There was always something electrifying about being a DJ that made Michael get chills every time he put his hands on a soundboard. Creating the beat, making unique sound and sharing it with people to dance along to was an incredible feeling, It hadn’t been very prominent in his life until his later years of high school, when his friend had asked him to take over his local radio station for the afternoon – and that’s where he realized he had so much power when over the soundboard.

After that, said-friend Ashton lent him the studio every other weekend for him to play around with the board and to give Michael some soundboard 101. It brought Ashton a funny type of joy to see his friend get so immersed in the world of DJing; he loved it so much and it made him really happy.

Eventually, Michael got some pretty good gigs around town, and for a high school Dj, he was pretty well requested. At first it was just parties from kids he knew from school, but then a couple of clubs heard him and even other Djs – they all wanted him. Even her.

The continuous ringing of the phone made her even more anxious to speak to him. He was probably way more professional than she was at speaking and she had no idea how to say anything properly, and pretty much all public speaking made her rather nervous –

 “This is Michael, what’s up?” He answered after what seemed to be over seven rings.

 “Oh, um, hi,” she said nervously.

 After a few minutes of silence and the quiet breathing between the two of them he cleared his throat and asked, “So to whom exactly am I talking to?”

“Oh, right!” she forced out a nervous laugh, realized she had forgotten to speak. “I, uh, my name is May, I’m a wedding planner – assistant, I mean! Just an assistant, and I, or I mean, my boss and our clients want you as their DJ, if you’d be willing, of course! You can say no, if you want-“

“God, do you ever stop talking?” he laughed over the phone.

“Well, I usually don’t talk at all,” May said quietly. “But this isn’t about me, it’s about my clients. What do you say?” 

“Um, I don’t really do wedding type DJing – I don’t think your client knows exactly what I do,” Michael claimed.

“No, you don’t understand. They really want you. You’d really like them, they’re into your music, and in fact, they never shut up about you. Maybe we could schedule a meeting and you can meet them? Talk about what they want and your payment. How much do you charge?”

Michael hesitated, he had never really been asked – he just took the money he was offered. “Uh, a couple hundred I guess? No more than five or six and hundred-“

“We’ll give you $2500, “ she stated firmly. He was way in the budget for a DJ, and although she was sure he had no intention of asking higher, she still offered it hoping it would spark his interest.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed over the phone. “Did you say twenty five hundred dollars? Like all the dollars?”

She laughed. “Hell yeah! I mean, uh, yes! Our clients are willing to pay to any expense for you. So, what do you say? Will you meet us for a lunch meeting tomorrow? I’m assuming you’re relatively local considering our clients caught you at a club in town a couple months ago.”

 “Yeah, yeah, I am. Where are we meeting?” He asked.

 “I’ll text you time and place in just a few minutes, I, uh, have to confirm a couple appointments. I’d dress business casual, the couple isn’t too picky about image but their families are, if you understand-“

 “Uh, I understand that, but not exactly business casual? All I own is jeans and t-shirts,” he explained nervously.

 “Oh, uh, well that’s just fine, and I could uh, lend you a blazer? Not mine of course! I mean, my boyfriend’s of course, I’m sure it’ll fit just fine.”

“Right, well, yeah, that’ll work. Give me the details and that’ll be fine,” he replied. A few seconds of silence passed once more before the two of them quickly wrapped up the call, and she hung up, being more excited than ever to tell her boss of her accomplishment.

“You did what?” May’s boss said in shock. 

“Yes! I actually got Michael Clifford to come to a meeting for the wedding! I never thought I could do it, but I guess I could,” she said, relieved.

“BABE WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?” she heard a voice from behind. She smiled, hearing her boyfriend’s familiar excitement and ran into his arms.

“I just said I got Michael Clifford to come to a meeting for the wedding your mom and I are working on!” May jumped up in down excitedly, proud of what she had done.

“Mom,” her boyfriend, Mark, turned to his mother (aka her boss), “May just got Michael Clifford, like the best DJ on the web right now, to possibly be the DJ at the next wedding?”

“Possibly,” his mother, Mrs. Warren, answered. “If Michael agrees, but if he doesn’t then there is no guarantee that he’ll want to do it.”

“Oh my god, baby!” He lifted her up in a princess twirl and spun her around, kissing her hard once he set her down. “I’m so proud of you.”

