have to go talk to her, now’s your chance.”

 Luke looked to Calum, but his best friend was nodding. “I’m with her, dude. It’s fate,” he smirked. “Go talk to her before it’s too late.”

 Luke sighed, though he really wasn’t being pressured into anything. He wanted to talk to her, he wanted to know her name and what she went to school for. Luke stood but didn’t realize how fast the line was moving and the girls had already received their drinks and were making their way towards the exit.

 “Well,” Calum’s girlfriend spoke up, watching as the girls took to the outside world. “At least you have tomorrow night to see her again.” Calum looked at her quizzically and she quickly filled him in with what Luke had told her.

 “Sounds like you’re in deep already,” Calum mused, leaning back in his chair. “What did this girl do?”

You grabbed your broom as you clicked your music on. The sound filled your small studio apartment, Patrick Stump’s voice ringing out. You sang along, admittedly not as well as the singer, but nonetheless, you belted out the lyrics using the handle of your broom as a makeshift microphone.

 You twirled about your apartment, still sweeping as you went between your eccentric dance moves. Once you had made it all the way around your apartment, you fished the dustpan from underneath the sink, sweeping up the mess you had collected as the music drifted into an old Oasis song.

 You had grown up with the band, being it one of your father’s favorites. The lyrics were still engrained in your brain as if you had only learned them yesterday. You placed the broom back in your cleaning closet, taking out the Swiffer mop your mother had gifted to you as a moving out present.

 It wasn’t much, but you quickly found it to be a lifesaver when it came to cleaning. You maneuvered it over your floors, making sure nothing went un-cleaned. It was in the middle of your vacuuming your sofa cushions free of any pet hair your dog shed that the knock came on your door.

 You quickly shut off the vacuum, rushing to silence the Blink 182 song that was drifting out of your Bluetooth radio. You glanced at yourself in the mirror as you clicked the music off, grimacing slightly. You hadn’t paid any attention to your appearance today, seeing as it was going to be dedicated to tidying up your apartment.

 Your hair was haphazardly thrown into a messy bun on the top of your head, accented with many fly away’s that had managed to escape the hair tie. Your face was free of any makeup, and your outfit consisted of a pair of plaid boxers that you had bought from the thrift store and an old band tee that had too many holes for its own good.

 But nonetheless, you didn’t want to keep your visitor waiting. That, and you were curious to find out who was at your door, seeing as you weren’t expecting any body. You pushed some of the stray hairs out of your face as you padded towards the door, sliding the lock open and then opening the door.

 You were surprised to find your next-door neighbor standing in the doorway. His hand was rubbing at the back of his neck, his green eyes cast upwards towards the ceiling, but immediately flashed to you upon opening the door.

 “Michael?” You questioned. Though he was your next-door neighbor, you only saw him mostly in passing. You weren’t really friends, but you sometimes had to return his mail that got stuck in your slot instead of his. It was more often than not that you heard him come home drunk, belting Queen lyrics at four o’clock in the morning or staying up all night playing video games and cursing when he died.

 Despite all that, you never thought you’d find him standing on your doorstep.

 “Y/n, hi,” Michael said, chuckling nervously. He let his hand drop from behind his neck, tucking it into the front pocket of his skinny jeans.

 “Did you need to borrow another roll of toilet paper again?” You asked. He had only asked once before, promising to pay you back, but you gave it to him on the terms that he didn’t need to pay you back. He had been embarrassed, but you were sure he would do it for you, too. That’s what neighbors did for each other – especially when they were a little more than slightly attractive.

 Michael’s eyes widened, blinking them twice before shaking his head. “No,” he laughed again. “I have plenty of toilet paper. I’m not letting that happen ever again.”

 “Okay,” you said, trying to hold back your own laugh, curling your lips into your mouth. “Then what did you need?” You inquired. You didn’t know what else he would need if it wasn’t toilet paper, or some other sanitary product.

 Michael shifted his weight, his hand pulling something out of the pocket. He handed you the slip of paper. “This may sound really weird, but you know how the walls are really thin?” He asked. You nodded, looking down to the piece of paper he had handed you. It was a concert ticket.

 You nodded, unsure of where he was taking this.

 “Well,” he said, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck again. “I always hear you playing music and we have similar taste in music. And I had these tickets for this festival, but my friend flaked on me so now I have an extra one, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with.”

 His teeth captured his lip as if it were a question mark to his question. You looked down to the ticket again, realizing that you had wanted to go in the first place, but the ticket price was just too high for you to afford.

 “I can’t afford it, Michael,” you said, holding the ticket out for him to take back. “But thanks for the offer.”

 But Michael only took a step back, holding his hands up as if you were trying to hand him a live grenade. “Don’t worry about the price,” Michael told you. “Consider it even for the roll of toilet paper I borrowed,” he told you as he started towards his apartment.

