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Chapter Text

The famous London fog is nowhere to be seen as Calum reclines on a bench next to the Thames. It’s sunny, almost oppressively so, and he has to squint against the reflection off the grey water. 

If he looks over his shoulder, he can see the Tower of London behind him, and as he swings his neck around, the Tower Bridge, complete with a bright red double decker bus driving across, and when he faces the river, the London skyline, filled with ornate historical buildings juxtaposed with shiny modern skyscrapers in various phallic shapes.

He’s here early. It’s a little after 11:00, nearly two hours before he’s supposed to meet Luke. 

It’s intentional. 

Luke will think he’s really fucking bad at telling time, but it’s an ego blow worth taking if it means Calum has an excuse to text Luke sooner, to put himself out of the misery of waiting and wondering if Luke is going to show up.

It’s better than what he would have been doing otherwise — pacing around his hotel room, stomach tense and hands shaking anxiously. He’s not an anxious person by nature, but this is big. This is Luke. 

What happens today could be the difference between Calum having some grand romance with a beautiful man who loves cinnamon rolls and finds Downton Abbey as hilarious as he does, or spending the next several years of his life wondering if Luke was the one who got away.

He desperately wants Luke to show up. 

He probably will. They had fun together. They had chemistry. They held onto each other for a long time at the airport. 

It’s going to be fine.

But Calum is physically incapable of spending all morning wondering, so he schemed up his foolproof plan to get to the Tower of London early so he’d have an excuse to text Luke. Ideally, Luke would respond enthusiastically and Calum could be almost sure he’d actually show. Then, Calum realized for that plan to work, he would actually have to be at the Tower of London early on the off chance Luke happened to be nearby.

As far as places to sit alone for a few hours go, this one’s not so bad. The view is great, and it’s a beautiful spring day, breezily perfect sweater weather. The bench is comfortable and the people-watching is plentiful. 

It’s all very nice, especially for someone who’s never been to London before. But Calum is still bursting with nervous tension, and it makes it hard for him to really appreciate the sights. It only takes ten minutes before he cracks and texts Luke.

Calum: i’m at the tower of london where r u 😠😘

Pretty Giant: eating brunch, because I still have 2 hours until we’re supposed to meet. 😎

Calum beams at his phone, shaking his head in sheer relief. He accidentally makes eye contact with a woman in a black jacket who smiles back at him and waves awkwardly. He returns her wave enthusiastically.

It’s not a guarantee Luke will be there, but it’s a response, almost immediate, and it includes an emoji, which seems like a good sign. You don’t go to the trouble of picking out an emoji if you’re just planning on ghosting someone. Unless it’s, like, just a thumbs up emoji on its own or something. You definitely don’t use the sunglasses guy. Right? Is everything Calum knows about emoji etiquette wrong? Null and void on the other side of the Atlantic?

This is not a big deal. (This is a very big deal.) Calum is very good at flirting. He knows what he’s doing. He reminds himself of this several times before replying to Luke.

Calum: what the fuck am i supposed to do for 2 hours? i miss you, i need you. 

He slides his phone between his thighs and bites his lip. Yeah. That’s good. Confident. Funny. He imagines Luke laughing when he reads it.

There have been several occasions over the past two days since the airport that Calum wished he’d creepily recorded Luke’s laugh at some point during the flight, because he’s afraid his memory can’t quite account for the exact nuance of it, and the way it made him feel, like his blood was carbonated and his skin was sparkling.

Pretty Giant: I can be there in 20 minutes. I need to finish my pancakes.

Calum’s heart flutters in relief. This means Luke is definitely coming, right?

Calum: pancakes are more important than me? 😔

Pretty Giant: they’re apple cinnamon.

Calum: see you in 20 minutes.

It’s the slowest twenty minutes of Calum’s life. He stares down every tall person that passes within a mile radius of his bench, squinting to try to make out if it’s Luke. He’s a little worried he won’t actually recognize Luke, which is ridiculous, he just saw him earlier in the week. 

But it was on a plane, from a weird angle, with artificial lighting, and the longer Calum’s gone without seeing him, the more he’s convinced Luke couldn’t actually be as beautiful as he remembers. His brain has to be smoothing the edges, painting Luke with the most flattering strokes, conveniently blurring anything Calum would find less than absolutely completely perfect.

That theory is blown to shreds when Calum sees Luke walking toward him, wind in his hair as he ambles down the path along the river. He’s cozy in jeans and a hoodie, hands stuffed in his pockets, and he’s squinting against the reflection off the water, mouth set in a small open-mouthed smile as his eyes track the skyline across the river. 

He’s not really paying attention to where he’s walking, and he nearly crashes into a woman pushing a stroller. Calum can’t hear it, but he can see Luke apologizing profusely, flapping his hands as his face twists into a horrified cringe. He chuckles to himself once he’s past the woman with the stroller, and that’s when Calum gets a good look at him, shining in the sun. 

He’s at least as beautiful as Calum remembers, and he’s here. He showed up. They’re doing this.

Luke finally notices Calum, and he grins at him, ducking his head bashfully and scrunching his shoulders to his ears as he approaches, casting a shadow over Calum’s bench. “If it isn’t my favorite ex-convict,” he says, and his voice is softer than Calum remembers, but the teasing lilt is unmistakably familiar.

“You finish your shitty book yet?” Calum raises his eyebrows, tipping his head up to meet Luke’s eyes. They’re so blue in the nearly-midday-sun. They might actually be the brightest thing Calum’s seen since landing in London. 

“Nah,” Luke replies, shifting back and forth on the edges of his feet like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself. “Got distracted by a hot guy on the plane, lost interest. You know how it goes.” He beams at Calum, and it’s like he’s gone supernova, so bright Calum has to blink. He saw a lot of Luke’s smiles on the plane. He didn’t see a single one of them like this, head on, framed by sunlight, surrounded by fresh air and open space and possibilities.

“I do know a little something about being distracted by hot guys on planes.” Calum stands up, mirroring Luke’s hands-in-pockets stance. “I’m glad you came.” He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it’s hard not to once he’s eye to eye with Luke, solid and real and no longer relegated to the whispers of Calum’s memories and daydreams.

“I’m glad you’re shitty at telling time.” Luke hides his smile in the cuff of his hoodie sleeve, but Calum can see the dimple in his cheek. “Means I got to see you sooner.”

Tentatively, Calum reaches out to wrap a hand around Luke’s wrist. Luke watches curiously, but doesn’t pull away, so Calum tugs gently, forcing Luke’s hand away from his mouth and exposing his bright smile. It gets even bigger when he doesn’t have any place to hide it. Calum fights the urge to kiss him.

“Did you tell Ashton you’re off meeting with a mystery man at the torture tower?” he asks, slowly releasing Luke’s wrist.

“Yep,” Luke chirps. “And he didn’t even offer to lend me his corset for the occasion, can you believe that?”

“What a dickhead.”

Luke shrugs and scrunches his nose. “Do you still want me even though I’m not properly dressed?” He holds his arms out and surveys the front of his hoodie seriously.

“Yeah,” Calum says, nodding, looking Luke over like he’s a prize-winning pig at the state fair. “I think you’ll do.” That’s a fucking understatement.

Luke smiles proudly and inclines his head toward the massive anachronistic light brick structure behind them, surrounded by tourists. “Wanna go in?”

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“Is there a vegetarian option?” Calum wonders, flipping through the informational guide book he spent five pounds on at the ticket booth because he liked the look of the man on the front, a portly fellow with a red stoic face that both matches and clashes with his jazzy red uniform and velour hat.

“What the hell?” Luke bends to study the brochure, both of them shuffling slowly toward the main entrance to the Tower of London. “Is there food on this tour? I just ate.”

“What are Beefeaters,” Calum reads off, finger underlining the words. “Oh, they’re just dudes.”

“What the hell?” Luke says again, still confused, voice hitching into a squeak.

“It’s just the name for the Tower guards,” Calum explains. “Beefeaters. I don’t know why. But there’s no actual beef-eating on the tour. I mean. Unless you want there to be.” 

“Was that another vague innuendo?” Luke smiles teasingly and reaches for the book, wiggling his fingers impatiently.

“I think that was pretty blatant, Luke,” Calum replies indignantly, handing the book over. “That was clearly an offer for you to eat my dick.”

“Stop,” Luke whines halfheartedly, jabbing Calum in the arm with his elbow as he flips to the map page of the book.

“It’s a generous offer,” Calum counters.

“I’m sure it is, but I don’t know if we should be talking about me eating your dick while we’re surrounded by eight-year-olds.”

“What?” Calum glances around them and realizes Luke’s right. There are a lot of kids nearby, filling in the ticket entry line around them in every direction. He suddenly notices it’s very loud, piercing laughs and shrieks filling the air. “Where the fuck did these kids come from?”

“They got off a bus right after we got our tickets,” Luke says, fighting back a smile. “Did you not notice?”

“No, I did not.” Calum grumbles, picking up his pace to try to get ahead of the massive cluster of wild-eyed children, grabbing Luke’s arm to pull him along as he dodges two boys shoving each other into a trash bin. “Let’s smoke these losers.”

Luke laughs as he trails behind Calum, grabbing onto the back of Calum’s shirt with his free hand to stay close as they maneuver through the crowd, finally managing to break through to the front just as they approach the ticket gate.

Once they’re past the gate, they pick a random dark entrance as far away from the kids as possible and step in. 

“Torture at the Tower,” Luke reads off the sign. “Fantastic. Diving right in, then.”

But he follows gamely behind Calum anyway as they wind through tight, windowless corridors with cold, hard brick from floor to ceiling. Eventually they descend a set of low steps into a dank room filled with torture devices. “Fuck yeah!” Calum cheers, bounding over to read up on the rack. 

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs, taking in the gruesome description on the plaque next to the rack. He looks at Luke with clenched teeth. “Maybe I don’t want you to torture me after all.”

Coming up behind him to peer at the plaque, Luke lets out a low groan. “Holy shit.” He shakes his head. “Yeah, I don’t think I want to stretch you out until I dislocate your joints and listen to your bones pop.”

“What about this?” Calum points at a different device, a metal horseshoe-shaped thing that looks vaguely like one of his mom’s lawn ornaments. 

“Scavenger’s Daughter?” Luke squats down to look at it more carefully, and that’s when Calum notices the plexiglass insert showing the outline of a fucking human person curled into a ball inside the horseshoe. 

“Oh rad,” Luke says, eyes shining as he reads over the informational sign. “It’s the opposite of the rack. Squishes you until you bleed out your nose and ears!” He grins up at Calum, and Calum shudders, partially squeamish at the thought, and partially absolutely elated that Luke is as much of a freak as he is.

“So you wouldn’t mind squishing me until I bleed?” Calum asks, fully aware of the rather surreal turn his life has taken to lead him to this moment, joking about torture with a guy he met on a plane two days ago, but maybe this is what people mean when they say travel broadens your horizons.

Luke straightens, lolling his head from side to side as he considers. “Maybe not until you bleed. But the squishing would be all right. I like to cuddle.”

“A violent cuddle?” Calum asks, intrigued. “I’d be into that.” He’s not even really joking. It might be nice just letting Luke crush him a little. Warm and cozy. And he’d happily return the favor.

“Do you suppose there’s a room for that in here somewhere?” Luke consults the map in the guidebook quite seriously. “Nothing labeled violent cuddling chamber,” he reports, shaking his head sadly.

“Any room can be a violent cuddling chamber if you’re committed.”

Luke’s laugh echoes loudly off the stark walls. “Calum, have I told you yet that I really like the way you think?” 

“Not directly,” Calum says, linking his arm in Luke’s to lead them into the next winding hallway. “But you keep putting up with me so I think it’s implied.”

The pathway narrows, and they both pivot toward each other to slide through a tight spot without having to separate their entwined arms. “One of these days we might actually have to tell each other about ourselves,” Luke says as they emerge in another room filled with historical gore.

“Yeah, one of these days” Calum agrees, admiring Luke’s ass as he bends down to inspect a display about executions. Now that’s something he didn’t get a chance to appreciate on the plane. “Maybe tomorrow.”

It’s not until they step out of the prison and back into the sunlight that he realizes he’s not sure there will be tomorrow with Luke. 

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After hitting all the main attractions on the guidebook map, they stop at the railing along the open walkway that winds along the top of the Tower perimeter to admire the London skyline. 

Calum’s gaze keeps drifting to Luke. They’ve run out of things to do at the Tower, but Calum isn’t ready to say goodbye. 

“You hungry yet?” he asks, reaching out to tuck a blowing strand of Luke’s hair behind his ear. It’s a little bold, maybe, but Luke smiles at him with soft eyes, and Calum wishes he could be bold more often. He’s working on it. The thing he did on the plane? Swooping in to save Luke from the chatty blonde? That surely qualifies as bold.

“Yeah, I could eat,” Luke says. “Why? You wanna get something from the cafe before we leave?”

“I was thinking more like we find someplace to eat out there.” Calum gestures vaguely in the direction of the skyscrapers in front of them. “You know. Experience the city to its fullest or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Luke says, nodding. His eyes roam over Calum’s face like he’s trying to work through a math problem, consternation mixed with determination. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

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They walk a long way searching for food. They pass dozens of restaurants, but none of them feel quite right, or maybe they just want to draw it out. Maximize their time together, even if it's spent darting across busy streets to the tune of police sirens and cab horns. 

Something about this feels incredibly correct to Calum. Traipsing through a city he doesn’t know with Luke at his side, pointing out the things that catch his eye, all bright and smiley. 

Ever since he sat down next to Luke on the plane, the moments where Luke isn’t there within his reach have felt unsettled and strange. Calum thought it was just the anticipation of being somewhere new, maybe, or the nervous excitement of meeting someone he really liked. But now that he’s with Luke again, he understands. He missed Luke. And now that they’re together, that emptiness, that unsettled feeling, has been filled.

It’s scary, Calum thinks, how quickly new spaces can open up inside you, how easily people and places can embed themselves in your being and leave voids when you no longer have them in your life. Shit, it only took Luke a twelve hour plane ride to fuse onto Calum’s soul. 

Even scarier is that there’s no assurance the phenomenon is mutual.

Calum doesn’t mind that, though. It’s terrifying, but it’s also exhilarating. He’s living and he’s feeling, and he’s with a sweet, beautiful man in a city he’s always wanted to visit. Maybe that’s why the bright bakery on the corner calls to him. It’s sweet and beautiful too, and it feels like a sign.

“What about the bakery?” Calum suggests, pointing across the street at the sky blue awning. “The sign says they have afternoon tea.”

“You want afternoon tea?” Luke seems surprised, but there’s palpable excitement in his eyes. They tell the full story when Calum looks into them, giving Luke away completely. He wants this, badly, can hardly believe Calum wants it too, and is trying not to scare Calum away by being too excited.

All that, over the idea of afternoon tea together. 

Calum is forced to admit to himself that he adores Luke. Adores. Doesn’t just think he’s nice to look at, doesn’t just think he’s funny and fun to spend time with, doesn’t just miss him when he’s not there. Adores him. 

Fucking hell. 

He smiles at Luke, wondering if Luke can see as much in his eyes. Are they telling Calum’s full story to Luke? It might not be so bad if they were. 

“We’re in London, of course I want afternoon tea,” Calum replies breezily, latching on to Luke’s arm to direct them toward the bright blue bakery. “What a first date. Torture and afternoon tea.”

“Is this a date?” 

They skid to a halt at a traffic light, and Calum is grateful for the chance to stand still, so he can look Luke in the eye when he says, “It better be. I’m planning on kissing you when it’s over.” 

He wanted to kiss Luke at the airport, but then the fucking stroller woman had bumped into him and ruined the moment (why do women with strollers have it out for them?), and maybe Calum wouldn’t have been able to follow through anyway, because that would have made it even worse if they never saw each other again. He’s not going to miss this opportunity, though, assuming Luke is on board.

Which he seems to be, if the pleased little smirk on his face is any indication. “Is there going to be a second date?” He raises his eyebrows and bites his bottom lip between his teeth, urging them forward into the crosswalk when the light changes. Calum’s beginning to realize he’s actually oblivious to everything happening around him when Luke is there, pulling all of his attention, taking over all of his senses.

“I really fucking hope so,” Calum says. “There are plenty of sights to see, and I’d like to see them with you.”

“I’m a better option than wandering around London by yourself?” Luke pulls the bakery door open and they’re immediately wrapped in the sweet scent of sugar.

“A tiny bit,” Calum teases, pinching his thumb and pointer finger together. Luke gives him an unimpressed look, one eye squinting skeptically, and Calum breaks immediately. “That’s a lie. I mostly just want to see you. The sights are a nice bonus.”

Luke smiles wide, tongue poking between his teeth, an annoyingly cute habit for someone who manages to make Calum feel petite. “What other sights do you want to see?” Luke asks, then quickly waves his hand to hush Calum before he even has a chance to say anything. “Hold on, save it for the tea talk.”

“The tea talk,” Calum repeats flatly, pursing his lips, but he’s actually saying, What the fuck?

“Yeah, we need something fancy to talk about over tea. Like on Downton.” Luke’s nodding rapidly, like he’s hoping to win Calum over on the power of suggestion. If his head is saying yes, maybe Calum will too. 

Whatever it is, it’s working. “Right,” Calum agrees, stepping up to the bakery counter. “They always had plans to discuss. We’ll save it for tea talk.”

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“Jesus Christ this is a lot of food.” Calum’s eyes wander over the tiered platter of beautifully organized sandwiches and treats at the center of their table. “Why did I think afternoon tea was about tea?”

“No idea,” Luke replies from across the table, snatching a finger sandwich off the tray. “You watched at least as many episodes of Downton Abbey as I did.”

“Are you implying I’d actually continue to watch the show without you?” Calum asks, wounded. 

Luke cringes, then quickly bites into his sandwich, and Calum’s mouth drops open. “Wait! Did you watch more Downton Abbey without me?”

Luke shifts his eyes away from Calum’s guiltily as he chews. 

“How many?” Calum asks accusingly.

“Just one,” Luke admits, sweeping his fingers over his lips to dust off the breadcrumbs. 

Aghast, Calum rips the edge off the nearest sandwich and shoves it in his mouth, shaking his head as he chews.

“I couldn’t sleep!” Luke says. “The jet lag had my sleep schedule fucked up and, I don’t know, maybe I was thinking about you, and I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again, and I just thought it might be nice—”

Holy shit. Luke’s rambling like an overcaffeinated high school cheerleader. He’s been rendered incapable of finishing a sentence, and Calum doesn’t know whether to put him out of his misery or to let him keep fumbling, because it’s incredibly charming. 

Calum fights a smile and the smile wins. Luke notices and cuts himself off to smile back — it’s crooked and there’s confusion in his eyes and half a finger sandwich in his hand, and Calum goes on autopilot, grabbing his phone to snap a photo before the moment is gone.

“Sorry,” Calum says, putting his phone down on the table before he can get too carried away. “You just looked so cute trying to defend yourself for breaking the sacred oath of Downton Abbey while holding a tiny sandwich.”

Luke’s indignant frown is heavily mitigated by that fucking sandwich, and the fact that the wall behind him is the same blue as his eyes and covered in flowered wallpaper. “You never said— What if we never— It was the only thing—” 

“Luke, it’s fine,” Calum interjects. “I mean it’s not fine—” he pauses to dramatically shrug, “— but it was just one episode. You can make it up to me.”

“Oh!” Luke’s suddenly bright again, happily shoving the remainder of his sandwich in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. He swallows and immediately his hand hovers over the selection of cookies, waiting for some sort of magical cookie radar to direct him to the best choice. “How would I go about doing that?” He zeroes in on a shortbread.

There’s something about the way Luke’s fingers wrap around the shortbread so gently, like he’s afraid of disrupting it. It makes Calum’s heart twist, and he’s overwhelmed with the urge to climb over the table and wrap his arms around Luke’s shoulders and never let go, except maybe to feed him shortbreads, because the way he’s smiling around his cookie when he bites into it is melting down every bit of skepticism or negativity that’s accumulated inside Calum throughout his life and slowly replacing it with sweet, gooey caramel to compliment the shortbread.

“Come with me to Buckingham Palace tomorrow,” Calum says. “It’s not quite Downton but it’s close.”

“Okay.” Luke agrees immediately and decisively. He props his chin in his hand as he scans the remaining treats for his next victim. 

“That was easy.” Calum reaches for a cookie, not a shortbread, he’s leaving those for Luke. 

“Pretty sure I already enthusiastically agreed to see some sights with you,” Luke says drily, rolling his eyes. “This is literally what we planned on talking about.”

“Right,” Calum says. “Tea talk.”

Luke lifts his eyes from the treats to smile at Calum, and it’s a little squishy with his chin still in his hand, and all of this is very vexing for Calum. He knows he likes Luke, wants to spend time with him, wants to make him laugh, wants to kiss him. But he doesn’t quite understand this intense swirl of emotion that flares in his chest when Luke looks at him just right. 

That’s a lie. He understands it completely. He welcomes it, even though he knows it’s probably a bad idea. This isn’t reality. This is a vacation, a very specific moment in time, and Calum would be wise not to get too attached to anything that’s happening in this idyllic alternate dimension. 

Turns out he’s not very wise, because every smile from Luke seems to seep under his skin, a permanent stain on his temporary reality.

Luke’s a little scruffy today, absently scratching his fingers over his stubble while he considers his cookie options. Calum wonders if this is something he does a lot. What other little habits and routines might be lurking inside him for Calum to discover? Does he bite his fingernails when he’s nervous? Does he wear his hoodies to bed at night? Does he prefer his coffee hot or iced?