Your phone rings and you quickly answer when you see your husband’s request to FaceTime. The screen is black but slowly fills with his sweet face. Even with the image being transferred over a thousand of miles away, his eyes are still just as sparkling and his lips just as cherry red as in person.

“Hey loser,” you greet softly. “I miss you.”

He smiles at your unconventional term of endearment, lips curving in that familiar way that always makes your remember why you fell in love.

“Miss you too, babe. How’s our peanut?”

“Good, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep this child in. The lil’ squirt isn’t kicking as much and moved down lower, so I’m pretty sure it’s any day now.”

“Damn, I hate cutting it so close,” Michael says. “I’ve been asking around and there’s a good chance that I can get a flight out in two days. So, hopefully I’ll be home sooner than planned. Wait for me, okay?”

“I’ll try. Can’t wait to see you bubba.”

He ruffles his hair, soft blond tendrils falling into a perfect mess on his head. You almost reflexively reach out to play with his hair too but realize you can’t actually touch him. Before you get to tell him how much you miss petting and holding and kissing him, he changes the subject.

“How are things at my parents?”

“Your mom is spoiling me rotten,” you admit. “So far she’s given me foot soak, two shoulder-massages, cooked huge-ass meals every day, and refused to let me lift a single finger.

“Wish I could be there to be the one spoiling you.”

“Please, be real. Mr. Maccas, if I was stuck with you, I’d still be the one running out for food to satisfy your cravings.”

“Hey, give me some credit,” he refutes. “I’d share my fries with you.”

“Wow, you’re so good to me.”

He laughs his Michael laugh, full and loud but with the innocence of a little kid. But in all seriousness, you know if Michael were really here, he’d be at service for every need or whim no matter how small. Maybe not at first, but he would rise to the occasion. He’d learn to be a pretty damn good dad.

“Oh and before I get, call your parents,” you remind him. “I’ve been updating them whenever you call me, but they still wouldn’t mind hearing your voice now and then. So please call them yourself.”

“Okay, I will.”

“I mean it Michael,” you say more seriously. Knowing your husband, he might shrug it off. You need to press upon him how important it is that he calls. “They miss you. Besides, they’re really excited to be grandparents. It’s so cute. You should hear them.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll call them now.”

“Love you.”

Initially, you thought the worst. What if something happened to him on his way over? What if he got into an accident? But on second thought, you realize this showing-up-late act has been becoming more of a habit lately. It’s more than just Calum’s tardiness. On top of that, he’s also been canceling plans and neglecting your calls. He barely even holds your hand anymore, let alone makes love to you. Over the past few weeks, Calum went from having the arousal of a rabbit in heat, to that of a neutered dog. He brushes off all your advances, halfheartedly returning your kisses with distant pecks. You’re beginning to forget his touch—his everything.

“Excuse me, miss? Will your party be joining?” the waiter attempts once more.

You don’t want to believe this is your reality; that you’ve settled for a boyfriend who takes you for granted. You force yourself to admit the truth and accept the pity.

“No, just a table for one.”

After your sad little lunch date with yourself, you go over to Calum’s apartment. The entire drive over there is rehearsal time. You operate your car on subconscious autopilot mode. Your mind is more preoccupied with imagining how the situation out will play- including what you should say and how he would react- than on the road ahead. It’s a miracle that you don’t crash. Seeing as this is a one-person production of a two-person conversation, your practice skit doesn’t lend itself very well for preparation. When you pull up next to his building, the words still escape you, head and heart both empty.

“Calum?”

You knock twice, giving him a chance to let you in himself. But after a moment of no response, you fish your copy of his key out from your pocket, letting yourself into his home.

“Calum, I need to-”

Suddenly, your boyfriend’s comes slinking out of hallway, frantically shushing you with a finger over his lips. His hair is its normal amount of curly, his jaw tight. He is still in his sweatpants and old tshirt, clearly dressed as if he had nowhere to be today.

“Hey, ssshh, what’s wrong babe?”

How could he have the right to shush you when he’s the one who stood you up?

“My lunch date didn’t show” you deadpan. “I waited for an hour.”

The realization washes over his face like a Polaroid photo—a sudden flash in his eyes and slowly the rest of his features, one by one, reveal an image of guilt.

“Shit, I completely forgot. I –”

“That’s not even all of it, Calum” you interrupt. As soon as one problem breaks loose, the rest come bursting forth along with it. “You don’t answer my calls, and you barely look at me. It’s like you don’t want me anymore. Did-did I do something wrong? Are you done with me?”