 “That doesn’t even compare!” You called, stepping out into the hallway to see Michael with his hand resting on his own apartment door just a few feet away.

 “You’re going,” Michael urged, a light smile on his face and a sparkle in his eye. “You can make up for it later if you really want,” he smirked.

“Hi,” he greeted, uncrossing his legs and standing up. He greeted her with a hug, pulling her close to him and giving her a light squeeze. “Are you ready to go?” He asked as he pulled back.

 She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear as Michael led the way. It wasn’t a far walk until they reached their destination, which just happened to be one of the smallest diners in town, but she didn’t mind.

 “I didn’t want to do anything too fancy,” Michael chuckled as they slid into the booth.

 “It’s okay,” she said, laughing lightly. “I don’t mind. I like it, actually.” The hostess took their drink orders and then slid menu’s in front of them and then left to get their beverages.

 Their lunch was going quite well. Michael had gotten some kind of sandwich and she just stayed safe with fettuccine alfredo. They had talked for a while, asking how each other’s business’ were going. Michael talked about what tattoos he did recently and she talked about the most recent bouquets she had put together.

 “So,” Michael started, setting down his sandwich, yet he wasn’t done eating. “I have to be honest, I did ask you here for a reason.”

 She wiped at her lips with a napkin, raising an eyebrow at Michael. “What do you mean?” She asked. She thought they were into each other; they even kissed the night before. Unless Michael kissed everyone he was a friend with, but she highly doubted that.

 “I want to ask a favor of sorts,” Michael replied. “But only if you’re okay with it.” His tattooed fingers were skimming the edge of his water glass, only to move to fiddle with the straw poking out of the cup.

 “Okay,” she said slowly, dragging out the end of the word. She adjusted herself, sitting up higher to hear his favor. She couldn’t ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach, even though she was sure it wasn’t going to be anything bad. “What is it?”

 Michael abandoned the straw in favor of leaning forward on his elbows. “I’ve been working on this painting, but I just can’t seem to visualize it right for some reason and I need a model,” Michael started. “I was wondering if you’d volunteer to do it.”

 She felt herself breath a sigh of relief. “I’ll do it,” she told him. She had never modeled for anyone before and she thought it would be fun.

 “But,” Michael almost stopped her. He licked his lips, pausing for dramatic effect. “It’s going to be nude.”

 “Oh,” she muttered. There was the catch and the reason for all the mysteriousness.

 “It’s going to be completely professional,” Michael said, catching her attention again. “If you feel uncomfortable at any time we can stop. And it’d only be Vader in the apartment, I can lock him up if you want.” He was rambling, his red lips moving with trepidation.

 “Michael,” she stopped him, while trying to stop herself from laughing. “I said I’d do it. I trust you, as you sitting here, and you as an artist. I mean, you are the only one who tattooed me,” she continued.

 Michael cracked a smile, shaking his head slightly. “Thank you,” Michael grinned. “Do you want to do it after work today? Or whenever is good for you.”

 She nodded, “today is good.”

 -

 After work, she grabbed her stuff and clicked the lights off. Her last employee had gone home an hour or so ago, leaving her to clean up and close the store alone. She wasn’t sure if Michael was ready for her, but she strode into the tattoo parlor, the bench vacant outside. She was met with heavy rock music and the annoying buzz of tattoo machines running from somewhere else in the building.

 Michael wasn’t anywhere in sight, but the secretary of sorts was sitting behind the counter. “Welcome to Hidden Tattoo, what can I do for you?” He asked. She didn’t know if she remembered her from when she got her tattoo or not.

 She opened her mouth to speak just as Michael strode into the lobby. “Its okay, Jeremy. I got it,” he said to his employee, waving him off. Jeremy nodded to his boss, going back to whatever he was working on. “Hi,” Michael smiled, opening his arms wide for a hug.

 “Hi,” she replied, squeezing him tight to her in a hug. She half gasped when she felt Michael’s lips graze her cheek, and then her neck in a series of feather light kisses.

 “Are you ready to go? I set up everything earlier so that’s all out of the way,” he told her, pulling back from the hug with a sly smile on his lips. He knew what he was doing to her. She nodded, telling him she was ready.

 Michael led the way out the door and to his apartment above the shop. They climbed the two small flights of stairs to the first floor and Michael led them into his apartment.

 Vader greeted them both with a succession of sloppy, wet kisses. The ugly, yet somehow cute dog was beginning to really grow on her. When she stood back up, she realized that his drawing desk had been moved to the other side of the room and an easel with a blank canvas had taken its place. And a small love seat was situated beneath the window, a blanket draped across one of the arms.