Fuck, this is so bad. And so good.

Luke reaches for another shortbread, snaps it in half, and offers a piece to Calum. “It’s fucking delicious.”

The shortbread crumbles a little in Calum’s grip, because he doesn’t quite manage the precisely delicate touch that seems to come naturally to Luke. “So, Buckingham Palace tomorrow?” Calum asks, and Luke nods, experimentally dipping his shortbread into his tea with his mouth twisted in curiosity. 

“What else?” Calum prompts. “Where do you want to go? Let’s lock this in.”

Luke snorts and a few stray shortbread crumbs fall from between his lips onto the table. He covers his mouth, laughing as he swallows. “What if we just make plans to meet up every day? See where the day takes us?”

The words every day sit nicely in Calum’s stomach along with his delicious shortbread. “Lady Mary would be so disappointed in you,” he says, waggling a chastising finger. “We have to know where to meet.”

“We could meet here,” Luke says with a shrug. “Get a coffee, figure out what we want to do with ourselves.”

“That’s very spontaneous of you.” Not that Calum thinks Luke’s not capable of some spontaneous behavior (today being a prime example) but it doesn’t exactly seem like his default setting.

“Abnormally so,” Luke says, confirming Calum’s suspicions. “But I get the impression you’re pretty spontaneous, so I’m trying to make this easy for you so it’ll actually happen.”

Why is it so shocking to Calum that Luke has any thoughts about him whatsoever? It’s flattering and terrifying. “What makes you think that?” 

“You pretended to be a backhoe hijacker to save a stranger from a chatty girl on a plane.”

“Right,” Calum says. “Well. I was highly motivated by your hotness. I’m not normally that crazy.”

“Are you not?” Luke seems skeptical, and it makes Calum wonder if maybe he’s a little crazier than he gives himself credit for.

“Not quite,” Calum replies, smiling gently. “It just feels different, you know? Airports, vacations, being away from real life...it’s like an opportunity to be something else for a few days without any consequences. I think it makes me more brave than I’d normally be.”

“I get that.” Luke smiles, a hint of sadness behind it. “It’s liberating. Sort of makes you aware of all the opportunities you might be missing, though, doesn’t it?”

“Well fuck,” Calum says, spoon clinking against his cup as he stirs his tea. “Way to get deep in the middle of afternoon tea.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean it in a bad way, really. More like—” Luke raises his arm and pumps his fist lightly— “Woo! You never know where life might take you!”

“Right, like a few days ago you probably didn’t think you’d be making vague plans to cavort around London with a stranger.”

“I definitely didn’t,” Luke agrees, “but it’s been working out really well for me. So. Woo!” He pumps his fist again, elbow catching on the edge of the table in the process, shaking their tower of treats violently. “Fuck! Save the shortbread!”

Laughing, Calum holds the tray steady until the table stops swaying. “We’ll have to meet here every day just to feed your new shortbread addiction.”

“Now you understand.” A satisfied smile stretches across Luke’s face and he crosses his arms, slumping back into his chair contentedly.

“Ah, so this whole meeting up thing is just a ploy to get shortbread,” Calum says.

Luke shifts to lean over the table on his elbows, and his face is suddenly very close, eyes shining. “Nah. I mostly just want to see you. The shortbread is a nice bonus.”

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The sky is dusky pink by the time they make their way to the tube station. When it’s time to part ways for their respective trains, they both stop abruptly. Calum grabs ahold of Luke’s sleeve, even though he’s not making any move to leave. Luke looks down at Calum’s hand on his sleeve, then up at Calum’s face, and before Calum so much as opens his mouth to say anything, Luke swings his arm back, tugging Calum closer.

He trips into Luke, the toes of their sneakers squeaking against each other, and when he looks up at Luke, there’s something different on his face, a twinkle in his eye and a confidence in his slight smirk that has Calum’s stomach flipping. 

He reaches for one of Luke’s hoodie strings and pulls, just barely, because he doesn’t want to tug it loose. Miraculously, Luke’s head dips, and Calum sucks in a sharp breath just as Luke’s lips brush against his.

It’s quick, warmed by tea and sweetened by shortbread, and then it’s over and Luke’s grinning at him.

“I was supposed to kiss you,” Calum says accusingly, releasing his grip on Luke’s hoodie sleeve to fix the chain of Luke’s necklace, shifting the clasp to the back of his neck.

“You can get me next time,” Luke replies with a tiny, unbothered shrug. “See you tomorrow, Cal.” He waves as he steps onto the escalator and disappears into the depths of the Underground.

Chapter Text

What is it about riding on public transportation with someone, crowded in comfortably next to them, sharing the journey in either silent companionship or shouted conversations, that feels so fucking intimate?

Shoulder-to-shoulder with Calum, coffees in hand, Luke thinks about how this looks. Do people see them, huddled toward each other, exchanging drowsy private smiles as they covertly watch the teenage girl across the aisle from them glaring murderously at her phone, and think, what a cute couple? Or can people tell this is a “second date”? Are they watching and judging and making guesses about their future fate? Or do they just see friends, maybe even strangers?

What did the people on the plane with them see? What did Brendon the bitchy flight attendant think?

Almost like he’s reading Luke’s mind, Calum drops his head against Luke’s shoulder, the exact spot it spent hours resting when they were in the sky over the Atlantic. “I like your outfit,” Calum murmurs into Luke’s ear, running his thumb over the knee of Luke’s plaid pants before settling his hand there. 

All right, so maybe Luke dressed up a bit today. Maybe he wanted Calum to see him in something more impressive than baggy jeans and a hoodie for a change. He hadn’t packed much else, but he does have his red plaid pants, which he’s paired with a black T-shirt and a leather jacket he borrowed from Ashton. (And it’s definitely not his imagination that Calum is more dressed up too, in tight black jeans and a bomber jacket that’s had Luke wondering a lot about what’s underneath.)

“Thanks,” Luke says, sipping from his coffee, careful not to disrupt Calum. “Wanted to look nice for the Queen.”

“How is she going to see you if we’re not even going inside?” Calum asks, looking up at Luke with wide, curious eyes, tilting his head back but not picking it up off Luke’s shoulder. It puts his lips very close to Luke’s lips. Luke kissed him yesterday. He could do it again. He wants to do it again.

“Through a window, obviously,” Luke says, placing his free hand on top of Calum’s, still resting on his knee. “She’ll be walking down the hall on her way to sign an official document or some shit, but then she’ll glance out the window and get a look at me in the distance, and she’ll be so captivated she has to stop and stare for a while, and I wanna look nice for her.”

“Makes sense,” Calum says. “I’d stop and stare at your ass in those pants if I were the Queen.”

“You don’t have to be the Queen to stare at my ass.” Luke smiles down at Calum. He doesn’t need to kiss him on the lips. He could kiss him on the cheek, or brush Calum’s hair off his forehead and kiss him there. He’s not picky.

“Are you giving me permission?”

“Does it go both ways?” Luke asks, wimping out and resting his head against Calum’s instead of kissing him, just for a second.

“Like an ass for an ass?”

“Yeah, your ass for my ass, specifically.” It feels very important to clarify.

Calum’s chest shakes against Luke’s arm as he laughs, and it’s all so incredibly familiar. How did twelve hours on a plane become so ingrained in Luke’s consciousness that having Calum laughing against him feels like home, even when he’s thousands of miles away from his actual home?

“You can enjoy my ass any time, any way you’d like,” Calum says.

It was the inevitable path of the conversation, he knew it was coming eventually, but it still makes Luke’s stomach twinge to actually hear Calum say it. “Thank god there isn’t a busload of children on this tube car.”

“You can enjoy my ass any time, any way you’d like too, Calum,” Calum says in a horrible, extra-whiney impression of Luke’s voice.

“I said an ass for an ass,” Luke complains. “It’s implied.” And, he hopes, inevitable.

Calum grunts, a satisfied little sound in the back of his throat. “Just checking.” It makes Luke want to shake him up a little.

“What will you do if the Queen asks you to share?”

“To share your ass?” Calum sits up, suddenly alert. Fantastic. Everything is going to plan. “Fuck, no! I— well. Is it a matter of national security?” He sounds so forlorn Luke almost feels bad for suggesting it, even when this is exactly what he wanted. Almost.

“I somehow doubt it,” Luke takes another sip of his coffee to hide his smirk.

“Yeah, no deal,” Calum says with an emphatic shake of his head. “I won’t be sharing your ass with the Queen unless it’s life or death.”

Raising an eyebrow, Luke asks, “Do I get any say in the matter?”

Calum squeezes his knee. “Shit, I’m sorry. Do you want to have a threesome with me and the Queen? Because it doesn’t sound great to me, I’ll be honest. I feel like we’d be doing a lot of work. But if that’s what you want, I could make the sacrifice.”

“We’re going to get arrested, aren’t we?” Luke says plainly. “Shipped off to Scotland Yard before we even have a chance to get to Buckingham Palace.”

“I guarantee you many people have said much more salacious things in reference to the Queen and they aren’t locked up.” There’s laughter in Calum’s eyes when they connect with Luke’s, and his lips are just barely turned up at the corners, taunting Luke with how kissable they are.

“But I bet a lot of them are locked up,” Luke argues, keeping his eyes on Calum’s so he’s not tempted by the kissable lips. “They’re at least on a list.”

“No big deal for me, given my checkered past as a backhoe thief.” Calum frowns, staring thoughtfully out the window. “Do they even send criminals to Scotland Yard? Or is it just a bunch of people at desks?”

“I have no fucking clue.” 

What Luke does know is that every time Calum drops a little piece from their plane ride into the conversation, it’s like a weighted blanket on his buzzing brain. That plane ride was real. Calum is real.

Grinning, Calum settles back against Luke, tucking his head on Luke’s shoulder. “We’re really learning a lot on this trip, aren’t we?”

He’s so free with that word, we. He must not realize that Luke collects every we and files it away, waiting to reach some undefined threshold where the we is no longer a novelty, it’s just a given.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

“So they just stand in boxes all day,” Calum observes glumly.

They’re lined up against the gate at Buckingham Palace, watching a couple of dudes in grey uniforms and fuzzy hats stand at attention in their little man boxes. Luke thinks it’s pretty cute, actually.

“Looks that way. Just like the ones at the Tower of London.” He may have spent more time watching the men in the boxes than he did taking in the crown jewels. Something about it is just very sweet to him; the idea of these dedicated guards tucked in their designated boxes for safekeeping while they’re doing their own safekeeping.

“Exactly,” Calum whines, “I’ve already seen guys in silly outfits standing in boxes. Where’s the new content?”

“The palace is new content.” Luke gestures at the large ornate building behind the guards. “What else did you expect?”

“Dunno.” Calum scratches his eyebrow, looking around the palace grounds appraisingly before settling his gaze on Luke. “Maybe a parade or something?”

“A parade? Constantly?” Luke snickers, and Calum glares at him.

“Well they make a big fucking deal about the Queen, don’t they?” Calum says defensively. “Why wouldn’t they always have a parade going?”

It’s not like Luke can argue with that. “I’m sorry there’s no parade, Cal.” 

And he really is. He doesn’t want this day to be a disappointment for Calum. Doesn’t want to consider the fact that they might run out of things to do together and part ways long before Big Ben strikes noon. He smiles through his uncertainty, trying to reassure Calum.

“There’s gotta be other stuff to do around here,” Calum says, glancing around behind them. There are ornate gardens decorating the palace lawn, but unfortunately there are no hidden amusement parks or stage shows to discover. No Buckingham Palace rollercoaster, which feels a bit like a missed opportunity. 

Luke ponders whether the concept of a stripper roleplaying as a palace guard would be great or terrible while Calum’s eyes trace along the perimeter of the palace grounds. “We could hang out in the park for a while,” he suggests, pointing across the street to a large grassy area sprinkled with benches and shaded from the once again relentless sunshine by rows of massive trees. “Relax after our rigorous morning of drinking coffee and watching men stand in boxes. Plot our next move.”

“Sure,” Luke says, smiling around it, happy to do anything that means more time with Calum. “Give the Queen a chance to see me sunbathing.” 

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

Finding an open bench proves to be a bit of a challenge — apparently the sunshine has brought all of London out to the park — but they eventually find one, hidden away off the beaten path by a cluster of manicured bushes.

There’s a motley crew of ducks quacking away nearby. “Why do the ducks look so freaky?” Luke asks affectionately, craning his neck to get a better look at them as he settles onto the bench next to Calum. 

“Don’t be mean to the ducks. They probably think you look freaky.” 

“I’m not being mean! I think they’re cute!” Luke protests, holding up his phone to try to frame a photo of the ducks with the palace looming in the background. “They just don’t look like the ducks I’m used to seeing.”

“They’re exotic English ducks.” Calum leans over Luke’s shoulder to look at the photo on his phone. “You’re a shit photographer.”

“I know,” Luke mourns, running his thumb over a blurry duck.

Calum winds an arm around Luke’s shoulders and squeezes him. “Cheer up, I’m not here for your photography skills.” He loosens his grip, but leaves his arm resting across the bench behind Luke’s shoulders.

“What are you here for?” Luke asks cautiously. Does he really want to know? Unclear. But he does need to know, at least in some abstract way, that this isn’t just an elaborate practical joke that’s going to end up with Calum stranding him at the top of the London Eye and eloping with Prince Harry.

Calum’s ready with an answer. “Your ass in those pants, obviously.”

Luke shoots him a dirty look. “Don’t disrespect the Queen’s favorite ass.”

Calum’s voice pitches high and he shakes his head indulgently. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m clearly lying, I couldn’t see your ass at all in that plane seat and I’m still here. It’s fully a bonus ass.”

“A bonus to what?” Luke asks with his best cloying smile. He’s fishing, yes, but only because Calum never really answered his question. He’s still craving some kind of confirmation that Calum is actually enjoying himself. It’s terrible. Luke hates that he’s like this. He shouldn't still be questioning it when Calum has made a point to go out of his way to spend time with him, and to make plans to keep spending time with him. But sometimes Luke can’t seem to convince his own brain to see logic.

Calum shrugs a shoulder and smiles like he’s up to something, and Luke expects another joking response. But then he says, with surprising earnestness, “Literally everything else about you.”

It stuns Luke into silence for a second, and he fumbles awkwardly over his words when he does manage to speak. “Are you sure? You haven’t known me very long. I could actually be the worst.”

“You’re not the worst,” Calum replies confidently. “But I would like to know more about you. If you want to tell me.”

Oh, here it is. The part Luke dreads. He doesn’t preview well. There’s no way for him to summarize himself effectively. He needs hours and days and weeks to win people over.

So he says, “I’m pretty boring. I’d rather hear about you.”

Although he’s not sure he actually wants that either. Since yesterday, he’s starting to question whether it’s a good idea to mess with the delicate dynamic they’ve established. They’ve had two perfect days together without really knowing anything about each other. Why risk it?

“Stop saying you’re boring,” Calum whines, grabbing Luke by the shoulder and shaking him gently. “You’re offending me, someone who happens to find you incredibly interesting.”

“Shut up.” In times of stress, Luke defaults to his defensive nature, which is incredibly annoying in all cases, but especially as it applies to flirting.

“It’s true,” Calum says. “Buckingham Palace could be burning down right now and I wouldn’t notice because I’m so distracted by you.”

Luke shakes his head in disbelief. “I really doubt that. There’d be sirens. Screaming. The ducks would be in a tizzy.”

“And I’d just sit here calmly staring at your beautiful face and listening intently while you tell me about your interesting self.”

Luke rolls his eyes, but inside he’s a Jackson Pollock painting, rainbow splatters of warm emotion mixed with black marks of fear spreading behind his ribs. “Or we could just...not.”

As desperate as he is to learn anything he can about Calum, he’s certain it won’t make him feel any less. If anything, it will just make him grow more attached to Calum. Give him more to lose. And if, in the end, all they have are a few days together, why not make them the best few days possible? Why bring real life into their perfect little snowglobe version of London?

“Not talk about ourselves?” A cloud drifts past overhead, covering Calum’s face in a cool blue shadow. It matches the cloudy shadow of confusion and disappointment swirling in his eyes.

Luke smiles, and he feels like he should do something with his hands, find a way to reassure Calum with his touch since he knows he won’t be any good at doing it with his words. 

Somehow, he winds up kissing Calum again. Once, quickly, softly, on the corner of his mouth.

It makes Calum smile back at him with quiet surprise, and it gives Luke exactly the courage he needs to speak his mind.

“I don’t mean, like...withholding information. But do we really need to play the whole what do you do, how many siblings do you have, what’s your secret trauma game? If it comes up, it comes up, but we’re in London, and it’s a beautiful day, and I’m having fun spending time with you, and that’s really— all that matters right now, you know?”

He pauses, fiddling with his necklace to occupy his anxious hands. Calum stares at him silently for what feels like forever. The nearby ducks have an entire conversation about who gets to scare the squirrel by the edge of the pond.

“Yeah,” Calum says finally, smile broadening into a wide grin. “We can do it your way.” His eyes drop to Luke’s fingers, wrapped around his necklace chain. “But you fucked up.”

“What do you mean?” Luke asks, not too worried, because Calum is still smiling, and now the hand that was on Luke’s shoulder is brushing through his hair instead, carefully pinching the curls that lie against Luke’s temple and forcing him to suppress a shiver.

“The kissing. It was my turn to kiss you.” 

It’s hard for Luke to process the words, because the feeling of Calum’s fingers in his hair is something approaching all-consuming. “That was barely a kiss. I don’t think it counts.”

Calum shakes his head. “Nope. Your lips touched my lips. Definitely counts. Now I owe you two.” He holds up two fingers, then taps them against Luke’s lips like it’s a threat.

Luke makes a noise, maybe a strangled laugh, maybe a poorly-disguised moan, either way it’s definitely not cute. “And that’s supposed to be a bad thing?”

Biting his lip over a smile, Calum says, “You don’t know how I kiss, Luke.”

“Jesus, what are you, the Lady Mary of kissing? Is my heart going to stop because of your magically devastating kissing technique?” Regardless of whether or not Calum’s kisses are magical, there’s still a pretty high chance they’ll stop Luke’s heart. Everything about him does.

Calum’s face scrunches into a smile and he squeezes Luke’s shoulders. “I hope not, then who will I see the rest of London with?” 

His eyes are flecked with gold in the sun. It caught Luke off guard yesterday when he’d first noticed, unaccustomed to seeing Calum’s eyes outside of dim, artificial light, and he hasn’t really stopped thinking about it ever since. 

Because it’s beautiful and because it makes Calum’s eyes shine like he does and because it’s another piece of Calum that Luke might never have discovered if things hadn’t happened exactly as they did. He saw gold starbursts behind his eyelids last night when he laid down to sleep in Ashton’s tiny spare room, feet hanging over the edge of the bed and colliding with the handles on the closet door.

“The Queen, maybe,” Luke says, trying not to stare at those gold flecks. “She’ll need someone to console her after my death.”

Those gold-flecked eyes light up when Calum laughs in response. “Now you’re talkin’. Me and the Queen hitting up all London’s best pubs.”

“What sort of drunk do you think she is?” Luke asks. “Sad drunk? Funny drunk? Sleepy drunk? Slutty drunk?”

“Philosophical drunk,” Calum says confidently. “She’d be asking all these deep questions. Trying to kill my buzz by making me think too hard.” He frowns and shakes his head. “No, that won’t do. We’re going to have to keep you alive. I already know what kind of drunk you are.”

Luke looks at him expectantly. He expects loud drunk or giggly drunk or obnoxious drunk. (He’s actually kind of a slutty drunk, but fortunately that particular side of him didn’t make an appearance on the plane.)

“My favorite kind.” Calum smirks, all too pleased with himself, but there’s a light blush on his cheeks, and Luke gets a little lost in it. Perhaps too lost. Perhaps he’s going insane looking at Calum’s face in the sun.

“I want to lick your moles,” he says, placing his fingers over the small constellation of moles on Calum’s right cheek, trying to cover them all at once. Luke can feel them on his fingertips, just barely raised from Calum’s soft cheek.

“Not in front of the Queen,” Calum whispers warmly through a close-lipped grin, fingers playing through the ends of Luke’s hair again. “Later, though.”

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

“I really fuck with how the money here looks fake,” Calum says as he passes the cashier at the pub a 20 pound note to cover his dinner order. “It’s so shiny and colorful.”

“Colourful,” Luke corrects, over-prounouncing the ou to Calum’s delight and the cashier’s ire. She gives Luke an unimpressed look while she counts out Calum’s change and Luke offers her an apologetic smile. “I like it too,” he says to Calum. “It’s like the Queen is just constantly staring at my ass while she sits quietly inside my wallet.”

“At some point we’re going to need to bury that joke,” Calum says, brushing past Luke with a beer in tow, scanning the pub for a free table. “I’m starting to get seriously jealous of a half-corpse.”

“Fine,” Luke sighs, sliding into a booth across from Calum. “Take away my one source of self esteem.”

“I’ll compliment the shit out of you if it means I don’t have to daydream about assassinating the Queen over your ass.”

Luke doesn’t doubt that. Calum’s so free with kind words, even if they’re often wrapped in a joke, Luke can still feel the truth behind them. “I don’t want your pity compliments,” he says through a teasing grin.

Calum shakes his head and takes a sip of his beer, eyes on Luke the whole time. There’s something lurking behind his eyes, a plan formulating, a plot coming together. Luke braces himself for it as soon as the glass moves away from Calum’s lips.