The stifled man before you opens his mouth to offer an explanation. But he’s cut off once again by a weak yet piercing cry.

“Daddy! Daaaaady!”

Putting this fight aside, Calum rushes toward the plea for help. You hear the pain in the wail and know immediately that there are much more pressing concerns right now than your own. Dropping everything, you go after Calum into Taine’s bedroom.

The boy’s room is dark, illuminated by a single nightlight. Calum turns up the turtle shaped humidifier that sends puffs of steams into the already thick air. Then he sits beside Taine, who’s tucked under a bundle of blankets, sweaty mess of hair peeking up. Calum just strokes the tot’s head and feels to see if the fever has begun to subside.

There’s no such luck.

“Hurts daddy” Taine groans.

“I know, T. I know. Show me where it hurts?”

The sick child musters a minimal nod, pointing to his tummy. Calum fluffs the pillows up so as to prop Taine up at an angle and take some pressure off his stomach. It’s not much, and the discomfort is still a lot for a 4-year-old body to handle. But the new position and sip of water helps just enough for Taine to close his eyes again. Calum looks on the brink of a break down, because his inability to stop his own son’s misery makes any father even more miserable. Sometimes a soft coo is all a dad can offer; but sometimes a bit of reassurance is all that’s needed.

“S’okay bud. Daddy’s here. Right here.”

“How long has he been sick?”

You’re curled up against Calum on his couch now. Even though Taine was able to fall asleep, it’s evident that his father has not had much rest lately.

“It just came on so suddenly. He looked completely fine this morning when I dropped him off at preschool.  A few hours later, I get a call that he’s throwing up with a fever of 102.” Cal informs, voice already sounding desperate for sleep at 2:40 in the afternoon. “So I ran over there to take him home but forgot to tell you because I kept trying to call T’s doctor. I called her five times already but she hasn’t even called back yet. In the meantime, I’m just trying to make him as comfortable as I can. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Well, I’m just the biggest ass,” you curse yourself. “Aren’t I?”

“Y/N, it’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“I’m still so sorry. I feel like shit. It’s just that, with everything else between us, I couldn’t help but think the worst.”

Calum grabs your hand, squeezing it as he gathers the courage to finally open up.

“It’s been hard around here,” he swallows harshly. “Taine recently decided he hates all his babysitters. I have no idea what happened, but he doesn’t let any of them near him anymore.  No one will watch him so I can’t do anything besides stay home with him. He also started getting nightmares. He’ll scream for me throughout the night. Fuck, I love him more than anything. He’s everything to me. But I hope this is all just a phase because it’s so damn hard on my own and I can’t- ”

You silence him with a long chaste kiss to his forehead. If only that was enough to melt all troubles away. You try several more kisses until he composes himself.

“I wish you would’ve told me. I would have understood. I could have helped.”

“I couldn’t” he shakes his head. “You didn’t sign up for this. Taine isn’t your responsibility. He’s mine.”

“Are we back to that?” You’ve exhausted this same conversation. You’ve said it so many times, and yet, here you two are again- back to this argument for the umpteenth time. “Why-why do you keep pushing me away? Every time I think we’re past it, you do it again.”

“Because this isn’t your problem, Y/N.”

“Don’t you get it, Cal?!” You raise your voice, not so loud as to wake Taine, but loud enough to make your point. “I did sign up for this. I want Taine to be my responsibility. I want us to do this together.  Sorry if I’m being selfish, or if I’m messing with this obsession you have about doing everything on your own. But I love you so fucking much and I’m not going to-”

Calum finally takes his turn to cut you off, grabbing your face and firmly pressing his lips to yours. You immediately sigh against him, having gone far too long without a real kiss. It has the weight, the potency, of all those missing kisses into one. You’re definitely feeling the effects of it- a sudden rush of warm blood to all extremities and wave of comforting relief. He pulls you in tight and loops an arm around your wait to keep you close. The kiss refuses to let you two part until a small voice peeps out.

“Daddy?”

Taine sleepily shuffles out of his room, security blanket dragging along the floor behind him. His face scrunches at the bright light of the living room, faintest of lines folding between his brows. Like crossing a busy street, Taine bolts across the hall towards Calum, running away from the evil monsters he accused of lurking beneath his bed.

“S’okay, bud. Daddy’s here.”

Cal picks up his boy and sets Taine between you and him, sandwiching the child. Then Calum adds.