 “Okay,” She said, setting her bag down on the small table beside the door. “So how are we going to do this?” She asked. For some reason, now that she was here and ready to do this, the nerves were setting in. She was going to be naked in front of Michael.

 His eyes were going to be roaming all over her body, taking in all of the fine details while he was fully clothed. She was suddenly self-conscious. How many women has Michael seen naked? Would he like what he would see?

 Michael walked forward to the love seat. “You’re going to be lying here, your head on the far side. And once you’re okay, I’ll pose you and position the props,” he explained, even lying down to show her. She nodded, understanding everything he was telling her.

 But she had one question. “Props?” She asked.

 Michael grinned then, standing up from the love seat. “You’ll see. I’ll let you get undressed. I’m just going to feed Vader and then let me know when you’re ready,” he said, glancing back to her as he disappeared into the kitchen, Vader right behind him.

 She moved closer to the love seat, looking down to her own body. She knew Michael had seen most of it when he tattooed her, but she was still a little nervous. She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, letting it drop to the floor by her feet. She stepped out of her shorts and kicked her shoes off.

 She hesitated with her bra and panties. But she had committed to this and Michael said if she ever felt uncomfortable, they could stop with no questions asked. She reached around, unclasping her bra and letting it slid down her arms until it reached the floor. And then her panties were added to the pile on the floor.

 She kicked it to the side before sitting down on the love seat. “I’m ready,” she called to Michael. She heard his footsteps coming, and then he was back with two bags of flower petals in his arms. She arched a brow at him, “what are those?”

 “The props,” Michael smiled, setting them down on the floor. “Okay, now lie back across the love seat.”

 She followed his directions, lying back so her head was now cushioned by one of the pillows. Like he said, Michael then positioned her to his liking. One of her arms was draped across her stomach, the other dangling off the couch towards the floor. Her head was to the side, and her legs were closed.

 He paused, his hand around her ankle. “Don’t be so tense,” he told her, his voice soft as silk, not demeaning. “Its only me. Just relax.” He waited a second before she let her muscles relax and she felt more comfortable on the love seat. He finished positioning her before his fingers brushed over her tattoo, feeling the scabs and the peeling skin.

 “It’s looking really good,” he told her. His fingers glided over the vibrant color, “There’s nothing more magical than making art come alive under the tips of my fingers.”

 He smiled at her and then grabbed one of the bags of flower petals. She instantly recognized which flowers they came from. She watched as he opened it and grabbed a handful of the pale pink petals. He sprinkled them over her body, across her legs, around her crotch, along her torso and breasts, even some decorating her neck.

 He peppered them across the love seat and then he grabbed the other bag, which held larger petals and even some full flowers – orchids. “I’m gonna place these around your body. I’ll try my best not to touch anything,” he said and she nodded, trying not to move the petals that were already on her neck and scattered through her hair.

 He grabbed some of the orchids, placing them in her hair that was flowing behind her, and then one by her ear. He grabbed another one, placing it over one of her nipples, leaving the other one free of any flowers. Michael took a few others, placing them over her space between her legs.

 He set another one on her ankle and one on her hand. He then distributed the rest of the bag to the love seat as if it had rained flowers around her. “Okay,” Michael said, stepping back to look at her. She looked at him, but he didn’t meet her eyes. He was observing the piece he had created, a look of intense concentration etched onto his features.

 He then stepped forward and adjusted a few of the flowers and then he was ready to go. He stepped behind his easel, squeezing out the colors he needed onto a palette.

 “So how was work today?” He asked as he painted the first stroke onto the canvas.

 “It was okay,” she answered, looking towards his voice. He was sitting parallel to her, only angled so she couldn’t really see what he was painting on the canvas. But at least she could see his face. “I had one customer complain that there wasn’t enough flowers in their pieces for this wedding. But I mean, I stuffed the vases full. But you can never satisfy everyone.”

 “That’s why tattooing is so fickle,” Michael spoke as he painted. “Its so different from other forms of art. With painting or drawing, if you don’t like what you have you can just start over with a fresh canvas. But with tattooing, it’s permanent. You’ve got one try to get it right, and that’s why I think I love doing it so much.”

 “But what if the person doesn’t like what you’ve done to their body?” She asked, watching, as he made wide, arching strokes on the canvas.

 Michael shrugged. “Thankfully I’ve never had that happen to me. But you could offer to cover it up for free, or try and change the existing design.” His green eyes met hers and then moved to take in the rest of her body.

 She felt the self-consciousness return as his gaze lingered. But she knew he was in artist mode, and not just enjoying the view.

 “When did you realize you could draw?” She asked. She was genuinely interested in his background. She wanted to know everything about him, from when he learned he could draw, to the first tattoo he ever did on someone.