“So how’s that whole finding yourself thing going for you so far?”

He follows that up by shrugging out of his jacket, rendering Luke essentially speechless for several moments as he is forced to abruptly process the sight of Calum in a tight white T-shirt, stretching across his chest and clinging to his biceps, exposing tattoos up and down his arms.

“Fuck me.”

It’s efficient. An answer to Calum’s question, a reaction to Calum’s horrifically appealing physical form, a polite request.

“Not great, then,” Calum says, raising his eyebrows, because he knows. He knows all the ways Luke meant it, and Luke is actually obsessed with that, so keen on being so easily understood, he doesn’t even care if it exposes the worst of him, as long as it means Calum might be seeing the best of him too.

“Haven’t really been thinking much about it,” Luke replies, accepting eagerly when Calum slides his beer across the table to offer Luke a taste. “There have been other things on my mind.” 

He smiles over the rim of the glass before he takes a drink. It’s heavy and bitter, but it’s smooth going down. Luke presses his lips together and nods appreciatively, pushing the glass back to Calum’s waiting hand. And oh, his waiting eyes, too. Watching. Smiling. Thinking.

“Mine too,” Calum says meaningfully, shoving his jacket into the corner of the booth and propping his elbows on the table. “Maybe that’s the key, though. Finding things when you’re not looking, and all that.” He bumps his foot against Luke’s under the table and smiles almost unbearably softly.

“I’m not even really sure the thing I’m looking for is me,” Luke admits, and probably that soft smile is to blame for his sudden burst of honesty. He wants to be careful about this, though. Because he didn’t set out on this trip to meet a guy, and he knows a guy can’t magically solve this for him, whatever this is. 

But he also knows meeting Calum has already changed something in his perspective. For the first time in recent memory, he doesn’t feel like his experiences are leaking out of him. He feels like every one of them is being carefully cataloged and stored, filling him to the brim with the desire to exist.

He just really doesn’t want to be that person, the kind that needs someone else to feel whole. He doesn’t think he is that person, not even close, so why is his brain being so irrational about this, trying to convince him Calum is the answer?

Calum doesn’t seem to be judging him, though, pursing his lips while he thinks it through, studying Luke’s face like it might contain some deeper insight. It makes Luke twitch a little, hyper-aware of every little movement of his eyes or lips under Calum’s gaze.

“I think maybe I know what you mean,” Calum says eventually, following it up with another sip of his beer. “Like you’ve already found yourself, but you just need something to actually convince yourself that you have.” He waves his hand in the air, a floaty flick of his wrist. “Whatever that something may be.”

And that makes a lot of sense to Luke. Calum’s not the answer. But he might be the catalyst for Luke figuring it out on his own. He just might be Luke’s something.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

It’s dark when they leave the pub, streetlights flickering on to illuminate the tight, winding streets nearby. They both pull their jackets back on as soon as the much cooler evening air hits them on the other side of the pub door.

Calum starts walking down the sidewalk with intention, even though they haven’t discussed what they’re doing next, hand trailing behind him like he’s waiting for Luke to latch on. Cautiously, Luke grabs it, smiling at Calum’s back when he feels Calum’s fingers tighten around his immediately.

“Where are we going?” Luke asks, noticing they seem to be retracing their steps back to the tube station and hoping that’s not their destination. It’s late, but not that late, and Luke wants more Calum. As much as he can get.

Calum eyes Luke mischievously. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”

“What did I say?” Luke’s mind kicks into hyperspeed, running through all the things that have come out of his mouth today and attempting to ascertain which of the most embarrassing ones Calum is about to bring up.

“About wanting to lick my moles.”

Of course. He may as well embrace it.

“Oh, yeah. Still true.” 

Calum’s voice goes down smoother than Luke’s sip of beer. “I think I know a place we can make that happen.”

Luke’s chest fizzes, sharp and pleasant. “I’m listening.”

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

It’s the top of a skyscraper. Definitely not what Luke had been expecting, but as he takes in the floor-to-ceiling windows with the most incredible view of the London city lights, he’s tempted to crush Calum in a hug for bringing him here to this place he didn’t know existed but now can’t imagine ever not seeing.

“It’s more crowded than I expected,” Calum grumbles, snapping Luke out of his euphoric state. 

It is crowded, people milling around the garden in the middle of the floor and lined up around the windows, pressed up close to take photos or enjoy the view.

“That’s okay,” Luke says, dodging a row of potted plants to try to get closer to the windows. “I love it.” He gives Calum a hopefully reassuring smile over his shoulder, and Calum seems heartened, catching his hands on Luke’s waist and following him to an open spot along the windows.

He finds an empty space near the corner and steps up to the glass. Calum crowds close behind him, and he feels Calum’s breath on the back of his neck, followed by Calum’s arms around his waist, then, finally, Calum’s chin on his shoulder. He hunches down to accommodate their height difference, and Calum laughs when he notices, squeezing his arms tightly around Luke’s waist.

“Thanks,” Calum says softly. “I’m not used to being the big spoon for an actual giant.”

“Thank you for even trying. Most people don’t bother.”

“I’m sensing some bitterness,” Calum teases. “Have we waded into touchy territory?”

Luke gently shrugs the shoulder that Calum’s resting against. “All I’m saying is that sometimes big people like to be the little spoon, but no one ever seems to think about that. They just think Oh, big man, big spoon. What if I wanna be the little spoon sometimes?”

“Do you?” Calum asks, clearly amused by the impassioned outburst.

“Yes,” Luke replies sharply, almost a whine. He feels very strongly about the subject. “Who wouldn’t want to be wrapped up in you?”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, then immediately un-regrets it when he hears Calum’s breathy response. “Jesus Christ, Luke. Hard to argue with that, I guess.” 

Hearing Calum say his name in that voice, that I’m-fucked-and-happy-about-it voice, is really something.

Calum presses up against him, draping his chest over Luke’s back, pulling Luke back into him as tightly as he can. Luke might be shaking, or maybe the building is swaying in the breeze. It’s fine. Calum’s got him. “Happy now?” Calum asks like it’s an indulgence, like Luke’s being petulant and he’s done him a favor, but Luke can hear Calum smiling, can feel Calum’s heart thudding against his back.

He sighs contentedly and flashes Calum a gloaty smile in the reflection of the window. “Very.”  

And he is. He can’t think of a more perfect way to spend his vacation than with Calum pressed against him while he takes in the bright lights of the nighttime London skyline. “I love how London is a mix of old stuff and new stuff,” Luke muses as his eyes travel across the horizon. “It finds space for the new things along with the old. Combines things that might not seem like they match but are actually really good together.”

Calum chuckles gently. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Luke laughs along, but shakes his head. “I’m really not. You and I obviously match.” They do. Luke can see it in their reflection in the window, can feel it in the way their bodies fit together, can hear it in how their laughter harmonizes in the air. 

Can taste it, when Calum suddenly spins him around and kisses him, lips and hands brazen despite the crowd of people around them. Luke leans into it, closing his eyes and letting all the background noise fall away, hands grasping at Calum’s jacket to pull him closer. Calum’s lips are plump and perfect and Luke kisses him in a daze until they’re backed against a metal beam that forces Luke’s neck to crank down at an uncomfortable angle and may create a permanent dent in the back of his skull if they don’t move soon.

“Calum,” Luke interrupts, temporarily rendered speechless by the sight of Calum’s shiny, swollen lips. God, he wants those lips. He wants to lick them and bite them and feel them on his skin. And shit, the moles. Still there, just taunting him. He’s getting dizzy now. Maybe it’s the height, maybe the air up here is just too thin to support the weight of how much he wants Calum. If he passes out it’s fine. Calum will take care of him.

“What? Are you okay? Why are you smiling like a cartoon villain?” Calum’s regarding him with inquisitive eyes and a crooked quirk of his lips. Goddamn, those lips. 

Luke takes a deep breath. “I’m great except for this beam trying to lobotomize me.” He taps the beam over his head and gives it a vicious side eye. “Do you maybe wanna move to one of the couches back there?”

There isn’t anywhere truly private here, but there is a cluster of couches in the corner in a U shape, and the one facing the wall might be a reasonable option for a bit of mildly scandalous kissing, especially if they stay huddled on the side behind the giant potted plant.

Calum seems to be processing this at the same time. “Plant side?” he asks, already moving toward the couches, checking over his shoulder to make sure Luke is following. There’s something incredibly tactical about it, an organized maneuver to keep them safe from offense in the form of prying eyes and judgmental comments.

“Plant side.” Luke smiles at him, and the smile doesn’t slip off his face even when Calum turns around. It’s just easy, all of this. Luke’s words don’t get stuck in his mouth. His thoughts aren’t a jumbled and conflicting mess that he has to try to pick through and translate as he speaks. 

Is he just a different person on vacation? Relaxed and adventurous and not stuck in his own mind? Or is it that Calum already comes equipped with the Luke operating manual, already innately knows how to interpret the looks and the laughs and the longing stares at his lips with perfect accuracy?

They naturally sit in the same configuration they were in on the plane, Luke realizes, with Calum in the corner of the sofa nearest the window and Luke on his left, though this time Luke organizes himself so one leg is tucked up on the sofa so he can face Calum (and the view, but Calum is really giving the view a run for its money).

“Creatures of habit,” Calum says through a laugh, leaning in close, until he’s smiling against Luke’s lips, hands sliding under Luke’s jacket to settle around his waist.

Melting into the touch, Luke lets Calum take the lead for a while. Calum was right. There is something about how he kisses that has Luke gasping almost immediately, a combination of eagerness and tenderness that makes Luke feel— what exactly? He’s never felt anything quite like it before. He’s a Rice Krispy snapping, crackling and popping in a bowl of milk. He’s a dog getting scratched in that exact right spot that makes his leg kick uncontrollably. He’s a swath of sequins being rubbed one direction, then the other, soothing and scintillating all at once.

There’s a buzz in his pocket and Luke realizes Ashton’s probably wondering where he is. It’s gotten late, and Ashton’s the type that will check in to make sure Luke hasn’t been murdered if he’s not safely tucked into bed at ten p.m.

Luke tears himself away from Calum’s mouth. “I should probably head back soon,” he says sadly. But then he goes right back in, kissing Calum with needy lips and a greedy tongue, far less dignified than what Calum had them doing previously, but Luke doesn’t care. He’s feeling the crushing force of time running out. Calum doesn’t complain, fingers digging hard against Luke’s waist.

As promised, he lets his mouth drift over Calum’s face, tongue dipping to press against the moles on Calum’s face, and it’s fucking weird, so of course Calum laughs, tilting his head to encourage Luke’s mouth to travel elsewhere, which Luke considers very seriously. Maybe to his jaw, or to his neck, or—

Someone clears their throat, close, too close to Luke’s head. “Pardon me.” It’s a man, and he doesn’t sound too bothered to be interrupting the kissing. Which, maybe he should. Can’t he see they were enjoying themselves? “The garden is closing in five minutes.”

Luke finally turns around to see the source of the voice, and it’s a uniformed attendant, a kind-eyed older man with a name tag that says Bernie. He doesn’t say anything else, just smiles and winks when he meets Luke’s eyes, then moseys away slowly, hands clasped behind his back, off to alert a different group of tourists that the end is near.

“Damn,” Calum complains wistfully. “We were just getting to the hot mole action.”

“Don’t worry,” Luke assures him, digging his phone out of his pocket to confirm his current status as alive before Ashton dials 999. “There’s more where that came from.”

Chapter Text

Calum can’t sleep. Too busy thinking about Luke. The way he laughs, the way he says the strangest things in the nicest way, the way he kisses Calum like his life depends on it.

While Calum is busy not sleeping, he stares into the space next to him in his hotel bed, imagining the blue of Luke’s eyes glittering in the dark. 

This is not exactly normal behavior for him. Calum doesn’t pine. He has fun. His past relationships? Not that deep! They were people he liked spending time with and thought were hot and that was all he really needed. He wasn’t looking for anything more. Didn’t really see the point in going all in, didn’t get how anyone fell so deep for another person.

Now, though, he’s starting to understand. Some people shake you up. Push different buttons. Find ways to beautifully unsettle you until they’re all you can think about.

Blue eyes are all Calum can think about. 

At 4 a.m., he gives in and texts Michael about it. It’s barely past dinner for him; Calum may as well take advantage of the rare chance to get a quick reply.

Calum: why am I so obsessed with this guy?

Michael: plane guy? pretty giant?

Calum: pretty giant, yes.

Michael: how the fuck should i know?

Michael: maybe you just like him a lot. it happens.

Calum: not to me

Michael: 🙃

Calum: seriously bro. i can’t stop thinking about him.

Michael: why don’t you tell him that instead of me?

Calum: that’s…that’s…

Michael: a fucking amazing idea? i know, thank you.

Calum sighs. He’s not afraid to flirt, and he has no problem being blunt and honest about most things, but this is different. New. He pulls the edges of his pillow over his face, then releases them with a huff. Fuck it.

Calum: i can’t sleep 

Calum: thinking about you 

He flips his phone over on the nightstand and closes his eyes, planning to make another attempt to fall asleep, not expecting to hear from Luke until morning. But then his phone buzzes loudly against the hollow wooden tabletop.

Pretty Giant: same

An entire army of butterflies explode into flight in Calum’s stomach.

Holy shit.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

“Will you tell me where you’re from?” Calum asks as soon as he sees Luke’s head poke in the door of the blue bakery the next morning.

“Chicago,” Luke says breezily, forehead wrinkled in a confused little frown at the intensity of Calum’s questioning. Which is fair. It just suddenly became very important to Calum last night, when he realized…when he realized what’s happening. When he realized he’s losing his mind over Luke and he doesn’t have any desire to find it again. He needs to know there’s hope for them. 

Three syllables give him that hope. “Great,” he says, handing Luke a latte in a tiny to-go cup. “Me too.” And yeah, chances were good, since they both got on the plane at the same airport, but Calum wanted more than just chances, and now he has it.

“Uh. Rad,” Luke replies gamely, clearly thinking a lot more than he’s saying, and Calum stares at him fondly, wondering what he’s thinking, but not feeling any particular need to push him. He’s smiling, and that’s all that Calum really needs to know right now.

It’s a chilly morning, the sun finally disappearing behind clouds as expected, and Luke’s cheeks are painted the same pink shade as his lips. He’s wearing a hoodie again, under his jacket, and his hair is all askew from the cold breeze. Calum smiles and lifts onto his toes to kiss the confusion off his lips. “Good morning.”

Luke catches him by the hip and holds him there for a moment after their lips part. “Morning.” He lets go. Takes a sip of his latte. 

Calum misses the contact immediately. He teeters against Luke, pressing their shoulders together, wrapping his arm around the front of Luke’s waist. “Do you wanna go to the market and get some pastries for breakfast?”

“Leave one pastry shop so we can go buy pastries somewhere else?” Luke’s lips graze over Calum’s ear when he speaks, burning hot despite the cold outside, and perfectly soft. “Absolutely, let’s do it.”

And then he’s tugging Calum to the door so quickly Calum nearly, nearly forgets to swipe his own coffee off the counter on their way out.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

Walking around London with Luke is just a constant novelty for Calum. For one thing, he’s just so fucking large and so fucking beautiful, everyone looks at him. It’s almost impossible not to. And when they look at Luke, they see Calum by his side, and Calum does get some horrible satisfaction from that. It makes him feel special, knowing he’s the one Luke’s chosen to spend his day with, and everyone can see it.

It’s also the way Luke takes everything in, wide-eyed and curious, head whipping all directions all the time, pointing out the things that interest him with bright excitement in his voice. He makes everything feel like an adventure, a possibility, something worth discovering. Calum’s absolutely certain he wouldn’t even begin to know how to appreciate London on his own as much as he can appreciate it through Luke’s eyes.

And, at Borough Market, he discovers the novelty of losing Luke in the crowd.

It’s fucking crowded, people spilling out of the tight market walkways and surrounding sidewalks like ants descending on a picnic. The giant awnings overhead and all the bodies make it feel warmer, at least, and Calum relaxes his shoulders down from their protective post around his ears. There are traders everywhere hollering out products and prices, conflicting words and figures that Calum can’t quite sort out, beyond the fact that strawberries fresh pounds cheese baked wine.

Whatever is going on, he wants to consume it all.

“How the fuck are we supposed to figure out what to get?” Luke’s dazed, stuck in one spot, looking around warily, his large body like a giant boulder parting the flowing river of Londoners attempting to access their strawberries fresh pounds cheese. 

Calum takes him gently by the hand and pulls him along. “We can get as much of it as we want,” he reasons. “I’m going to get it all.”

He smiles back at Luke only to be met with a dubious squint. “All?”

“Well. A lot. Anything that catches my eye.”

“Cal,” Luke pleads, pressing himself as close to Calum as he can, like he’s afraid of getting swept away from him in the crush of humanity, “Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Why are you so concerned?” He squeezes Luke in a quick side hug as they pass a booth selling…types of oil. Hmm. Moving on.

He looks up at Luke and his heart breaks a little at the way his bottom lip is firmly secured between his teeth, something approaching panic in his eyes. “I just don’t want you to feel bad,” Luke says through a heavy exhale. “We don’t have that much time together. I don’t—” he cuts himself off, twisting his lips in frustration, and suddenly, Calum gets it. 

Luke doesn’t want Calum to gorge himself on bread and cheese to the point where he makes himself sick and they can’t enjoy their day together.

What a horrifyingly cute thing to be worried about. How the fuck did Calum ever live his life without Luke? 

Why did those two thoughts happen one right after the other?

A question to deal with tonight when Calum doesn’t sleep, probably.

“Oh, shit. You’re— you’re right.” He nods, looking into Luke’s eyes, actually watching the anxiousness clear from them in real time. Holy fuck, that’s a nice feeling. “I wasn’t thinking. Let’s wander around, see what looks best.”

Luke’s smile could outshine the sun. And it does easily right now. The clouds are only getting heavier as the morning fog dissipates. “I’m thinking carbs,” Luke says eagerly, nodding toward some sort of specialty bakery booth. Calum can smell it as soon as he turns his head toward it, fresh baked bread mingling with sugar and spice.

“And I like the way you think,” Calum replies, pushing through the crowd to try to lead them toward the booth. 

Luke trails along behind, still seemingly overwhelmed by all the activity around them, his curly head poking out over the crowd, until Calum finally makes it to the booth, turns around, and freezes. The curly head is gone. 

He slips into the space between the booth and a trash can to look around, scanning the crowd for Luke. If he stays in the same spot long enough, he’s bound to see Luke headed for him eventually. But minutes pass with no sign of Luke, and a quick glance at his phone shows nothing. Fuck. Now what?

Venturing out into the crowd is objectively the worst thing he can do, since Luke knew where they were headed and is likely to make his way back to the bakery booth eventually. 

Unless— did he ditch Calum? No. As blood-chilling as the initial thought may be, Calum doesn’t let it seep into his mind. No one who was that worried about Calum’s digestive health would just ditch him out of nowhere. 

Finally, Calum can’t take it any longer. He has to do something. What if Luke's being trampled by a horde of oil enthusiasts?

Calum: i’m coming for you. If you see this, meet me by the strawberry stand we saw on the way in.

He waits for a few seconds and doesn’t see any sign of Luke typing, so he takes a deep breath and pushes back into the crowd, letting the flow lead him along the pathway naturally. There’s so much fucking cheese here. Loads of it, in giant wheels and hefty blocks, in tiny chunks with toothpicks drilled through the middle so customers can sample them.

Which is exactly what Luke is doing when Calum finally spots him, head still poking out above the crowd, but now featuring a hand holding a cheese-adorned toothpick to his lovely lips. He pops the cheese in his mouth in one bite and chews thoughtfully, nodding along as the cheese man at the cheese booth talks animatedly about something or other presumably related to cheese. How dare this motherfucker be calmly enjoying cheese while Calum is imagining him being trampled?

The moment when he finally spots Calum coming his way, Luke’s eyes light up and he gestures wildly for Calum to come over. Something is amiss. The closer Calum gets, the more he can see it in Luke’s eyes: desperation.

He is being detained against his will by the cheese man.

Once Calum’s within earshot, it gets worse.

“Now with a soft cheese, I really like to savor it. Let it rest in my mouth, run my tongue over it, appreciate the nuance of the taste, because it deserves that.” The cheese man leers at Luke, reaching for the empty toothpick between Luke’s fingers, letting his hand linger against Luke’s skin much longer than is strictly necessary, then smirks meaningfully. “I think you deserve that too. I can show you sometime, if you want.”

Luke titters nervously. “That’s really nice of you to offer,” he says to the creepy cheese man, grabbing onto Calum the second he’s within reach and pulling him close, already backing away from the cheese booth. “But I already have someone to, uh, savor the taste. Thank you, though,” he calls as he drags Calum away. “The sample was delicious!” The last bit is probably lost in the noise of the crowd, but he sounds so sincere when he says it. It’s way more kindness than the creepy cheese man deserves.

Calum aims them for another booth in the distance with a croissant drawn on its chalkboard sign. “Jesus Christ, why is everyone constantly hitting on you everywhere you go? That’s a rhetorical question, obviously.” 

Scoffing, Luke hooks a finger around Calum’s belt loop, apparently traumatized by the possibility of getting separated again. “He tricked me! I got pulled into the flow of the crowd and his booth looked like a good place to get turned around, but then he captured me there and fed me samples and made me listen to his dirty cheese talk.”

Calum can’t help it, he tries to hold it back, but it’s useless. His suppressed laughter comes out as a series of gasping wheezes. “He lured you into his cheese trap? Like a mouse?”

“He did!” Luke hisses, indignant.

“Was the cheese good at least?”

“The cheese was delicious,” Luke says defeatedly. 

“I’m sorry about the creepy cheese man,” Calum says sincerely, hooking his arm around Luke’s waist. “Shall we get some croissants and get out of here?”

And there it is again, the bright sunshine smile, decorated with dimples and windswept hair. 

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

“Fucking hell,” Luke grumbles, pulling his hood up and holding it in place with his hand flat on top of his head. “My hair is going to be one giant tangle.”

“You look crazy hot,” Calum assures him, because it’s true. Somehow Luke pulls off freezing-cold-gusting-wind like it’s the biggest trend at fashion week. His hair is a mess under his hood, curls swirling in patterns and directions Calum didn’t even know existed, and his cheeks are stained pink from the cold again, and his jacket is zipped up over his hoodie, chin tucked into the collar, and it’s all perfect.

Trembling, Luke smiles at him gratefully, teeth clacking together. “I’m actually so fucking cold though.”

Calum pulls at his hoodie strings and secures them in a knot under Luke’s chin, then reaches for his hand, prying it off of Luke’s head and rubbing it between his own palms to try to warm it up. “Me too. Whose idea was this anyway?”

His. It was his idea. You can’t go to London and not ride a double decker bus, right? And it seemed like a good way to see new parts of the city, maybe figure out some other places they want to visit, all while learning all sorts of fun London facts along the way.

It just hadn’t occurred to him that on such a cold day, sitting on the top of an open double decker bus is basically the equivalent of spending the day in a freezer, and it gets even worse when the bus is actually moving, which is the equivalent of spending the day in a freezer with one of those fancy Dyson fans that Calum can't afford on full blast inches from your face.

They have to sit on the top though. There’s no point in it if they don’t. (They are apparently the only ones with that mindset, as literally all of the other sightseeing passengers are tucked warmly into the enclosed lower level of the bus.)

“It wasn’t a bad idea, in theory,” Luke says kindly, tucking their joined hands under the bottom of his jacket. “It’s the touristy sightseeing activity, and what are we if not touristy sightseers?”

Calum dislodges his hand from Luke’s and splays his fingers out wide over Luke’s lower stomach, the soft material of Luke’s hoodie rubbing against his thumb while the scratchier fabric at the waistband of Luke’s jeans scrapes under his pinky. “I take it back, this was an excellent idea.” 

He’s a simple man. His hand touching Luke in a way that is so close to being incredibly intimate is warming him considerably. But maybe not as much as the little laugh that bubbles out of Luke as a result of Calum’s comment.

The rumbling voice of the tour guide crackles over the speakers on the bus, most of the words drowned out by the rushing wind and the sound of car horns and the general roar of traffic on the road around them. Luke’s voice is surprisingly calm and soft given the fact he’s yelling over the entire city of London when he declares, “I’m having fun!”

They’ve done it again, sat in such a way that Luke is on Calum’s left, just like on the plane. This time, they’re across the aisle, so Luke has the “window” seat, if there is such a thing on an open-air bus roof, but it really just means Calum has an excuse to look at Luke’s face while Luke looks out over the city as they roll past.

He thought it didn’t get any better than the curls whipping around Luke’s head in the breeze, but now with his hood up, and just a few curls escaping around his face, he’s so cozy-soft, Calum is absolutely torn. Every version of Luke is better than the last. Whatever iteration Calum is currently looking at is always the best one.

This is so not him. He can’t get over how not him it is. And yet, it is him, right now.

It’s fucking exhilarating, though. No wonder he’s been feeling reckless about Luke; he’s just becoming a completely different person under the influence of British accents and blue eyes. 

The bus comes to a screeching halt next to Big Ben (shrouded in restoration scaffolding, but somehow still proud and dignified), and Calum gets showy about collapsing against Luke. “Oops. Sorry, stranger.” He performs a dramatic double take. He is committing to this bit, because he can see Luke’s lips twitching, fighting laughter. “Wow. Has anyone ever told you you’re a very pretty giant?”

He doesn’t give Luke a chance to answer, just watches him laugh for half a second, as long as he can stand it, really, before he catches Luke’s lips mid-laugh. 

Luke’s lips are cold against Calum’s, but his breath is warm, and he relaxes into it so easily. He just lets Calum kiss him, doesn’t hesitate to kiss back, hands pressing Calum’s even tighter against him, and the ease of it all, the way he’s just so damn willing — it twists a knob, flicks a lever, opens a door, something inside Calum that feels suspiciously like more space opening up inside him just to make room for Luke.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

Calum has a pretty good sense of direction. Once he’s walked a particular path, he remembers it, he can follow it back, and he innately knows which way he needs to point his body to get him where he needs to go.

Which is also apparently something Luke has zapped right out of him, along with the ability not to pine, because they’re so lost, and it’s all because Calum is too busy paying attention to Luke to pay attention to where they're going.

“Just let me get a day of international data,” Luke says desperately, pulling on Calum’s sleeve with his feet dragging as they tread the same section of sidewalk they’ve been over three times already.

At this point, it’s a matter of principle. “We’re so close, I can feel it,” Calum says, taking them down a road they definitely didn’t take any of the other three times. Probably. “Don’t spend thirty dollars on data when we’re so close!”

“I appreciate the determination but the museum is going to close before we get there.”

“Well then you definitely shouldn’t spend thirty dollars trying to get us there.”

“Great point.” Luke’s smile is somehow both indulgent and reverent. He flicks his wrist out in front of him and does this little bow thing that’s incredibly awkward but also unbearably cute for Calum to witness. “Lead the way.”

Calum holds out his hand and starts walking, knowing Luke’s hand will find his, knowing he’ll thread his fingers between Calum’s easily, trusting Calum to lead them to the Natural History Museum even though he’s nearly a stranger, even though he’s led them in a circle three times. 

It’s clear that unlike Calum, Luke’s always had space inside him for someone else.

“Don’t you ever worry I might be leading you to a dark alley to murder you?” Calum wonders through a smile when, as expected, Luke’s hand slips into his. “Or to throw you in a Scavenger’s Daughter of my own making?”

Luke laughs, flat out and full, and stares at Calum disbelievingly. “No fucking way you’re organized enough for that kind of long con.”

This is probably something that should offend Calum, but actually he finds he just appreciates the fact that Luke has gotten any sort of accurate read on him. It's also really hard to be upset when Luke is laughing.

“Maybe I just decided right now. Looked at you and thought, this guy’s too amazing to be real, so he must be some highly evolved android from the future that time traveled to 2022 to facilitate the end of the human race, and the only one who can stop him is ME, by murdering him in this dark alley.”

Calum raises his eyebrows emphatically.

A double decker bus of the non-touristy sort rushes past, the low rumble of the engine matching Luke’s tone when he mumbles “Wow,” under his breath, followed by, “You’d find out pretty quickly I’m not an android if you tried to murder me. I’d bleed all over you. Profusely.”

Calum shakes his head. “Nope. I’ve made up my mind. You’re getting murdered, pretty giant robot.” He leads them around another corner. He has a good feeling about this one. They’re definitely getting close.

“What if I asked you very nicely not to?” The pleading expression Luke plasters on his face is so over-the-top and put-on, but it’s also so incredibly effective it almost brings a tear to Calum’s eye. Luke’s eyes are so wide and blue and his lips are in a perfect pout and all Calum wants to do is wrap him in a fuzzy blanket and feed him shortbreads until he smiles.

“Goddamn you’re cute,” Calum mutters defeatedly. “Fine, I won’t murder you.”

“Thanks man.” Luke’s eyes are so soft when he smiles back at Calum. So genuinely touched. It’s a little warmer now they’re off the bus, and he’s dropped his hood down, and those unruly curls are back to whipping across his face, catching in his eyelashes and the scruff on his jaw. “I’m still amenable to squishing you though, just so you know.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten. It’s actually the only thing I’ve thought about since—”

“Oh hey,” Luke says, stopping suddenly and pointing down a street on their left. “I think it’s this way.”

Frowning, Calum peers down the street, unconvinced. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure we just keep going this way.”

“Here’s the thing.” Luke bites his lip and looks down at the sidewalk guiltily for a moment before meeting Calum’s eyes with a pinched look on his face. “I’m actually positive it’s that way.” He points down the street again and shrugs. “We already walked past the corner down the block, and there was a sign pointing to the museum.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” Calum mourns. He has no memory of passing the corner down the block. Luke really is ruining him.

“You seemed confident,” Luke says. “I thought you might still manage to get us there.”

“So you let me lead you around aimlessly and look like a complete dumbass?” If only Calum weren’t grinning ear to ear, this would have so much more impact. By now he should be used to this, used to Luke, but he just continues to be so surprised and so charmed at every turn. This is the thing, really. How is he supposed to not pine over Luke when Luke is constantly doing something new and delightful?

“Only for a few blocks,” Luke says. “Now that you’re trying to send us to Chelsea I figured I better speak up.”

“Fine,” Calum says with a defeated sigh. “We’ll do it your way.”

He sets off down the correct street, looking out for the supposed sign, but he can feel Luke’s eyes on him, so he slides his gaze to the side, and sure enough, Luke’s face is turned to Calum, looking down at him with an expression Calum can’t quite manage to read with his limited view. He shifts his eyes back to the sidewalk in front of them before he gets caught.

“I wouldn’t mind if we just spent all day walking around,” Calum says. Luke’s Converse-covered feet hit the pavement in a calming rhythm. They’re not tied, at least not correctly. The laces are a tangled mess. Calum’s heart is probably tied up in there somewhere, held hostage over Luke’s left ankle. “Hanging out with you. Seeing new things. That’s a good day as far as I’m concerned, ancient skeletons or no.”

Luke squeezes his hand. “Stop, you’ll make me swoon.”

Calum can’t quite bring himself to look at Luke when he says it, because he can tell Luke’s not joking, even if his delivery suggests otherwise. There’s something tightening in Calum’s throat. He feels like he needs to clutch his chest and take several deep breaths, but that would probably be a strange thing to do in the middle of a London sidewalk, and anyway, there’s no reason for it. None at all. 

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

The museum is closed.

Well, technically it’s open for another thirty minutes, but they missed the final entry, so that’s it. No skeletons today.

“Now what?” Luke asks, sprawling out on the museum steps and leaning back on his elbows. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered by the turn of events.

Calum stares down at him. There’s something horribly tempting about the way he’s just laid out over the steps, all long legs and slim waist and broad shoulders and hopeful eyes. There’s no way for Calum to stop his brain from spiraling, and it just slips out. “I wish we were alone right now.”

A startled laugh spills out of Luke’s mouth, but he swallows it quickly when he looks up at Calum and meets his eyes, sees exactly what Calum is thinking reflected back at him. “Me too.” He swallows hard. Calum fights the urge to throw himself on top of Luke. 

Calum could invite him back to his hotel room. But that’s, like, incredibly presumptuous, right? They’ve barely even kissed. And when Calum says he wants Luke alone, he means it, but maybe just for more kissing. Some nice touching. Violent cuddling. They still barely know each other, and they still might never see each other again after this trip. Calum doesn’t want to do something one or both of them will regret just because Luke is hot and Calum is horny for him.

But, oh, does he want to kiss Luke more. So badly, so much.

You wanna come back to my hotel room? just doesn’t express that adequately, does it? So Calum doesn’t say it.

Instead, he sits down next to Luke and allows himself one heavy sigh as he looks longingly at Luke’s lips. Slings his elbows over his knees. Props his cheek against his forearm and stares at Luke some more.

He can tell Luke’s thinking, maybe trying to come up with a plan for what they should do next, maybe fighting his own internal battle about climbing on top of Calum, maybe considering what he wants for dinner.

Calum wishes he knew enough about Luke to know what kind of thoughtful look this one is, to be able to at least venture a guess where his mind is at.

Luke said he didn’t think they needed to force getting to know each other. At the time (fucking…yesterday?), Calum thought that sounded reasonable. But that was before he spent a night pining. Before he realized what was happening to him, and now he wants to know so much. As much as he can get.

He might want that even more than he wants the kissing.

“Luke?” He pokes Luke’s thigh cautiously with his finger.

“Huh?” Luke’s eyes clear as they snap to Calum, giving him his full, undivided attention, mouth hanging open slightly like Calum has startled him, but Calum’s the one who reels back at the intensity of the blue in Luke’s eyes.

Licking his lips, finger tracing over Luke’s thigh, Calum tries to figure out how to say this in a way that’s not going to scare Luke away. “Remember yesterday when you didn’t think we should force talking about ourselves?”

“Yeah?” Luke blinks, the shadow of his long lashes twinkling on his cheeks. These are not things Calum should be noticing. These are not things he’s ever noticed before about anyone, ever.

He smiles to himself and shakes his head at the thought, and Luke cocks his head to the side curiously.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to but…I think— the more time we spend together, the more I think I would like to know as much as I can about you. In a non-stalkery way,” he tacks on for levity, because Luke’s starting to look a little concerned and Calum doesn’t like that at all. “But only if you want.”

Luke doesn’t say anything for so long. He pushes off his elbows until he’s sitting up. Scratches at his nose with one finger, mouth quirking to the side in the process. Bobs his head like he’s got a techno song playing on repeat in his brain. Squishes his lips around in some sort of thoughtful deliberation that makes him look like a scheming squirrel.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to know anything about me,” he says eventually, and unnecessarily, because Calum understands that. “I just didn’t want us to waste time talking about, you know, real life, when we could be doing other things. Fun things, experiences. London things. Vacation things.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than talk to you,” Calum says, too seriously, so earnestly it pains him a little bit, but he forces himself not to crack a joke, makes himself look Luke in the eye when he says it.

“Oh,” Luke says under his breath, dropping his gaze to watch Calum’s finger tapping against his leg. 

Calum rushes to cut in before Luke says anything else. “And like— if you don’t want to spend time doing that, that’s fine. We don’t need to. I just wanted to, y’know. Throw it out there.”

He’s engulfed in a hug, Luke’s chest pressed against his shoulder and Luke’s arms wrapped around him what feels like at least three times, because he’s being held so fully and so tightly. 

Just as quickly as he came in for the hug, Luke retreats, crossing his arms in front of his stomach. There’s a tiny smile on his lips, Calum manages to catch it for just a second before Luke starts talking. “We can do that,” he says. “One personal question in exchange for one kiss?” he suggests, bouncing an eyebrow mischievously.

Now that’s a plan Calum can get behind.

“We better go somewhere else,” Calum says, immediately jumping to his feet and wrapping a hand around Luke’s wrist to haul him up. “This place is crawling with children.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you,” Luke mumbles fondly, following Calum down the steps.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

They walk for ten minutes and find themselves in the middle of Hyde Park, sitting on a wooden bench with a view of some sort of giant water-dwelling bird sculpture.

“Is it a crane?” Calum is tempted to look at the plaque at the base of the statue, but that would require him to get up from his lovely spot on the bench next to Luke, tucked behind a giant, well-groomed hedge. The sun is setting and it’s reflecting bright gold off the pond next to them, which somehow makes Luke’s eyes look even bluer.

Luke ponders the statue, squinting one of those blue eyes into a thin slit, tilting his head from one side to the other. “It looks like an alien bird.”

“Do you believe in aliens?”

“Is that one of your personal questions?”

Calum rolls his eyes but gestures for Luke to continue with his answer. “Sure, yes.” He has time to get to the useful information, assuming they don’t get too distracted with the kissing in between. They should probably set a timer or something, actually, otherwise they’ll just end up making out in front of the alien stork until sunrise and Calum won’t know anything new about Luke except whether or not he believes in aliens and what his kisses are like when he’s tired.

Maybe that would be worth it.

“I think there are probably other forms of life in the universe beyond Earth,” Luke says. “Seems pretty selfish to assume otherwise. But I don’t believe the, like, conspiracy theorists who claim they’ve been abducted and probed or whatever.”

Calum lets out a relieved, breathy laugh, and then Luke is asking, “Do I get to kiss you now?” before Calum can formulate a response, already starting to lean in.

Calum stops him with a gentle press of his hand against Luke’s chest. “About that. Should we set a timer?”

“A timer?” Luke asked, flummoxed and still trying to push closer to Calum.

“So we don’t get carried away with the kissing and forget to ask questions.”

Luke smiles and wraps his hand around Calum’s, dragging it down his body until it lands on his hip. Calum really, really wishes it were a warmer day and there weren’t so many layers between his hand and Luke’s skin. “Hey Siri,” Luke calls, pausing and listening for the telltale hum. “Set a timer for…three minutes.”

“Three minutes?” Calum echoes as Siri confirms the timer with a muffled voice from Luke’s pocket.

Shrugging, Luke moves to cradle Calum’s face in his hand. Jesus fuck why is this so…so? Calum feels Luke’s hand on his face but he also feels it everywhere in his body, fizzing under his skin and settling snugly in his chest and zipping up his spine. “Long enough to settle in, not long enough to get carried away.”

“We’ll see about that,” Calum says against Luke’s lips.

As it turns out, they don’t actually hear the timer go off three minutes later, but the buzzing in Luke’s pocket shakes them off each other with surprising effectiveness.

Calum swears under his breath cheerfully while Luke switches off the timer.

“My turn for a question?” Luke asks, smile almost unbearably soft in contrast to what those lips had just been doing.

“Yeah. Your turn.” 

Calum watches Luke think it through, head tilted up toward the sky. Calum enjoys the unfettered access to appreciating Luke’s face in the dying light. He thinks about where he wants to kiss him next, maybe right along the edge of his jaw. It looks pretty appealing from this angle.

“Why did you save me on the plane?”

“Huh?” This isn’t a question Calum expected. He thought maybe Luke would ask about his job, his family, his favorite animal or album, not something he basically already knows the answer to. “I thought you were insanely hot. I was trying to flirt heroically.”

“But you noticed the girl was bothering me,” Luke challenges.

“Yeah?”

“And you made the effort to come over and make up that story about us knowing each other to get her to move, and then you left me alone. You didn’t pressure me to talk to you.”

“Because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” It’d actually been torture for Calum, backing off, sitting quietly, trying to sleep while Luke was inches away from him being so fucking lovely with his soft hoodie and his soft smile and his soft curls.

Luke strokes his chin with his hand a few times like he’s a detective working through a difficult case on a CBS procedural drama. “Hmm.” 

“Hmm what? What’s the hmm for?” Calum feels like Luke is actually looking through him and peering into the maze of his brain, turning corners and opening doors even Calum doesn’t know what’s behind.

“Do you do stuff like that a lot? Trying to help people avoid uncomfortable situations?”

“This feels like a separate question,” Calum complains. 

“It’s the same basic question.” Luke smiles and gives him that goddamn wide-eyed pouty face, which Calum now realizes he does intentionally and with complete awareness of its effect. 

“I don’t know about a lot. I notice, I guess. When people are uncomfortable. And if I can do something about it— yeah, sometimes I do.”

“So you didn’t actually think I was cute at all,” Luke teases, bumping Calum with his shoulder. “I was just another uncomfortable stranger among many.”

Things would be a lot simpler if that were true. They would also be a lot less fun. “No, I thought you were more than cute. Pretty. Beautiful. Incredibly kind and patient for putting up with that girl as long as you did.”

“Stop,” Luke whispers, shrinking in on himself a little even as a tiny, delicate smile plays at his lips. “I was just joking.”

“I know,” Calum says with a small smile to match. “But it’s true anyway. And you deserve to hear it.”

“Hey Siri,” Luke says. “Set a timer for four minutes.”

Calum snickers and lets Luke corner him against the side of the bench, catching Luke’s jaw with his lips as soon as it's within reach.

Four minutes doesn’t seem any longer than three, but this time when the timer goes off, Calum’s ready with a question right away. 

“Why did you meet me? At the Tower of London?”

It’s not the sort of thing he thought he’d be asking, but Luke’s line of questioning made him realize there are some questions that would mean more to him to have answers to than what neighborhood do you live in.

Luke’s eyebrows pinch together. “Because I liked you? I had fun with you on the plane. We had…we had a nice vibe. I wanted to see you again. Why wouldn’t I? I was fucking delighted you suggested meeting up.”

He’s doing the rambling thing again, and Calum is no less charmed than he was a couple days ago. 

“You trusted me.”

“You saved me from an extrovert and fed me cinnamon rolls," Luke says, as if these are the only necessary requirements for trusting someone.

“All the more reason NOT to trust me.”

“I don’t know, Cal.” Luke’s getting frustrated now, and taking it out on his jeans, fingernails pinching and scratching at the seam along the inside of his thigh. “It just felt right, and I trusted that.” He takes a deep breath. “How about this. I didn’t trust you. I trusted my intuition about you.”

“Oh that’s fucking fantastic, actually,” Calum says, laughing, though he’s not entirely sure why, hand covering Luke’s to stop his fidgeting. It's a relief. Knowing Luke came into this on his own, and not because Calum steamrolled him into it and Luke is too nice to say no. It’s a worry Calum wasn’t even aware he had until he felt the weight off his shoulders.

Luke seems confused about Calum's response, so Calum squeezes Luke's hand and does his best to put it simply. “I didn't want to be the creepy cheese man.”

“You’re so not the creepy cheese man,” Luke says emphatically through a shocked laugh. “And I do trust you now,” he tacks on matter-of-factly.

Calum knows. “I trust you too.”