 Michael was quiet for a moment before he finally spoke. “I was pretty young,” he answered. “My father was an artist, not a tattoo artist but an abstract painter. I found such beauty in his works, even if they were the simplest lines or shapes,” he continued. “I tried to do what he could, but it just never seemed right to me. So he suggested I tried a different kind of art.

 “And so I started doing portraits of people on the streets outside of his studio. And then when I realized I actually had a talent for doing realistic illustrations, I started to branch out from there. And that’s how I got into tattooing. Mainly because of my best friend, Calum,” Michael continued.

 She listened intently, watching him talk and work simultaneously. He dipped into a new color with a different brush before going on.

 “He was always getting tattoos and always dragging me along with because he knew I was an artist. He’d help me okay a design and what not, and then one day he suggested that I try it. So I went to the nearest tattoo place with my portfolio and I apprenticed,” Michael said, nodding to himself. “And that’s how I got into tattooing. Now, what about you with flowers?”

 She swallowed. She knew Michael was probably going to ask, she just didn’t know if she was ready to tell. But she trusted him, more so than probably a lot of people.

 “I’ve been in love with flowers ever since I was a child,” she answered, looking to the ceiling. “My mom was always putting them in my hair, tucking them behind my ears or putting them in the pockets of my overalls. She always had flowers in the house, sometimes in every room.”

 She paused for a moment, the memories flooding her brain. Her mother’s face as she cradled a bloom in her hand, telling her to always stop and smell the flowers.  

 “She told me that every flower had a different meaning, and the colors of roses meant different things. Red roses meant passionate love, and pink meant admiration. Sunflowers meant adoration, Daisies meant innocence and my favorite, Orchids meant delicate beauty,” she said, a small smile pulling onto her lips.

 She could recite the meanings of flowers for hours. It was one of her favorite things.

 “What are some other ones?” Michael asked, his eyes trained on the canvas.

 Her smile grew. “Peony is for healing, Casablanca is for celebrations, Calla Lily means regal, Lilac is first love, red Tulips are a declaration of love,” she trailed off. “There’s so many,” she trailed off.

 “So it was your mom that made you want to be a florist?” Michael asked, curiosity dripping in his voice.

 “Well,” she said, her teeth capturing her bottom lip. She hesitated. “It was more her funeral that made me want to become a florist, as morbid as it sounds.”

 “I’m so sorry,” Michael quickly said, his hand dropping to his lap. His green eyes looked like glass that had shattered. The pity was always familiar to her. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

 “Its okay,” she said, swallowing thickly. “I always remember the flowers that were in her funeral pieces. “White carnations for remembrance, Forget-Me-Nots for remember me forever, Larkspur for beautiful spirit, and Lisianthus for calming.

 “It was ever since then that I wanted to be able to bring that sort of contentment and safety to someone else in the form of flowers. I wanted to bring excitement on people’s wedding days, or just joy into their homes. Flowers make you feeling things, and I love that,” she explained, even though she didn’t know if Michael was listening or not anymore. “It’s my own form of art.”

 “I really like that,” Michael spoke, his voice warm and low. “What was your mother’s favorite flower?” He questioned.

 She smiled again. “An orchid.”

 “Like mother, like daughter,” Michael said, the smile in his voice apparent. She wanted to nod, but she didn’t want to disturb the flowers that were decorating her body.

 They stayed silent for some time, only the sound of Michael’s brush sweeping across the surface of the canvas. She wasn’t feeling awkward anymore, thankfully. Michael just had something about him that made her relax. She was watching Michael paint when she felt the tingles.

 “Michael,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “I have to sneeze,” she said, trying to make the itch in her nose go away. But before Michael could reply, she was already sneezing, trying not to move but she felt some of the petals and flowers shift and slip from her body. “I’m sorry.”

Michael stood up, setting his palette and paintbrush down. “Its alright,” he said, “I’ll just fix it.”

 He closed the gap between them, returning some of the flowers in her hair to their original position. But when he moved to her torso, his fingers grazed her skin again. Only this time, they streaked color onto her flesh as he tried to reposition the flowers.

 Pale purple and pinks were marked across the curve of her hip. “I’m sorry,” Michael chuckled, glancing up to her through his eyelashes. She swallowed, just the way he was looking at her, his hand still resting on her hip, she couldn’t resist kissing him.

 But she didn’t want to ruin the masterpiece he created on her body either. But she couldn’t waste the night either. She leaned forward, the petals cascading off her body as she brought her arms up and around Michael’s neck, pulling him to her.

 She meshed their lips together in a flurry of kisses, their tongues clashing together like they had never kissed before. Michael gripped her hips, neither of them caring about the flowers spotting the space around them. He kneeled between her legs with one of his own, breaking away from her for a second.

 “I thought you wanted to move slow,” Michael said, his lips finding her neck. His breath washed over her skin warmly, his lips brushing against the hollow beneath her ear.