“Why?” Luke challenges with a smirk and fire in his eyes.

Calum cheats. He leans in close and tilts his head, catching Luke’s jaw in a kiss before he says, “I think we’re supposed to make out for five minutes before I have to answer that.”

Luke mumbles an agreement. “Mmmhey Siri.”

Chapter Text

Luke’s lips are sore and swollen when he tiptoes into Ashton’s flat. It’s not that late, but with Ashton there’s an equal chance he’ll put himself to bed at 9 p.m. or 4 a.m., so Luke shouldn’t be surprised when he hears Ashton’s voice, but he jumps anyway, accidentally slamming the door shut behind him.

“If I didn’t have to work, I’d be really offended at how much time you’re spending with a stranger instead of hanging out with me while you’re here.”

Ashton’s just teasing, but it makes Luke feel bad anyway. He’s already been panicking a little about this, even though his trip to London wasn’t technically meant to be just a visit with Ashton. It’s in his nature to worry, and especially when he’s so used to smothering his friends, it feels like he’s breaking a rule by leaving Ashton to his own devices while he cavorts around the city with Calum.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We’ll spend the weekend together or something.” As he says it, Luke feels like the worst person ever to exist, because he realizes he’s disappointed at the prospect of spending time with Ashton if it means missing out on time with Calum. He’s the world’s most terrible friend. He’s the definition of the literal worst. Ashton’s being so kind to let him stay, and he does love and miss Ashton, and he wants to spend time with him! Just not if—

“Stop,” Ashton says, obviously picking up on Luke’s spiraling because he knows Luke well enough to know what the blank, wide-eyed look on his face means. “I’m just messing with you. I don’t blame you for wanting to spend all day with your hot eavesdropper. I’d dump you in a second if the alternative was hooking up with a hot guy all over London. You gotta seize those opportunities when they present themselves.”

“We’re not hooking up all over London,” Luke says, offended (and disappointed — he wishes). “We’re seeing the sights! And occasionally kissing,” he adds quietly, kicking his shoes off and settling into the chair across from Ashton’s seat on the couch.

Ashton shoots him a knowing look and crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I can tell you’re kissing. You look like you’ve been mauled.”

“What?” Luke pats himself over guiltily, trying to sort out what about his appearance would suggest he’s had anything other than a perfectly PG day out on the town.

“Your hair is a mess, there are marks all over your neck, and your hoodie pocket is ripped open,” Ashton recites calmly, flicking his finger at each spot in turn as he works his way down. “Not that there’s anything wrong with physical manifestations of attraction.”

His hoodie pocket is ripped open? Luke slides both hands in and finds that, sure enough, his right hand flops right out the bottom, loose threads tickling his fingers. How the fuck did that happen?

“It’s windy?” Luke tries, pausing immediately when he realizes he can’t drum up an easy explanation for the marks on his neck, and biting the inside of his cheek when he suddenly remembers the hoodie pocket is probably a casualty of when Calum used it as leverage to pull Luke onto his lap on the park bench somewhere around “Hey Siri, set a timer for 14 minutes.”

Ashton sees the dawning realization on Luke’s face and smiles smugly. “And the wind blew you right onto the hot eavesdropper’s dick?”

“Not quite,” Luke sighs. “I told you. There was some kissing. But we were mostly talking, I swear.” It was definitely mostly talking. Even if it was mostly by a very small margin.

Leaning forward so his elbows are braced on his knees, Ashton asks, “About what?” He has this very specific way of asking questions, this imploring earnestness in his eyes that makes Luke feel like he’s genuinely interested in the answer. And he is, even when his interest is solely for the purpose of cracking a joke. But Luke knows he’s listening, at least, and that makes him more likely to answer honestly.

“Ourselves? I guess. That was the idea, anyway.”

Curious expression unwavering, Ashton asks, “So what’d you learn about your hot eavesdropper? Any shared truths?” 

A lot, not enough. It’s overwhelming to even know where to begin to learn about Calum, or to tell Calum about himself. They’d barely even scratched the surface, even after spending hours in the park. That’s why Luke didn’t want it to matter, he supposes. He knows there’s no way for them to really get to know each other well enough to say, at the end of this vacation, yeah, let’s make the effort to keep doing this, with any sort of definitive confidence. And that scares him.

“I learned he lives in Wrigleyville, he has a dog named Duke that’s staying with his sister while he’s here, and that he trusts me.”

Ashton’s flinches and Luke wonders for a moment if the words that actually came out of his mouth were different than the ones he thought he was saying. All Ashton says, though, is, “That’s interesting.”

“What do you actually want to say?” Luke fiddles with his hoodie flap, distantly wondering if it’s salvageable or if he’ll need to buy a new one to make it through the rest of his trip.

Chuckling, Ashton kicks his bare feet up on the coffee table and leans back on the sofa, settling in like he’s about to give Luke a lecture. And he might be. He’s prone to do that. That’s exactly why Luke has been treating this whole encounter much like the teenage version of himself handled talking his way out of curfew violations.

He braces himself.

“You should invite Calum over,” Ashton says, catching him by surprise. “Sounds like I should meet him while he’s in town.”

“Invite him over? For what? You to embarrass me?” 

“So I can meet him while I have the chance, Luke,” Ashton replies. “I need to witness this fortuitous alignment of the universe.” Sometimes Ashton sounds so much like his mom. If his mom were consistently high and enamored with the healing properties of crystals.

“Why meet him if you think I’ll never see him again after this trip?”

Ashton rolls his eyes. “I’m saying the exact opposite, dickhead. I want to meet him because you absolutely will keep seeing him, but you’ll be in fucking Chicago, a place where I usually am not. You follow?”

Not really, no. Luke likes that Ashton thinks he and Calum will keep seeing each other when they get back to Chicago, even though Ashton doesn’t have nearly enough information to be drawing that conclusion. (Luke doesn’t have nearly enough information to be drawing that conclusion, does he?) 

But he doesn’t understand what any of that has to do with Ashton wanting so badly to meet Calum. Although, to be fair, he doesn’t understand a lot of things Ashton says.

Seeing the confusion on Luke’s face, Ashton sighs, but his voice is soft and patient when he says, “You really like this guy, right?”

Luke widens his eyes and shrugs, like Duh. Obviously.

Ashton mimics Luke’s expression and waves his arms theatrically. “Well, then. I want to meet him!”

Huh. Alright then. Finger still playing with the frayed threads around the edge of his hoodie pocket, Luke smiles at his lap. “Okay, but he’s going to be so disappointed you don’t have any corsets.” 

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

In the morning, Luke picks out a shirt that will show off the marks Calum left on his neck. He doesn’t think too hard about why as he leaves the top three buttons on his white button down untouched and pulls his borrowed jacket over the top.

Ashton’s already left for work when Luke emerges from the spare room, but there’s a note on the kitchen counter.

Invite Calum over for dinner tomorrow night. I’ll cook.

Grimacing, Luke takes several moments just to lean against the counter with his knuckles squeezed tightly around the edge. If Calum comes over, that means Calum will be here. At the place Luke is staying. The place Luke is spending his nights. What happens to their safety net? What happens when Luke can’t say, I better get home before Ashton calls 999?

Looks like he’ll be finding out, though, because he’s absolutely not wasting an opportunity to get to see Calum while he also placates Ashton. That’s just efficient multitasking, and Luke prides himself on being incredibly practical when it matters and incredibly impractical when it doesn’t.

Music in his ears to drown out the sounds of the tube, Luke closes his eyes and thinks while he rides the five stops to what he now affectionately thinks of as the blue bakery station.

Of course, he’s thinking about Calum. Lately it feels like he’s never not thinking about Calum, but it’s worse when he’s sitting, an empty seat next to him that’s just a space Calum should be filling.

He thinks about Calum’s face.

There’s something about the way Calum’s face goes from stoically intimidating to soft and smiley within a heartbeat that really gets to Luke. Especially when he’s the thing that makes Calum’s face change.

Every morning at the bakery, he walks in the front door only to be met with Calum’s face flipping from the sort of blank stare that’s not meant to be standoffish, but is just closed off enough to make someone think twice about approaching, to a wide, open smile, sparkling brown eyes crinkling around round cheeks blinking up at him excitedly. Just because Luke walked through the door. Just because Luke exists and is now present in Calum’s day.

That’s the kind of shit that gets Luke in trouble fast. He’s a sucker for feeling wanted.

He supposes everyone is, but suspects he’s easier for it than most, simply because he tends to want people close more than other people want him close. This isn’t some woe is me self-deprecating outlook. Luke just knows that his natural state of wanting is simply more than most people’s. He comes equipped with extra room to let people in, maybe stored somewhere in his substantial shoulders or the length of his femurs, and he’s always looking to fill it. Most people don’t have enough to give.

And that’s okay. Luke gets by. He gets enough, from his family, his friends— from Ashton, especially, who knows exactly what Luke needs and gives it to him to the absolute fullest of his ability. It’s not everyone else’s fault Luke needs more than most.

This is probably part of the reason for his trip. Back when he booked it, he’d been thinking that if he can’t get what he needs from other people, maybe he can learn to fill that extra room himself, with experiences, with self-reliance in situations where he’d normally lean on someone else.

Thing is, that’s not going super great right now, because as long as Calum’s around, Luke’s not doing anything on his own. But also…when he’s with Calum, he gets what he gives, and then some. Calum wipes away the feeling of being adrift and unsettled that sent Luke to London in the first place.

It seems too easy. Luke keeps thinking it must be bad somehow, unhealthy or shortsighted. But it doesn’t feel bad. Not in the least. It feels really, really good, and he doesn’t want to deprive himself of that feeling just because his nagging brain doesn’t seem to want him to get a win.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

As expected, wide brown eyes filled with golden starbursts greet Luke when he walks in the door of the blue bakery. Usually, Calum hands him his latte and they chat a little about their plan for the day as they head out the door.

Today, though, Calum’s out of sorts, staring at Luke with one hand wrapped around a cup that’s still sitting on the bakery pickup counter, and one hand frozen in the air with his own drink halfway to his mouth. Luke gives him a questioning, expectant look, and Calum’s face slowly stretches into a wide smile.

He pushes off the counter and holds Luke’s cup out to him. “Good morning.” He’s still smiling, biting his lip, acting generally like he’s keeping a really juicy secret, and Luke is torn between asking him to spill and just watching all the tiny expressions passing over Calum’s face as he tries to contain himself, the little eyebrow quirks and lip twitches that he can’t quite keep at bay.

Luke takes the cup from Calum, letting his hand linger over the top of Calum’s warm fingers. “Good morning?”

Without another word, Calum uses his now-free hand to reach for the zipper on his jacket. He tugs it down slowly, revealing his neck, and that’s when Luke realizes.

“Fuck me,” he rumbles under his breath. Calum’s neck is covered in marks too. This is not something Luke is necessarily into, exactly, or, who knows, maybe he is, because seeing the evidence right there on Calum’s skin— the evidence of the things he got to do to Calum, of the things Calum let him do — it’s almost indescribable, what it’s doing to Luke. 

Internally, he feels like he’s in some sort of frenzy, like he could just throw Calum down over the top of the bakery case and go to town while the tarts and macarons watch, scandalized. 

Externally, he’s incapable of moving or forming words.

It's probably just because of the circumstances that he's so wrecked over this. Because it’s Calum, and because this trip might be the only time he gets with Calum. He likes knowing that he’s made temporary marks on Calum, even if he doesn’t manage to make any permanent ones.

He’s having difficulty reading how Calum feels about any of it, other than it’s definitely not bad, because Calum’s doing so much of this adorable grinning. No one with purple bruises and pink scrapes along the side of their neck should be allowed to look this adorable.

“You like it?” Calum asks, grabbing one corner of his jacket to pull it further away from his skin, exposing even more of the marks Luke left, etched along the tattoo on his collarbone. Snapshots of last night are blinking in front of Luke's eyes, memories of the way Calum's collarbone felt under his mouth. It's way too fucking early for this. 

Swallowing hard, Luke reaches for at least a few words to express what he’s feeling. “Hot. I’m sorry. Fuck. That’s so nice. I’m sorry.”

Calum laughs, low and warm. “Don’t be sorry. It’s cute,” he says cheerfully, reaching up to run a finger over one of the marks on Luke’s neck. “We match.”

Cute isn't a word Luke would've reached for to describe anything about this situation. “Ashton wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow,” he blurts, because he just really needs to change the subject immediately if he has any hope of getting out of this bakery without some sort of public indecency charge.

This seems to catch Calum off guard, and his brow furrows slightly as he processes the subject change. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

It’s that easy.

“I don’t actually know Ashton’s address or when he wants you to come over,” Luke realizes as he says it. “I'll text you later?”

“Well that’s awkward, since I was planning on spending the day with you,” Calum quips. “Should I leave now that I’ve delivered you your latte?” He brushes past Luke, heading for the exit, pretending to leave Luke behind, but when Luke turns to follow him, Calum’s hand is right where Luke knows it will be, extended behind him, waiting for Luke to grab on.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

London is dirty, in that strangely comforting, keep-your-eyes-on-the-sidewalk way Luke is accustomed to, because Chicago’s not the cleanest city in the world, either. Luke doesn’t think twice about dodging an upturned container of french fries on the sidewalk or scrunching his nose up while passing an overflowing trash can. There’s something almost novel about seeing the ways London is dirty compared to the ways Chicago is dirty.

But in Shoreditch, Luke’s habit of keeping his eyes on the sidewalk pays off in a very different way. These sidewalks are covered in colorful graffiti art, and he tries to quickly snap photos of the ones that really catch his eye as they walk, which Calum seems to find amusing.

“Why don’t you just stop?” he asks at one point, looking over his shoulder as Luke gallops to catch up after slowing his gait to grab a photo of a cartoonish speckled dog with a purple collar. “We’re not in a hurry to get anywhere.”

“Because!” Luke says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I don’t want to look like a tourist!”

“You are a tourist,” Calum points out, smiling warmly at Luke. “Nothing wrong with looking like one.”

It’s hard to explain. It’s not about being embarrassed, exactly. “I don’t want to get in anyone’s way,” Luke replies carefully, tipping his head up to look at the graffiti that decorates the side of a building as they pass. “I don’t want to, like, disrupt the natural vibe of the city. You know?”

Eyes following Luke’s gaze, Calum asks, “Does it bother you when you see tourists in Chicago?”

“Depends on the tourist." Luke aims his phone at the building. “It’s not a thing where I’m worried about annoying people,” he tries to clarify. “I mean I am, all the time, because I’m me, but that happens regardless of where I happen to be.” Calum snickers but doesn’t argue, which Luke appreciates. “I don’t know. I think I enjoy it more when I can soak things in and not worry so much about getting the perfect photo of everything. I’m trying not to disrupt the vibe for myself as much as I am for anybody else.”

“But you still want bad photos of everything,” Calum teases gently.

“Yes,” Luke says stubbornly. “I want to commemorate the experience. I just want it to feel…”

“Real?” Calum guesses.

Nodding, Luke aims his phone at a mural across the street and takes a blurry photo, the focus landing on a random man standing next to it rather than the mural itself. “Exactly.”

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

No one had informed them Shoreditch is apparently just a large collection of doughnut shops and vintage clothing stores. This place might be Luke’s heaven.

They’re crowded into a corner near the window at the first doughnut shop they happened to pass, and Calum’s looking out the window thoughtfully, tracking the movements of the people passing by on the sidewalk.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like to move to another city, and, like, imagine what your daily life would be like?” he ponders, licking frosting off the edge of his thumb while he inspects his doughnut, trying to decide where to bite first.

Luke’s way ahead of him, two bites into his massive “cinnamon scroll,” which he clearly selected because it reminded him of Calum, which Calum clearly caught onto, smirking and shaking his head before requesting his much less emotionally invested spiced apple with miso caramel doughnut. 

“I do,” Luke confirms, “And I know it’s so much more idealized than it could ever be in reality. Like, if I lived in London, I probably wouldn’t try a new doughnut shop every day, because it’d be a logistical nightmare. But in my mind I would.”

“Right!” Calum agrees excitedly. “It’s like once you actually live in a place you…don’t forget, exactly, but you have all your normal life stuff happening and you think you’ll fit things in around it.” He swings his donut in a circle for emphasis. “Like you’ll go to that restaurant or museum or park or whatever someday, but then you never do, because it’s inconvenient and out-of-the-way and parking sucks and the weather is bad, or whatever.” He finally bites into his doughnut, and miso caramel immediately starts oozing out from the middle onto Calum’s fingers.

Luke nods in agreement, watching the caramel slowly dripping down Calum’s skin, which Calum somehow hasn’t seemed to have noticed yet, too busy chewing his doughnut and making little noises of appreciation. Without thinking, Luke reaches out and swipes his finger over the drip of caramel running towards Calum’s knuckle, sweeping it onto the pad of his finger and licking it off. It's not really any different than anything he was doing with his mouth last night.

“There are so many places in Chicago I want to go,” he says, “But then it never seems worth the ride on the L when it’s, like, a Wednesday night after a long day at work or —” Oh. No. Oh no. Luke’s face pinches as the aftertaste hits. “I’m not so sure about the miso caramel,” he says through a choking swallow. 

Calum’s been laughing since the initial look of disgust appeared on Luke’s face, cheerfully concerned. “You didn’t give me a chance to warn you.”

“It’s caramel! How bad can it be!”

“It’s not bad,” Calum says. “It’s just not sweet enough for you.” The way he says it almost compensates for the bitter taste in Luke’s mouth, because it’s just so familiar. Unquestioning, confident. Like he knows Luke, and what Luke likes. Like he’s paying attention.

“And it’s sweet enough for you?” Luke wonders. “You were making noises like you liked it.”

“It’s okay,” Calum says. “I was making noises of pure jealousy looking at your cinnamon scroll.”

Ripping his giant doughnut in half, Luke asks, “Do you have a go-to doughnut place in Chicago?” He holds a chunk of cinnamon scroll out across the table, offering it to Calum. This is a natural way to talk about themselves, right? Maybe? Although there's something surreal about talking about Chicago with Calum, because Chicago is Real Life and Calum is a really intense and vivid dream Luke is currently experiencing. He might even be in a coma right now.

Eyeing the cinnamon scroll like taking it would be making a deal with the devil, Calum says, not breaking eye contact with the doughnut, “Stan’s.”

“I fucking love Stan’s,” Luke says, wiggling the cinnamon scroll to entice Calum. “Have you been to Firecakes? I’ve been wanting to try it forever.”

Calum shakes his head in defeat and deposits his doughnut back on its wrapper, reaching for Luke’s cinnamon scroll offering shamefully. “Not yet. It’s one of those it’s on the list places,” Calum says, grimacing as he tentatively brings the cinnamon scroll chunk to his lips. 

Luke laughs at his theatrics, but he does enjoy the chance to keep his eyes glued on Calum’s doughnut-glazed lips for an extended period of time. Maybe that’s why he’s distracted enough not to think before he says, “We should go together. Bump it to the top of the list.”

He says it right when Calum finally takes a bite, and Luke watches Calum’s eyes widen dramatically, unsure whether it’s because of the thing he said or because Calum is enraptured by the deliciousness of the doughnut.

“Fuck miso caramel,” Calum says as he chews. “I should’ve known just to stick with a classic.”

“Sometimes it’s good to try new things,” Luke says a bit dejectedly, because regardless of how Calum meant it, even if he’s really just glad to cleanse his palate of miso caramel, his response feels like a rejection in Luke’s warped brain.

“Firecakes has normal flavors, don’t they?” Calum says thoughtfully. “A nice old fashioned glazed? Some sprinkles?”

Luke perks up. “Yeah. It’s traditional flavors.”

“Classics,” Calum says, raising his eyebrows and smiling around a mouthful of cinnamon scroll.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

“I don’t suppose they have hoodies here to replace the one you ripped off me last night,” Luke says forlornly, pleased when the comment pulls an interested smirk and a flash of hungry eyes from Calum.

They’re browsing the racks of a vintage store on Brick Lane, which Luke is taking very seriously and Calum is taking as an opportunity to joke about wearing clothes Luke would actually kill to see him in.

“Can you imagine?” Calum asks pointedly, holding up a swirly 70s-patterned button down shirt in shades of chartreuse that appears to be made of sheer mesh.

Yes, Luke can imagine. And he will. 

His brain is already working to swap the image of Calum’s T-shirt for the groovy button down. “You should try it on. Maybe you’ll like it.”

“It is pretty funky,” Calum concedes, running his fingers over the delicate fabric, “and it’d show off my tattoos.”

Luke chokes. What tattoos? Calum can’t just be talking about the ones on his arms and his hands, those are on display plenty already. Is it just the collarbone ones? Are there more? Luke’s eyes trace Calum’s torso, squinting a little to try to activate his x-ray vision. That’s how it works for superheroes, right? It just happens suddenly, out of nowhere? It's worth a shot.

“But what would I wear it for?” Calum continues, oblivious to Luke’s poor, overtaxed mind drumming up a mental image of Calum’s naked torso, followed by Calum in the shirt, trying to guess what tattoos might peek through it. “It’s not really work-appropriate.”

“Silent disco,” Luke’s mouth manages to say without his full awareness. “It’s perfect for the silent disco.”

“The what now? Is that what you hot androids are calling the human apocalypse?”

Luke covers his mouth to muffle his burst of squeaky laughter. “I saw it on the Natural History Museum website,” he says once he’s composed himself, flicking past a section of fringed vests. “You know. It’s the thing where everyone wears headphones and dances around to different songs at the same time. They do them at the museum and there’s one happening tonight.”

He hadn’t intended on offering it up as an activity, partially because he’s not sure they can ever find the Natural History Museum again, and partially because it’s a late night activity of the sort they haven’t really been engaging in. They’ve been very good boys when it comes to getting home at a reasonable hour and putting themselves to bed. 

But the dinner invite from Ashton has already fucked over the entire concept of the late night safety net, and ever since he saw the silent disco, Luke’s been thinking about it. About how he’d like an excuse to dance with Calum, to stay out late and get wasted and see where the night takes them. He wants to be a little reckless, maybe.

“Oh we’re definitely going to that,” Calum says, “And I am definitely buying this shirt as long as it’s in my budget—” he snags the tag between his fingers to study the price, bouncing his head agreeably as he works through the conversion before fixing his eyes on Luke, “—and you will be buying something equally ridiculous to wear.”

That’s a deal Luke would be stupid not to take. “Pick something out for me,” he says, sweeping his hand over the rack and stepping back so Calum can sneak in front of him, which he does, quickly and enthusiastically, fingers wiggling over the hangers and an evil little grin on his face.

Luke doesn’t mind. Calum can make him wear an actual disco ball for all he cares, he’s literally shaking with excitement over the silent disco. (And the chance to see Calum in that shirt, and to dance with him and touch him, and maybe to see what he’s like when it’s 2 a.m. and they’re drunk and not on a plane over the Atlantic. He thinks the ambiance is probably different, especially now that enthusiastic kissing is a thing that they do together.)

“Oh I don’t even need to look, this is what you’re getting,” Calum says definitively, pulling a shirt off the rack with laser-focused intent. It flashes in Luke’s eyes and Luke realizes he will, in fact, be wearing an actual disco ball.

“A sequined tank top?”

“A rainbow sequined tank top!” Calum says proudly, shoving the hanger toward Luke aggressively.

“I like you a lot,” Luke says, taking the shirt from Calum, smiling as he brushes past and heads for the register. 

It slips out, and it’s probably a weird response, but somehow it’s also the only correct one.

He likes the way Calum sees him. That Calum thinks he’s someone who could and should wear a rainbow sequined tank top — someone who can be loud and bright, or maybe someone who already is. And he likes that Calum makes him feel like that might actually be true.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

Something strange happens after they finish their shopping. It’s mid-afternoon, the sun’s still out — but they go their separate ways. 

It’s just temporary. A chance to take a nap, have some dinner, and get changed for their trip to the silent disco, but it feels incorrect, leaving Calum in the middle of the day, and Luke is out of sorts as he wanders around Ashton’s flat, reheating leftover pizza and lounging on the couch with closed eyes while a reality show prattles on in the background, a bouquet of regionally-specific accents ringing in his ears.

There’s no way he’ll be able to sleep, as Calum had suggested, so he does what he does best. He thinks. 

It seems too good to be true. He met Calum on a plane. They’re seeing London together. They’re kissing. Luke likes Calum. Like, a lot. They’re going to go back home to the same city at the end of this trip. Luke could keep kissing and liking Calum, if Calum wanted to keep kissing and liking him, which it seems like maybe he does.

When does the other shoe drop? When does Luke find out Calum’s only good for him when they’re on vacation? Or worse, that Luke’s only good for Calum when they’re on vacation? When does it come out that they’re actually not a good match at all, and all of this hope and excitement turns to disappointment and regret?

But is it really different than any other relationship? Just because he didn’t meet Calum at a bar back in Chicago, or match with him on a dating app, doesn’t mean they’re any more or less doomed. If anything, that instant connection — that feeling on the plane, like it was easy and electric between them — should make Luke feel optimistic about their future. 

He doesn’t have that with…well, anyone, really. He thinks it over, runs through the list of exes and ones-that-got-away and realizes, no, he’s never had this. Not in a romantic way. Not in the way where he wants to spend all day and all night talking to someone, then spend all of the following day and night fucking them, rinse, repeat.

Why should he be worrying about it going wrong, when it’s already more right than anything he’s felt before?

On his way out the door, he flips over the note Ashton left him this morning and scribbles one of his own.

Out with Calum. Don’t call 999 if I don’t come home tonight. - L

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

“Holy shit,” Calum screams from a block away as Luke walks towards him from the tube station. “Don’t tell me you’re wearing leather pants. Stay back. I can’t take it if you get too close.” He holds his hands up in front of his face like he’s shielding his eyes from the sun and Luke laughs like he always does, but he’s feeling very good about this reaction. He did select these pants for a reason, didn’t he?

“What else am I supposed to wear with this shirt?” he gripes as he closes in on Calum. Maybe he’s strutting a little. Why not? He feels good. Calum obviously thinks he looks good. Everything is good. 

Calum looks good too, Luke realizes, the swirling mesh shirt pulled tight across his skin and unbuttoned significantly to compensate. “I’m so glad you didn’t try this shirt on before you bought it,” he says, running his finger along the small section that actually is buttoned when he makes it to Calum. There they are. More tattoos, words scrawled low across Calum's chest. Luke wants to read them and devour them.

Calum catches his hand and looks at him darkly for a quick second, just holding Luke’s hand against his chest, smirking slightly, and Luke sucks in a deep breath. Life is so strange. How did he end up here, on a corner in South Kensington, in sequins and leather with his hand on the hot eavesdropper’s chest and a warm twinge in his stomach?

“You should probably lead the way,” Calum says, dropping their joined hands to hang between them and gesturing at the sidewalk ahead. “I’ve already proven to be a shit navigator, and I’m only going to be worse if I’m distracted by you in that outfit.”

Shaking his head, Luke lets his eyes linger over every inch of Calum he can safely take in while leading them across the street. “I’m afraid I might have the same issue,” he mumbles under his breath.

“What’d you do this afternoon?” Calum asks, like they’re just people who see each other every day and make small talk and not two strangers in sequins and chartreuse tromping through the streets of London.

Well, Calum, I had some pizza, I thought about how much I like you and how much I want to fuck you, and then I put on the pants I thought would best help me achieve that goal.

“I watched Downton Abbey,” he says instead, overly cheerful. “Finished season one.”

Calum’s pace slows and his mouth drops open in a disgruntled gasp. “You did not.” That’s the exact moment Calum registers the sly grin on Luke’s face, and his mouth snaps closed, eyes narrowing on Luke with the same intensity he gave the cinnamon scroll this morning. “Don’t joke about Downton Abbey. It’s too important.”

“Well I can’t wait forever to find out if gossip gets out about Lady Mary fucking that guy to death, can I, Calum?” Luke replies testily, spotting the Natural History Museum sign and swinging Calum into a pivot around the corner to follow the arrow.

“We’ll get there,” Calum assures him. “Just like we’ll get to the doughnut place in Chicago. Doughnuts and Downton.”

Luke freezes. “Calum.”

“What?” Calum skids to a stop, looking back at Luke with concern. Their hands are still connected, arms pulled taut between them.

“Sorry I just—Doughnuts and Downton?”

“Yeah?” Calum’s fucking radiant under this streetlight in South Kensington. He has no idea. He can’t see the way the light casts shadows of his eyelashes over his cheeks and makes his eyes glow warm and soft.

Hand over his heart, Luke sways dramatically, staggering against Calum. “I’m swooning again,” he says, unable to contain his own laughter, wheezing through his words with his head tipped against Calum’s shoulder. 

“Fuck you,” Calum says fondly, wrapping an arm around Luke’s shoulders, pulling him along.

“I’m not joking.” It’s not particularly convincing given the little snorts of laughter that are still spilling out of him, but it’s really true. He can’t think of anything he’d rather do than doughnuts and Downton and Calum. 

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

As if this trip hasn’t already been surreal enough, Luke’s now standing beneath a giant skeleton of a — what? Pterodactyl? Whale? He’s not here to learn! — While the Spice Girls blast through his headphones and Calum shimmies protectively next to him.

Luke didn’t know it was possible to shimmy protectively, but somehow Calum is doing it, every shake of his shoulders a warning to everyone else in the cavernous hall to keep their hands off Luke, like a bird doing some sort of reverse mating dance.

Normally Luke wouldn't assume he was the catalyst for the shimmying, but there was an incident shortly after their arrival involving a girl in hot pants giggling and grabbing for Luke’s ass on her way to the bar, and ever since, Calum is basically shimmying circles around Luke, sending an evil eye to anyone who looks their direction.

“You know,” Luke yells, pulling his headphones away from his ears and down around his neck, only to be assaulted by the off-key drone-singing of everyone around them, mismatched melodies blending into something that sounds like the beginning of a horror movie. “If you’re so worried about other people grabbing my ass, you could just make it clear my ass is already claimed.”

He’s maybe a little drunk. Not a lot drunk. Like four shots of tequila drunk. Medium drunk.

Calum quirks his lips into a crooked, questioning smile. He’s not drunk yet. He’s one shot of tequila not drunk, because he said he wanted to be able to enjoy drunk Luke for a while before he became drunk Calum. He pulls one headphone away from his ear. “You want me to publicly grope you?”

He looks so nice. It’s dark, but the neon lights are bouncing off his face in a way that’s hypnotizing to Luke, and he keeps resisting the urge to just put his hands on Calum’s face and stare. And kiss a little. Just a little kiss where that blue light is hitting his cheekbone. And maybe one there, on his temple, where the orange glow is settling.

But he just nods to the beat, stepping close to Calum, oh shit, no, never mind, he can’t keep his hands to himself after all, there they go, like magnets against Calum’s chest, thumbs sliding under the edges of the chartreuse shirt to brush against Calum’s skin. 

Calum smiles at him, the look in his eye a warm challenge, and Luke takes it easily, deciding in the end to kiss the purple highlight along Calum’s jaw.

“You’re pretty,” he says as he pulls away, sliding his hands up to Calum’s shoulders, swaying to the beat of the disco zombie chorus around him. “And you’re funny. You’re nice to me.”

Luke is fully aware he’s babbling. He has no intention of stopping, though. “Good kisser, too, nice hands. I like your hands a lot.” Calum nods along with raised eyebrows and a tiny little smile that makes his lips pull into a pout. 

Luke pauses to stare at them, but all too quickly, they’re moving. Oh, that’s fine too. It’s nice to watch them move. “Lots of things I’d like to do with my hands,” Calum’s saying, his headphones askew on his head so one ear is permanently open to the chaos (but also to Luke’s voice), and then his hands are wrapping around Luke’s waist, warm and heavy as they settle low on Luke’s back.

“Your sequins are scratchy,” he says distractedly, brushing a finger over Luke’s shirt, eyes on Luke’s face. No, his lips. They’re on his lips, Luke can tell when he licks them slowly and Calum’s eyes track the movement. They’re both just out here looking at each other’s lips in the dark under a pterodactyl whale skeleton. Luke likes that a lot.

“You can’t talk me into taking my shirt off under this skeleton,” Luke says indignantly, disparate thoughts blurring together into one sentence out of his mouth, but it makes enough sense in the end, maybe.

Calum snorts and runs his thumb under the hem of Luke’s shirt, just ghosting over his skin. “You think that’s what I was doing?”

“It’s what I’d be doing if I were you and you were the drunk one.” That sounds bad, maybe. It’s he being problematic? He just really wants to see Calum. Like, all of Calum. As soon as possible.

It doesn’t seem like Calum thinks it’s bad, though, because his grip on Luke’s back tightens, pulling him a little closer until they’re kissing again, hips swaying ever so slightly to the nonexistent beat. Luke sighs into Calum’s mouth and lets his hands tangle in Calum’s hair because yes, this is what he had in mind for the silent disco.

Calum pulls away too quickly. “Can I talk you into it later tonight?” There’s something heavy in Calum’s voice, or maybe that’s just in Luke’s clumsy mind. 

They’re yelling. They’re literally yelling, because they have to, to hear each other over the so-called singing around them, but somehow Calum’s words feel like a whisper.

There’s no question he could talk Luke into it. Easily.

“We’ll see,” Luke returns, trying to catch Calum in another kiss, but he sneaks out of Luke’s grip, pivoting toward the bar.

“I need to be drunker if I’m going to make out with you while we’re surrounded by hundreds of people,” Calum calls by way of explanation, beckoning for Luke to follow him, which Luke does, happily, pulling his headphones back up over his ears just in time to catch the end of Macarena.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

There are hands and lights and lips and handfuls of chartreuse mesh and more lips and handfuls of soft curls and more lips and more lights and Luke’s not sure how much of the blurriness is because he’s drunk and how much is because it’s so surreal, being with Calum but not talking to him or listening to him, just drowning in the music and the touches and the looks and the lips and the lights.

They’ve made their way to a dark nook behind a large column, off the side of the main dance floor enough that they’re not getting shoved around while they’re busy with each other.

Kissing Calum like this, while they’re both a little out of their minds, isn’t that much different than kissing him normally, except now Luke’s impatient, and since he can’t say it, he’s trying to show it in any sneaky way he can, or maybe it’s not really that sneaky. Probably turning around and pressing his ass against Calum’s crotch is the opposite of sneaky. But he feels sneaky doing it, back here in the dark corner of a museum. He can’t see or hear Calum, so the only reaction he gets is hands again, always hands, spreading wide over the tops of his hips and urging him to stay, and lips working their way along the side of his neck.

He wants to stay, but he also wants to go, wants Calum to rip his headphones off and say, “About getting you out of that shirt,” and drag him off to…where? The fucking tube station? To sit on a train for 45 minutes? That doesn’t seem very sexy, now, does it? But then, neither does sitting on a red eye flight, but Calum managed to make that a fairly sexy experience for Luke all things considered.

He deliberately presses his ass back against Calum and does a little wiggle to some unknown pop hit of the 90s that never made it across the Atlantic Ocean, and he can’t hear it but he feels Calum moan against his neck, the exhale on his skin and the rumble of Calum’s chest against his back. And that’s not all he feels, now, because Calum is definitely hard against him, and Luke’s stomach flips and tingles and tugs and fills with delicious warmth at the sensation of it, and he wants Calum so fucking badly. Why are they still under this skeleton?

If Calum’s not going to do it, Luke will do it for him. He tugs down his own headphones and turns around in Calum’s grasp, pulling for Calum’s headphones a little too enthusiastically, fingers catching in Calum’s hair, and they both laugh, Calum’s head bent awkwardly while Luke untangles the headphones. “Can we go somewhere,” he says into Calum’s ear as his fingers work clumsily at Calum’s curls. “Alone.”

“My hotel is ten minutes away.”

“What the fuck?” Luke has to stop, actually literally pause and gape at Calum. “Your hotel is ten minutes away from here and yesterday you got lost trying to find this museum, the place which we are currently standing?”

“The tube station is right by my hotel,” Calum stammers, his hands still messily grabbing at Luke, running on some separate program than his brain. “I don’t need to know the rest of the neighborhood!”

“Can you find it? From here?” Luke’s voice is so quiet in his own head now that his ears have grown accustomed to music blasting in them. He pets at Calum’s chest as he talks, clumsy hands while his eyes are on the swath of bare skin underneath them, and Calum stares back at him with hazy eyes. 

God, Calum is so hot and Luke wants him now. Calum better know where the fuck his hotel is. “I want you alone,” Luke tacks on as a friendly reminder, hoping to urge some sort of response out of Calum before he’s reduced to just grabbing Calum’s dick. He’s not above it, especially now that he’s past tequila shot number six.

“Jesus, okay.” Calum shakes his head vigorously, clearing the mental etch-a-sketch of the silent disco and replacing it with, if the look on his face is anything to go by, Luke in his king size hotel bed, which is fantastic as far as Luke is concerned. Calum’s face stretches into a serene smile and he blinks slowly once, twice. “Let’s go.” 

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

There’s a clear and singular focus as Calum leads them back down narrow streets to his hotel, quick footsteps and giddy bursts of laughter over nothing except stumbling against each other. The sidewalk seems to be tilting with every corner they turn down, and they take turns slamming into shoulders and hips as a means to stay upright and an excuse to touch.

It’s the thing, the crackling buzz of anticipation in the air, and it follows them all the way up to Calum’s room, and maybe even a few steps past the door. 

But then the door slams shut behind them, and it’s like Calum is suddenly sober. He stops giggling, pulls his hands away from where they had been resting on Luke’s biceps, and his face gets so serious, almost comically serious.

Luke laughs, gaze flitting between Calum and the hotel room, trying to get his bearings. “What’s wrong?” 

“You look really good,” Calum says. And he is looking. He’s not laughing and he’s not touching, but he’s looking. Hard. Luke can feel Calum’s stare burning his skin, tingling in his veins.

“So do you,” Luke says, hands reaching for but not quite touching Calum, because he feels like for some reason he’s not supposed to be touching him right now, something isn’t quite right, but his head also isn’t quite right, so he can’t sort it out. “Is that a problem?”

“No. Yes.” Calum shakes his head and stumbles backward, latching onto Luke’s wrist and dragging him along too until they’re both spilling onto the bed, but it’s not the way Luke had imagined them falling into bed together. It’s not a segue to ripping clothes off and lips on skin, it’s Calum flopping onto his side and tucking his head onto his arm while Luke just sits on the edge of the bed next to him, staring at him, trying really hard not to just throw himself on top of Calum and kiss him, or maybe blow him or, okay, yeah he’d like to just fuck him until he forgets whatever it is that’s making him act so strangely right now.

He’s usually more sensitive than this. It’s the slutty tequila talking.

“I don’t want you to regret it,” Calum says, regret it getting jumbled into a slur that takes Luke a moment to parse. Calum’s free hand reaches for Luke, clawing at his shoulder to pull him down to his level. 

As if Luke needs to be convinced to lie down next to Calum. He curls onto his side, mirroring Calum’s position, and Calum smiles when they’re face-to-face. Things are okay, then, probably, so Luke smiles back. “I won’t regret it.” If that’s the only obstacle here, then they’re golden.

“What if we never see each other again? Would you regret it?” Calum kisses Luke then, quick, just a warm press of lips like he’s reassuring Luke, or himself, or maybe both of them, but of what, Luke’s not entirely sure.

“No.”  Luke squirms a little, trying to keep his hands from getting away from him and landing on Calum in very distracting ways, but also trying to chase away the discomfort that worms its way into his brain at Calum’s words. Not because he’d regret it. “But don’t— I don’t like to think about not seeing each other again.”

“Me neither,” Calum whispers. “But we’re drunk.”

“Yes. We are. So? I want you all the time, and most of those times, I’m not drunk.”

Calum cackles helplessly, fuzzy eyes fond as he gets closer, closer, and he’s kissing Luke again, this time harder and more insistent. Luke thinks he probably moans when Calum bites gently at his bottom lip, and he definitely moans when Calum hooks a leg over his hips and climbs on top of him. “Oh fuck, okay,” Luke mumbles against Calum’s lips, hands gripping Calum’s waist to pull him closer.

“Is it?” Calum asks, panting a little as he pulls away, sliding down Luke’s thighs so he can get his hands under the sequined tank top. “Okay? Even if we’re drunk and stupid?”

Cool air hits Luke’s stomach as Calum pushes his shirt up, and he lifts his shoulders up off the bed so Calum can pull it off entirely, sequins scraping against his arms along the way.

“Will we still go to the blue bakery in the morning?” Luke asks, falling back on the bed. “And the morning after that?”

Calum’s hands are warm and soft, fingers tip-toeing lightly across Luke’s chest, and Luke closes his eyes, just for a second, focusing on the feeling. It makes him shiver. “Of course,” Calum replies, breathy and earnest.

Luke opens his eyes. “Then it’s okay.”

Chapter Text

The sound of Luke’s laugh, quiet and muffled, wakes Calum from the best sleep he’s had since arriving in London.

It’s strange that Luke’s laughing, since Calum hasn’t gotten out of bed yet, hasn’t gotten ready, hasn’t taken the train to the blue bakery to meet Luke. How is Luke laughing? Fuck, Calum’s head hurts.

The mattress shifts next to him.

Oh, right. Luke’s here.

They went to the silent disco. They got drunk. They had sex. 

From what Calum can remember, they had fun. But he remembers it all in the same way you remember a dream, a disconnected blur of feelings and abstract images. Not the way he’d like to remember it, that’s for sure. He wants the full detailed specs, a reference manual of photos and footnotes and detailed product descriptions that he can flip through at his leisure.

They’ll just have to do it again.

Calum tries to mumble, “Good morning” as he rolls onto his other side to face Luke, cheek smushed against his down alternative hotel pillow, but it comes out in a garbled croak.

Luke’s sitting up, back propped against the headboard, blankets pulled halfway up his bare torso, scrolling through his phone. As soon as he hears Calum’s pathetic warble, he drops his phone on the bed next to him and smiles tightly at Calum. “Hi?”

“Hi,” Calum tries again, finding it much easier to wrap his gravelly voice around one syllable than three. He clears his throat. “Nice to see you this morning.”

“So formal,” Luke quips, cocking his head to get a better look at Calum, attempting to line up the angles of their faces to see him upright. It makes his curls tumble over his forehead and cheek, partially covering one eye, but there’s still plenty of shocking blue piercing through, gently zapping Calum awake. "Top of the morning to you too, good sir."

“Wow.” Calum’s still-foggy brain is unable to fully comprehend the sight of Luke in bed next to him, bathed in the gentle glow of the morning light — not quite sunny, but cool and bright to compliment Luke’s eyes and lips and the still-pink marks on his skin from last night, or maybe leftover from the night before, who the fuck knows at this point. Calum’s brain finally manages to process that Luke actually spoke to him, and he should probably try to respond. “I’m just being polite to the guy who showed me a good time last night.”

Luke slides down so he’s lying next to Calum, head propped up on his hand. “Did I? I don’t remember it that well, but I feel like it was the other way around.”

“No,” Calum argues with a saucy smile, “You definitely showed me a good time. I remember enough to know that.”

“Fucking hell,” Luke complains, shaking his head with his lips twisted into a rueful smirk. “I wish I could remember better.” His lips look delectable, all pouty and pink like they still haven’t quite recovered from last night. 

Calum wonders if he looks even half as debauched as Luke does. He kind of hopes he does. He wants to walk around London today and have strangers in their dark-colored jackets look at him and think yeah, there’s a guy who got properly fucked by a beautiful man recently. Oh, and he really wants people to look at Luke and think that, because then they’ll also see Calum walking alongside him, and they’ll know. They’ll know Calum is the lucky bastard who got to have Luke in his bed.

“We can do it again,” Calum offers, trying to reach for Luke under the covers and finding that his arm is numb from whatever contorted position he slept in. He flaps it in Luke’s general direction, and it brushes Luke’s hip, shocking a little yelp out of Luke that tails into a hiccup-y laugh. God, where are those shortbreads when Calum needs them. “Right now, if you want to.” Calum smiles politely.

“I want to. I really want to,” Luke replies enthusiastically, and Calum’s about to roll right on top of him when he adds, “But we can’t. We have brunch reservations at the blue bakery, remember?”

Well now he remembers. “Damn. Why does every place in this city need reservations, and why does the one reservation we actually bothered to make line up with the time I most want to have sex I can actually remember with you?” Calum asks petulantly.

“I don’t—” Luke cuts himself off with a laugh, takes a deep breath, and tries again. “I don’t think there’s a correlation. Are you going to want to have sex you can actually remember with me any less twelve hours from now?”

“I don’t understand the words you just said because I’m too busy thinking about how badly I want to have sex I can actually remember with you right now.”

Which is true, maybe the truest thing Calum’s said in a while, because he just keeps staring at Luke’s lips, at the curve of his shoulder and the cut of his collarbones, at the freckles sprinkled across his nose and shoulders and the patchy hair on his chest and he just — he just wants. 

But Luke only laughs, brushing a hand across Calum’s forehead, his temple, along the side of his jaw. His touch is so achingly gentle it makes Calum’s heart clench. “Plenty of time for that later. Tonight.”

There’s something floating around Calum’s head, though, a reason why tonight isn’t just an opportunity to literally fuck around. What is it? Plans, tickets, more reservations? No — friends to win over. “Aren’t we supposed to have dinner with Ashton tonight?”

Luke’s eyes slide closed in slow motion. “Fuck.”

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

“Should we, uh, talk about it?” Calum doesn’t need to talk about it, but he wants to make Luke talk about it. He wants to know Luke is okay with everything that happened and that the niggling little memory he has of a discussion about regrets and not having them prior to the sex isn’t currently simmering uncomfortably in Luke’s brain.

He seemed fine this morning, but he’s not as simple to read as Calum. There’s so much that could be happening behind those morning giggles and floppy curls.

Luke drags his hand over his face, massaging his forehead, rubbing his eyes, scratching his nose, covering a yawn, all in one efficient, connected motion. He slices a triangle out of his stack of pancakes, stabbing a strawberry on top for good measure. Fork poised next to his mouth he says, “When have I ever wanted to talk about anything that matters?”

That’s an interesting way of putting it, actually, because on one hand Luke’s making a point that resonates with Calum. He doesn’t know Luke that well, but it hasn’t been difficult to gather that he doesn’t exactly love a deep conversation if it requires him to talk about himself. 

But the fact that he says this is something that matters. That a drunken hook-up with Calum is important enough to him to be one of those things he doesn’t want to talk about.

That seems promising, and Calum grins as he chases baked beans around his plate. He’s gotten the vegetarian iteration of a Full English just to be able to say he tried it, but once again he’s regretting not just following Luke’s lead and getting something he knows he enjoys.

“You’re not panicking and not telling me?” Calum asks, filling his mouth with perfectly fine beans that are so far from what he wants to be eating at 11 a.m. Beans for breakfast aren’t really doing it for him. He’d rather have Luke.

“I’m not panicking,” Luke says earnestly, flicking his eyes to Calum, watching him chew so intently that Calum starts to get paranoid he’s got bean juice on his lips. “Are you?”

Dropping his fork and swiping at his mouth with a napkin, Calum says, “No. As long as you think it’s something that matters, then I’m good.” He looks over at Luke, who quickly averts his eyes.

“Oh,” Luke says in a small voice, snagging a blackberry with the edge of his fork and steadfastly refusing to look at Calum. “That’s cute.”

“Yes, I think so,” Calum confirms casually. “Funny how you’re being shy now all the sudden.”

Luke’s head pops up from his plate finally, and he tries to glare at Calum, but he’s not really capable of it when his mouth is full of pancake. Calum can tell it’s frustrating him. It’s cute. Really, really cute. Calum tries not to smile, because that will just make Luke more frustrated, and who knows what new levels of cuteness his expression could reach.

Luke finally manages to swallow and glares properly at Calum. Nope, even the glare is still cute. But maybe that’s just a Calum-specific reaction. “I‘m not being shy,” Luke grumbles, “I’m just tired and slightly hungover and a little stressed that you’re going to meet Ashton tonight.”

“Why are you stressed about that?” If anything, Calum’s the one who should be stressed. He doesn’t know much about Ashton, but he can guess that any close friend of Luke’s is probably fully aware of exactly how special he is and therefore an absolutely vicious judge of romantic prospects. Calum certainly would be if he were in that position. (He’s also not actually very stressed, though, because he thinks it’s fairly clear exactly how well they fit together. Any good friend should be able to see that too.)

Luke’s face contorts into the crooked squinty frown thing he does when he’s searching for the right words but can’t quite find them, which is another thing Calum adores about him (unsurprisingly), and it’s confirmed when Luke says, “I don’t actually know.” He licks his lips and considers it a bit longer, tongue lingering on his syrup-and-berry lips. Calum’s going to explode. Is it possible to pre-tip their server for the cleanup job she’s going to have to do when that inevitably happens? “It’ll be fine,” Luke says, finally putting his tongue away. “Ashton’s easy to get along with, and you’re you. I guess I just — maybe I’m afraid you guys are going to gang up on me.” 

“Gang up on you!” Calum repeats gleefully. “What, like exchanging embarrassing stories at your expense? Do I need to work on punching up the cheese man story?”

Luke’s foot connects with Calum’s shin under the table, not hard, but hard enough to make him feel extremely justified in rubbing his leg dramatically. “Hey! Violence isn’t going to make me keep my mouth shut.”

“Nothing will make you keep your mouth shut,” Luke says through a fond smile, rolling his eyes and scooping up another forkful of pancake. “That’s the problem. There’s no way I get through tonight unscathed.”

“I’ll be nice,” Calum tries to assure him. “The cheese man is the villain in the story! You’re the hero! Hey, does Ashton have, like, old pictures of you when you were all awkward-looking? Were you ever awkward-looking? Can I talk about your ass freely or is that gonna make Ashton uncomfortable?”

Luke’s lips are pasted shut and he’s shaking his head like he’s trying to convince himself nothing happening around him is real, and Calum finds it horribly endearing, the way Luke reacts to being flustered by either shutting down completely or babbling mindlessly until he’s cut off. 

Oh god, Luke’s going to be so flustered tonight at dinner, isn’t he? Calum’s going to be dealing with this feeling of overwhelming fondness for hours, potentially. Maybe the real trick is going to be managing to get through the night without just flinging himself at Luke and squeezing the fuck out of him while Ashton watches in horror.

“How’s your Full English?” Luke deflects, wrinkling his nose as his eyes flit over Calum’s plate. Calum can’t really blame him for the face. It is an awful lot of brown for one person to consume in a single sitting. 

Shrugging, Calum takes a sip of his flat white, which is still so hot it scalds his tongue. “It’s fine,” he says, in no hurry to actually consume any more of his food now that he’s polished off the eggs and beans. The mushrooms look suspiciously gelatinous.

“I can’t just keep sharing my breakfast with you every morning because you make bad decisions,” Luke says, smiling around his fork as he takes another bite of his pancakes. Maybe Calum would appreciate his own breakfasts more if Luke would stop being so goddamn pornographic about eating his. 

“Sitting next to you on the plane was a risk that paid off,” Calum snarks. “Technically it’s your fault I’ve been motivated to take ill-advised breakfast-related risks on this trip.”

“So you’re saying if I’d been a dud, you wouldn’t be eating beans for breakfast?” Silverware scraping on plates and people chattering and the espresso machine whirring almost drown out Luke’s voice, quieter than he usually is with Calum. There’s a glint in his eye though, and a tiny impression of dimple on his cheek.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Calum says. “Stop being so fucking amazing, and maybe I’ll finally get a decent breakfast.”

“No can do,” Luke says. “I need to keep doing whatever I’m doing that makes you want to spend all day with me.”

“Then I guess you’re just going to have to keep sharing your breakfast,” Calum says, reaching across the table with his fork to steal a strawberry off the edge of Luke’s plate.

“Unfortunately worth it,” Luke grumbles, nudging his plate closer to Calum so he can dig into the pancakes too.

Calum looks at Luke meaningfully. “You have good taste. In breakfast. And in general.” 

He takes a thoughtful bite, wondering if it’ll still be worth it for Luke to share his breakfast in a few weeks. If things between them will still make sense and still be this easy when they’re back in Chicago. It’s the only thing he thinks about, really, in the rare moments when he’s not busy being consumed by Luke’s general Lukeness.

It should be fine. Vacation Calum may be different from At Home Calum, but he’s not so different, probably, breakfast risks aside. What’s At Home Luke like? Is he different from Vacation Luke, or is he just Vacation Luke with more pairs of shoes to choose from? 

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Luke trips over his shoelaces diving for the ping pong ball, but manages to catch himself and stay upright, smacking the ball hard at the last second. It whizzes over the net and past Calum’s nose before Calum fully registers the feat of ping pong athleticism he just witnessed.

“Holy shit? You’re a ringer!” Calum touches his face to make sure his nose is still attached while Luke cackles at him from the other side of the table, white T-shirt glowing under the blacklight. It’s busy at the ping pong bar, but not too busy, and Calum kind of likes how the dim lighting and neon strip away all sense of time. It’s mid-afternoon, but it could be any time, any day. It’s a nice kind of obliviousness.

“I told you I’m pretty good at ping pong.” Luke swipes a hand through his hair. Just a casual movement, a practical thing to get his curls out of his eyes before Calum’s serve, but Jesus fucking Christ. 

Calum shakes his head, for so many reasons. “Yeah, but I thought you meant it in relative terms. Like, for a non-athletic person, I’m pretty good at ping pong.” He sets up his serve and knocks the ball across the table.

“Who said I’m not athletic?” Luke doesn’t even move, just stretches his massively long arm across the entire width of the table and casually sends the ball back to Calum.

Calum’s no ping pong slouch either, though. He bats the ball back with some heat on it. “I guess I just assumed based on your limb-to-torso ratio.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not coordinated,” Luke fires back, both verbally and in the form of the ball smashing over the net and landing at the opposite side of the table from Calum.

Flailing to reach it, Calum manages a dull return, just barely getting the ball over the net. Luke has to stretch himself over top of the table with a wheezy grunt, but he gets his paddle on the ball, blasting it past Calum too quickly for Calum to pivot back the other direction.

“Damn,” Calum pouts, watching the ball bounce across the floor by his feet. “Guess I need to dial it up.”

“Or just get me drunk in the middle of the day,” Luke counters, reaching for his beer while Calum collects the ball off the floor.

“Might as well, since Ashton will be cockblocking us tonight anyway.” Is Calum disappointed he probably isn’t going to get an opportunity to fuck Luke tonight? Yes. Should he be taking it out on Luke’s friend and benevolent dinner-provider whom he has never met? Probably not.

“Speaking of which,” Luke says, preparing himself for Calum’s serve. “I should warn you that Ashton’s sort of…interesting.”

“In what way?” Calum serves smoothly.

Luke returns the ball. “He’s kind of, uh, hippie-ish, I guess?”

Calum sends it back. “I can vibe with a hippie.”

The ball flies over the net. “He might try to help you align your energies.”

Bounce. Bounce. “I only want to align my energies with you.”

“That’s sweet.” Smack.

Calum swings his paddle blindly at the ball coming at him at the speed of light. “It’s not really. It’s code for I want to align my dick with your ass.” Miraculously, he hits the ball back over the net. He doesn’t want to be That Guy, the one who’s just thinking about sex constantly, but what’s he meant to do when he’s had a movie trailer of it playing in his head since last night, but can’t remember the details of the film?

Luke snorts appreciatively. “Still sweet. And not a very good code.” Bounce.

“Not my fault Ashton’s code is shitty.” Bounce. Bounce.

“Maybe don’t lead with that when you meet him.” Bounce.

“Hey Luke?” Bounce. Stretch. Bounce.

“Yeah?” Bounce. Bounce.

“I do want to align my energies with you in ways that aren’t dick-related too.” Smack.

“Goddamnit.” Luke bends down with a huff to collect the ball he was nowhere near hitting.

Calum grins. “I guess we’re pretty evenly matched.”

Maybe a little too evenly matched, because the game stays tied for longer than they have the patience to keep playing.

“What if on this one we have to spin in circles between hits?” Calum suggests, desperate to put an end to the madness so he can sit down and have a drink and some fancy fries.

Luke squints and wrinkles his nose suspiciously. “I think that gives you an unfair advantage, physics-wise.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No,” Luke replies glumly, sagging against the ping pong table in distress. “I’m so tired of ping pong.”

“We can just stop. There doesn’t need to be a winner.”

“Wow, a week in London and you’re already anti-American.” Luke smirks and twirls his paddle between his fingers with agility that shouldn’t be surprising to Calum at this point but somehow still is.

Laughing, Calum drops his paddle on the table and holds up his hands in surrender. “Or are we both winners, because we’re on the same team?”

There’s a moment of dramatic consideration while Luke stares into space and contemplates the suggestion, then, “Cheesy, but I’m a well-documented cheese fiend, so I’ll allow it.” He points his paddle at Calum and winks at him. “If you buy me another beer.”

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“I’m going to tell you something right now because I’m a teensy bit drunk and you are just super fucking hot and wonderful,” Calum hears himself saying. He’s not that drunk. It’s just the relentless sound of ping pong balls and the way it feels like the zombie apocalypse could be happening outside and they’d never know it here inside the ping pong bar. They’re really doing his head in.

And it’s the way Luke exists. He’s just sitting across from Calum in his white T-shirt, moving and speaking like he always does, but it’s painfully real to Calum. Real in that he can imagine this version of Luke in his life every day. This doesn’t have to be Vacation Luke. This could be At Home Luke. This could be any bar back in Chicago. 

This could be them, Calum and Luke, existing, together.

And that’s painful. So painful, apparently, that Calum’s mouth has decided to announce it to Luke.

Which is why Luke is staring at him right now, with expectant blue eyes that Calum wants to dive right into and live inside.

“I’ve literally never liked someone the way I like you. Like isn’t even the right word. I’m like. Obsessed with you. You should probably be filing a restraining order.  I’m pining, Luke. I don’t pine. I’ve never pined!”

“You’ve never pined?” Luke’s incredulity is undercut by the thumping horns of London Bridge piercing the air. He spares a moment to glare at the nearest speaker on the ceiling, as if the speaker is personally at fault for subjecting them to Fergie while Calum is trying to be incredibly careless with his feelings. “You don’t have crushes on people? You don’t have the thing at the beginning of a relationship where you can’t stand the idea of being away from someone for a single second?”

The front of Calum’s shirt catches on their basket of fries as he leans across the table, closing the gap between them as much as he can so Luke can hear him over The Duchess. “Not really. I’ve liked people, obviously. But it’s casual. Being with someone has always been like — a nice thing, but not something I need. But I think I might need you.”

Luke opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. Props his chin on his hand. Considers Calum carefully. “Wow.”

“I’m trying to confess how insane you make me feel just by existing and that’s all you’ve got? Wow?”

“Don’t get me wrong, this is fucking fantastic news.” Luke huffs a laugh, then shakes his head in time with the beat of the music. “I’m…maybe I’m…obsessed…with you…too.” He says it so slowly, dragging out every word into the next one, so that by the time he gets to the end of his sentence, Calum’s not entirely convinced he remembers the beginning.

“Goddamn, I hope so,” Calum says, “Or else this isn’t gonna end well for me.”

“So it’s settled, then. No restraining orders for anyone?” Luke’s lips quirk into a lopsided smile, and he fiddles with the chain around his neck, the same one he’s been wearing every day, the same one Calum used as an excuse just to touch his warm skin on the plane. The clasp is constantly twisting to the front.

“No restraining orders.” Calum reaches across the table and fixes Luke’s necklace with confident fingers. “Why do you keep wearing this necklace when it never stays put?”

Calum’s face is so close to Luke’s that he feels Luke’s lips on his jaw when he replies, “Maybe I like it when you fix it for me."

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A strange feeling of cozy anticipation lurks in Calum’s brain on the way to Ashton’s flat for dinner, a tiny flutter of nerves mixed with the sheer novelty of getting to see where Luke spends the time he’s not with Calum. 

It feels like a big step. It’s different from Calum inviting Luke back to his hotel room. It’s Luke letting Calum see a piece of his real life. And that sits nicely in Calum’s chest like a sip of a warm latte on a cold day. It also makes him twitchy like a latte, and he can tell he’s being extra the second he’s introduced to Ashton, but he can’t stop himself.

It’s a compulsion. A desperate need to be on for Luke. Because that’s what it’s about, really. Calum’s not so worried about Ashton. As it turns out, Ashton’s friendly and chatty, easy to talk to, even if Calum sometimes struggles to work out what he’s actually saying, he can tell Ashton isn’t judging him. Ashton is easy. Dinner is easy.

After dinner, Calum’s starting to fade. He’s still putting in the effort, but he’s no longer clear on its effectiveness. Every sentence he spews feels like it’s coming out of someone else’s mouth. 

That’s not stopping him from going all in on the cheese man story, though. He’s pressed up against Luke on Ashton’s sofa, and he’s had some wine, but not enough to justify how much he’s babbling at Ashton, who listens aggressively from across the room, nodding along with every word.

“So I’m thinking Luke has just completely ditched me at Borough Market, and I’m about to go sit on a bench and cry and drown my sorrows in croissants, when I finally spot him being groped by a man at the cheese booth.” Calum takes the opportunity to dig his fingers into Luke’s thigh. It’s just part of the performance.

“That sounds about right,” Ashton says, as if Luke being groped by the cheese man is a normal occurrence. Which, Calum supposes, metaphorically, it probably is.

Calum gives Ashton wide eyes that say I know, right, and forges on with his tale while Luke makes some ineffectual noises of protest next to him. “So I make my way over to the cheese booth and I’m like, back off, cheesemonger, that’s my man!” He holds his arm across Luke’s chest, but he’s not sure if Luke is playing himself being groped or the cheesemonger being put in his place in this impromptu reenactment. It doesn’t matter, it’ll make sense in the edit.

“Cheesemonger?” Luke sputters, laughing and choking on his wine simultaneously in a way that suggests he may require medical attention, but he’s still breathing and smiling, so Calum just thumps him on the chest a few times for good measure.

“A person who sells cheese,” Ashton clarifies, which Calum thinks is fairly unnecessary given the context.

“No, I know,” Luke says, wiping wine off his chin with the back of his hand. “I’ve just — I’ve never heard anyone say cheesemonger out loud. Casually, yet with so much spite.”

“You don’t just bitch about your cheesemonger with your friends over drinks?” Calum asks with a teasing grin.

Luke takes another sip of his drink, and Calum really never will get over the way he manages to smile when he’s got things in his mouth. “I generally just stick to eating cheese.”

“It’s so hot when you talk about cheese.”

“This is nice,” Ashton says, quite sincerely, and Calum and Luke make brief eye contact before breaking into a fit of giggles.

“Is it?” Luke prods, raising his eyebrows at Ashton. “You’re enjoying all this cheese content?”

“I am,” Ashton replies with a serene nod. “It comforts me knowing you’re spending your time with someone who shares your interests. It’s important to vibrate at a similar wavelength as your partner.”

What the fuck is he on about? Calum fixes Luke with a Look and Luke bites back a smile. He’s apparently accustomed to Ashton speaking like the weathered hippie that sells Calum peaches on the side of the road by his office every August. He did warn Calum, after all.

“We do love vibrating together,” Luke says with surprising seriousness, even managing to keep that smile under wraps, with some strong effort from his lips, which pinch together immediately as soon as the words are out.

Calum jumps in while Luke struggles to contain himself. “We do. It’s one of our favorite pastimes.” Luke can’t hold it in anymore, snorting into his arm, shoulders shaking against Calum, breathless squeaks pouring out of his mouth.

“You guys are dickheads,” Ashton says, fondly rolling his eyes and getting up from his chair. “Just don’t vibrate where I can hear,” he mutters, shuffling off to his room. Just before the door clicks shut behind him, he calls, “Nice to meet you, Calum!”

And then they’re alone, surrounded by Ashton’s crochet blankets and quirky collection of thrift store knickknacks. Calum is starting to form a full picture of the entity that is Ashton. “You were right. Interesting guy.”

“We’re not fucking in Ashton’s flat,” Luke says, which makes Calum flinch because since when was that even on the table as an actual option? The vibrating nonsense was all in good fun, but Calum has been so wrapped up in being on, he hasn’t even considered the post-dinner possibilities. 

Luke catches the bemused look on Calum’s face and adds, “But you can stay over if you want.” He seems cautious and hopeful. Like he wants Calum to stay over, but isn’t sure there’s enough incentive if there’s no fucking involved. That’s awfully cute of him.

“Who said anything about fucking? We’re just vibrating!” Calum holds his hands out at his sides and does a little wiggle from torso to fingertips. “Might take you up on staying over, though.” That's a win on so many levels. No train ride back to his hotel, more time with Luke. A chance to see what Luke looks like first thing in the morning again, drowsy and soft. Calum’s heart pinches at the thought.

Luke’s lips curve into a cautious smile, and Calum thinks he looks especially nice like this, in a familiar place where he feels comfortable. “The bed’s kinda small.” 

Oh, Luke’s nervous. Treading so carefully. Calum can feel how much he wants this and how terrified he is of losing it. It being a single night sleeping next to Calum. 

Calum almost chokes on the thought, a thick lump of emotion settling in the back of his throat. He swallows it down and flips on a charming grin.

“That’s okay,” he assures Luke, leaning against Luke’s side, letting all his weight fall heavily on him. “Easier for violent cuddles.”

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The bed situation is actually fairly dire. It barely contains Luke on his own, and it seems like a scientific impossibility for Calum to squeeze on next to him, but he’s going to put in a valiant effort.

But then, in the space of the few seconds it takes Calum to change into borrowed sweatpants, Luke has crawled into bed and folded himself into a shockingly tiny ball, lying on his side with his arms wrapped around his chest. There’s a perfect Calum-sized space next to him.

“We won’t have to meet at the bakery tomorrow,” Luke mumbles at the wall as Calum climbs into bed behind him and fusses with the covers.

Calum shifts around, searching for the most comfortable way to wrap himself around Luke. It’s still a tight squeeze, and Calum’s not sure it’s sustainable for sleeping. Maybe sleeping is overrated. “Do you want to go anyway?” he asks, struggling to find a place for his left arm to rest. “Get some shortbread?”

Twisting his body to try to accommodate Calum’s jostling, Luke hums thoughtfully. “Maybe. It seems like it would be weird to go a day without it.”

No matter how much he squirms and readjusts, Calum can’t find a way to organize his limbs in their current configuration. “I think you’re gonna have to lay on me,” he says, bumping his hip against Luke’s to try to make enough space to roll onto his back. “We’ll go to the bakery, then.”

Luke flips himself around so half his chest is pressed against Calum’s, tangling their legs together and tucking his face against Calum’s shoulder. It doesn’t give them any more space, but it at least puts Calum in a position where he might actually be comfortable enough to sleep, and even if he can’t, the warmth of Luke’s head on his chest is worth more than a good night’s sleep.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Luke says, quiet and bleary as his fingers play with the sleeve of Calum’s shirt. “Tonight. And on the plane.”

Calum pushes his fingers carefully through Luke’s hair and closes his eyes. “Me too.”

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It’s pouring rain.

London is famously rainy; it was bound to happen eventually. That doesn’t stop them from being incredibly disgruntled, though, when they wake up in the morning to the pitter patter of heavy rain on the windows.

Luke groans and burrows against Calum with his arm thrown across his face, and Calum attempts to reach for his phone to check the weather without accidentally tossing Luke into the wall.

“What’re you doing?” Luke mumbles, sneaking a lazy kiss against Calum’s neck with warm lips.

Holding Luke’s head carefully in place with a steady hand, Calum stretches for the nightstand with his other hand and manages to snag his phone. “Checking the weather,” he says quietly, not wanting to disrupt whatever meditative morning activities Ashton surely engages in. 

“It’s rainy.”

Calum can feel Luke laughing at his own incredibly witty comment, hot breaths on Calum’s chest and shoulders shaking. It never ends with this guy. Everything he does turns Calum to mush.

There’s a massive green blob across the radar map when Calum opens his weather app. “And it’s going to keep raining all day,” he reports, tossing his phone back on the nightstand and squeezing Luke in a tight hug. It’s both a compulsion and a defense mechanism. He’s actually a little afraid of dealing with Luke’s face first thing in the morning again now that he actually has the option. Between that and the rain, he may never get out of bed. “What can we even do in this weather?”

“Doughnuts and Downton,” Luke replies easily.

It’s perfect. Calum severely underestimated Luke’s level of early morning coherence, because this is genius-level for 7:40 a.m.

“Fuck yeah,” Calum cheers, oh-so-gently. He thinks he can hear Ashton breathing very deeply from somewhere beyond the bedroom door. “We can get doughnuts at the blue bakery and then you can come back to the hotel with me.”

Abruptly, Luke presses his hands against Calum’s chest for leverage and pops himself up into a seated position, brushing his hair out of his eyes with one hand and poking Calum incessantly in the shoulder with the other while his knees dig against Calum’s thigh. “Get up, Cal. We’ve got a big day. Gotta get going. We can’t be late for Lady Mary!” In a blur, he bounds over Calum and squats down to rummage through his suitcase. 

“Jesus.” Calum nearly falls out of bed trying to get his feet under him. “You’re suddenly very spry”

Luke gives him an incredulous look, like Calum just admitted he’s one of those people who thinks he’s been abducted and probed by aliens. “We’re about to have my perfect day,” he says. “Yeah, I’m excited. No pressure.” He scrunches his nose around a cheeky smile before he goes back to digging in his suitcase.

“As long as your perfect day includes me finally getting to touch your dick while sober,” Calum says agreeably.

Luke pops up from his suitcase, holding a T-shirt in one hand and an umbrella in the other. “Obviously.”

Nodding at Luke’s hands, Calum says, “Great outfit.”

Luke narrows his eyes at him, and then he’s gone, sequestering himself in the bathroom to do whatever it is achingly beautiful people do every morning to get ready, even though they absolutely don’t need to do a single thing.

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One thing that Calum hasn’t quite managed to wrap his mind around since arriving in London is the locals’ preference for dark, drab colors. It’s not just their jackets. Their umbrellas are that way too, maybe even worse, because it’s just a sea of black as far as the eye can see when he and Luke exit the tube station.

They are absolutely going to stick out — two large men carrying novelty umbrellas, Calum’s a bright green frog pattern he borrowed from Ashton, and Luke’s a bright red with little black Scottie dogs on it? Yeah, that’s going to draw some eyes.

But that’s okay with Calum. Let people see him with Luke. It’s one of his new favorite things.

The rain is coming down hard and steady, and by the time they make it to the blue bakery, their shoes and socks are soaked through. It’s worth it, though, because they manage to beat the morning rush, and there’s an exceptional selection of doughnuts to choose from.

Calum steps up to the counter, prepared to order the pineapple upside-down cake doughnut he’s had his eye on all week, when he sees the reflection of Luke’s face in the glass of the bakery case, eyes wide as he peruses the options in front of him. 

It’s Luke’s perfect day. Calum shouldn’t risk making him share his breakfast.

“One old fashioned glazed,” Calum says to the cashier, “Two lattes, and…” He looks at Luke, who is already staring back at him with a shocked little smile.

“Make that two old fashioned glazed,” Luke says, aiming his smile at the cashier, “and a bag of shortbreads.”

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The doughnuts are perfect, and there’s a certain comfort in sitting in bed next to Luke, watching Downton Abbey, as if no time passed at all between the plane and now. Everything is the same, but everything is different.

They’re still sitting with Calum on the right, Luke on the left, shoulders pressed together. They’re still mercilessly skewering the show while simultaneously enjoying every second of it. Before, it was new and exhilarating. Now, it’s comfortable, but no less exhilarating.  

Now, Calum doesn’t think twice about running his hand along Luke’s thigh, feeling the soft denim under his fingers. He doesn’t hold back a gasp every time Luke leans into him when he laughs, and he doesn’t nearly jump out of his skin every time Luke touches him. He still feels it though, the flip in his stomach and the buzz in his chest just from being next to Luke. Constant awareness of his existence, and the fact that he gets to be a part of it. Sometimes Calum is slightly distracted from it — by Thomas’s scheming or Lady Edith’s gossiping — but it’s always bubbling under the surface. Luke is sliding into all the new open spaces inside him.

This pining thing. It’s not going away, is it? Calum’s just going to have to live with this, possibly forever.

He runs a thumb over the back of Luke’s hand, fixating on the way the veins and tendons twist under his skin, and the next thing he knows he’s bending down to kiss to the top of Luke’s wrist. It shakes him up, actually, makes him feel kind of light-headed and dizzy, which is sort of alarming but in a really nice way. Luke barely seems to register it, staring at the TV intently with his mouth slightly open in concentration, lips looking exceptionally kissable in profile.

“OMFG,” Luke says suddenly, eyes bugging out as he cranks his neck to stare at Calum. “Can you believe Lady Sybil’s wearing pants?!”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic right now.” Calum should be paying more attention to the show. Sybil is wearing pants? Scandal! But Luke’s eyelashes are so nice, and his lips don’t look any less kissable from this angle, in fact now it’d be even easier to just—

“Honestly me neither,” Luke says. “I actually don’t think I’m joking anymore. I think I’m genuinely going to tear up at her bravery. Downton Abbey has changed me.”

“You do look a little misty-eyed,” Calum teases, pressing his forehead against Luke’s. It just keeps happening, this thing where he’s touching Luke before he’s even made up his mind to do it, and the fact that Luke just goes with it every time is astounding. 

Luke’s not the only one that’s been changed.

Chapter Text

It’s not just Sybil’s thoroughly modern attitude about trousers that’s making Luke emotional. It’s not just Downton Abbey that’s changed him.

He’s spent the last — what, two, three hours? — with his heart thumping and his skin tingling and his stomach tying itself in perfectly lovely knots, and it’s just Calum. Being alone with him, truly alone, sober and snuggled and soft in a way they’ve never gotten to be before, ever. Calum still smells like cinnamon. And now, he needs Luke. Holy fuck.

It’s goddamn overwhelming. Luke’s paying attention to the show, sure. But he’s also paying attention to every brush of Calum’s skin against his, every place their bodies are touching, every breath Calum takes and every little noise he makes. Luke’s paying attention to how fucking amazing he feels. The chemicals in his brain are going absolutely wild for this, the romantic little whores.

Calum’s voice is strange and pinched when he asks, “Should we start season two?” But when Luke looks at him, he’s smiling softly, hope lighting his eyes.

Of course Luke has to say, “Yeah, let’s do it.”

They’ve just made it past the opening scene when Calum’s phone starts buzzing. He taps away, firing texts off to someone. “It’s my friend Michael,” he says absently, when he notices Luke glancing over at him. Luke’s not being nosy. He just wants to make sure Calum doesn’t miss any important Dowager content. Although maybe he does find it very nice that Calum just offers that information up, like they’re a little unit of shared knowledge.

“Making sure you’re alive?” Luke’s heard bits and pieces about Michael over the last few days, but all he really knows is that Michael keeps very unusual hours and has horrible taste in fruit.

“He wants to know if I’ve fucked you yet,” Calum reports. 

Oh. Well. That’s unexpected. It seriously had not occurred to Luke that Calum had talked to literally anyone about him, about them. Their time together has been so insular, just the two of them in a bottle episode (with a special guest appearance from Ashton), that Luke never even stopped to think anyone else might be invested.

He likes it. A lot.

He can hear the anticipation in his own voice when he asks, “What’d you tell him?”

Calum smirks down at his phone as his fingers fly over the screen. “I said not exactly.”

“Did he reply?”

“Yeah,” Calum says, head popping up to look at Luke meaningfully. “He told me not to get so hung up on logistics.”

Luke snorts. “I don’t know; I think logistics are pretty important when it comes to fucking.”

“Right!” Calum agrees enthusiastically, tossing his phone aside. “You need to make sure the right things are going in the right places or everything goes to shit.”

“Amen to that.”

Calum’s reply is laced with heat and hope. “He told me I should probably do that today while I have the chance.” 

The Dowager prattles on about not wanting strange men around the house pocketing spoons. Such interesting priorities, Luke thinks. Who cares about spoons when Calum is suggesting he wants to —

“Fuck me?”

Has Calum’s hand been on Luke’s thigh this whole time? It has, definitely. But it hasn’t been gripping quite so tightly. “Yeah. I don’t think he believes me about us, like, still seeing each other when we get home.”

The air is heavy and Luke’s feeling a little breathless. “I have great news for you, Cal. You can fuck me today and we can keep seeing each other when we get home,” Luke offers, he thinks quite generously, given how much Calum covets his ass.

“I thought this was supposed to be your perfect day, not mine,” Calum says, tilting his head to rest against Luke’s.

A smile tugs at Luke’s lips. “Maybe we have the same perfect day.”

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“Who’s your favorite character, though,” Calum says between pressing kisses to Luke’s bare chest. “You can’t have more than one favorite.”

Luke runs his fingers through Calum’s soft curls and stares at the ceiling. “Why not? What if I like Tom and the Dowager the exact same amount?”

Calum gasps dramatically and it’s hot against Luke’s skin. “What if you liked me and some other guy the exact same amount?” His kisses travel lower, soft lips fluttering along Luke’s ribs. It’s only been, like, ten minutes since Luke came, this should not be making his skin burn and his dick twitch, but it’s Calum, so logic doesn’t really apply.

“Not possible,” Luke scoffs through a shaky breath. “Are you saying you’ve never had more than one favorite of something?”

Resting his head on Luke’s hip, Calum peers up at him with a patient smile. “Were you not listening when I gave that romantic speech about how you’re the only person I’ve ever pined over?”

Luke was definitely listening. He’s replayed it in his head dozens of times ever since. And every time, it makes his stomach fill with butterflies and his chest ache. “But what about everything else? You don’t have more than one favorite movie? Favorite candy? Favorite animal?” Luke asks accusingly, fingers still combing through Calum’s hair.

“Nope.” Calum shakes his head and his cheek squishes against Luke’s hip, making his lips extra pouty when he says, “I love lots of movies and candies and animals, but there’s always one that makes me happier than the rest.”

This is something Luke’s struggled with his entire life. He’s never understood how people can commit to one single favorite of anything. Favorites need time to develop and settle and prove themselves worthy. He can’t just try something once and declare that’s my favorite! He needs to be sure. And with most things, he doesn’t think he can ever be sure.

There’s no reason for this mindset. It’s not like if he says his favorite movie is one thing today, then changes his mind tomorrow, some secret Agency for the Integrity of Favorites is going to show up at his door to arrest him and lock him up. He’s created this particular hang-up all on his own, which is so obnoxiously on brand for him and his annoying brain.

Calum has a point though. Thinking about something as a favorite is so specific and empirical. But just knowing what makes him the happiest, right now? That might not be so hard.

“Tom,” Luke says definitively. “The Dowager is entertaining, but she’s also a bitch. Tom makes me happier.”

“Thank god,” Calum says, running his palms up Luke’s chest, making his way back to where his lips are a breath away from Luke’s. “I don’t think I could’ve handled competing with another elderly woman for your attention.” He kisses Luke, soft and slow, but insistent, the taste of shortbread from the blue bakery on his tongue.

Luke pulls away with a start. “Shortbread!” he exclaims. Calum pauses, mouth hanging slightly open, brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Shortbread is my favorite cookie!” Luke grins proudly, and Calum just shakes his head and leans back in, catching Luke’s smile with his lips.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

The days pass too quickly. Luke feels like he’s been in London for a lifetime and no time at all. So much has happened, but all of it went too fast.

On Luke’s last day in London, they go to the blue bakery, then they just walk for a while, no clear destination in mind.

It’s nice, because Luke sees firsthand that Calum really is endlessly content just to wander around with Luke next to him, holding his hand, encouraging him to take his blurry photos when they pass anything that makes Luke slow his pace. Calum’s always right there, in the space next to him, so close that some of Calum bleeds into him. 

They wind up back at the river, walking the same path Luke took when they met up for the first time outside the Tower of London. It’s the kind of cloudy that’s somehow also unbearably bright, a shining silver glare that makes it hard to look at the sky even though the sun is nowhere in sight. 

Calum shields his eyes as he turns to Luke and asks, “Is there anything we wanted to do that we haven’t done? Any last things to check off the London list?’’ He sounds like he’s fishing for something.

The Tower of London comes into view on the horizon, and Luke points at it. “I haven’t put you in a Scavenger’s Daughter.”

Calum hums and flaps his hand, batting away the suggestion. “We can do that back in Chicago. Anything London specific?”

Biting his lip, Luke glances around the skyline across the river, as if the answer will present itself like a giant pin on real world google maps. “Um. Well, we never did actually see anything at the Natural History Museum. We didn’t go to any shows. We barely even went to any pubs.” He curls his lip and frowns. "What the fuck have we been doing?”

Calum’s unbothered. “Flirting. And eating a lot,” he says simply.

Nodding, Luke chimes in, “Looking at men in boxes.”

“Buying incredibly loud clothes.”

“Increasing our caffeine tolerance.”

Calum grins and raises his eyebrows victoriously. “See, we’ve accomplished a lot.” 

Skidding to a halt, Luke does an about-face and turns back the other direction. “I guess there’s nothing left for us to do then. Let’s call it a day and go back to the hotel. Keep watching Downton.” He can’t quite deliver it as seriously as he would like, a smile tugging at his lips when Calum catches him by the wrist and drags him along backwards.

“Or,” Calum says as Luke stumbles to get turned around without tripping over his shoelaces, “We could go to the real Downton Abbey.”

“I wish,” Luke scoffs, adjusting his hand to fit in Calum’s. “They probably have so much Dowager merch. I bet I could get an I don’t argue, I explain baseball cap!”

“I have good news and bad news,” Calum says.

Luke waits for the punchline, working his tongue over a crumb of shortbread stuck in his teeth.

“The good news is we’re going to Downton Abbey. The bad news is, I was checking out the website last night, and they definitely don’t have Dowager quote baseball caps in the gift shop.” Calum says it so casually Luke thinks there must be a joke in there somewhere, but Calum’s not laughing or doing that thing where his eyes get all sassy-squinty that usually happens when he’s just fucking with Luke. He’s just looking at Luke expectantly, with a soft little smile and the wind ruffling his hair.

“We’re going to Downton Abbey?”

“Yes. Well, assuming you pick up the pace so we can get to the train station sometime this century. And technically it’s not Downton Abbey it’s—” he fans his arm out in a flourish in front of them and says the next words in an over-the-top posh British accent — “Highclere Castle.”

“Are you serious right now?” The disbelief is largely just at the fact that Calum schemed. He planned and he figured out how to do this and Luke had no idea. Maybe he was wrong about Calum’s ability to plot to murder him.

“Yes,” Calum replies impatiently. “And now you’re supposed to get all overwhelmed and kiss me and tell me how great I am for making your wildest dreams come true.”

Luke laughs, pressing himself against Calum’s side and kissing him messily on the cheek, uncoordinated as he tries to keep up with Calum’s speed-walking. “Thank you for making my wildest dreams come true, Calum,” he says, attempting to be theatrical and silly about it, but it comes out sounding embarrassingly honest. But it makes Calum smile, so open and warm, that Luke figures he may as well commit. “You’re officially my favorite person.”

“Wow.” Calum presses his lips together to contain his smile, but his eyes are shining. “A true honor coming from someone so picky about choosing favorites.”

“I’m not picky,” Luke says, shaking his head so violently his curls fall into his eyes. “I’m discerning.”

Calum laughs sharply and reaches out to brush the hair out of Luke’s eyes. “You’re gonna fit right in at Downton Abbey.”

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

It’s a long train ride, followed by a short yet painfully expensive taxi trip, but they finally make it. 

And whatever this place is actually called, Luke couldn’t care less, because it’s exactly like the show; he’s living inside the iconic opening credits shot as they approach the ornate building looming in the middle of the spacious green lawn. “Fuck me. It’s actually Downton Abbey.”

“Did you think I would take you to fake Downton Abbey? Some generic store brand version of Downton Abbey? C’mon Luke, give me some credit.” Despite his words, Calum actually sounds immeasurably proud of the fact that Luke’s into this. As if there was any chance he wouldn’t be. He loves that fucking show, and he doesn’t know if it’s because it’s really good or because he’s only ever watched it with Calum. 

And that’s actually wild. There’s literally no way for Luke to separate his feelings for Downton Abbey from his feelings for Calum. Is he going to get turned on now every time he hears sweeping orchestral music? Is the thought of World War I going to make him soft and yearning?

That’s definitely how he sounds when he says, “Thank you for bringing me to not fake Downton Abbey,” pressing his face against Calum’s shoulder so Calum can’t see the dopey lovestruck expression he knows is on it.

Calum’s arm winds around Luke’s waist to hold him in place, and they walk through the front door together.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

“Tea talk, Luke!” Calum exclaims, pointing into the familiar room that set the scene for so many tea time gossip sessions on the show. “This is fucking crazy,” he mutters as Luke follows him in. “We just watched Lady Edith spill the beans about Mary being a dirty whore in, like—” he spins in a circle and shuffles a few paces to the left— “this exact spot!”

He’s so fucking adorable. He’s so — everything, Luke’s just overwhelmed, suddenly, because not only did Calum bring him here, but Calum is in this. He’s enjoying himself and they’re doing this fairly ridiculous thing together because it’s their thing, and it’s just as special to Calum as it is to Luke. Shit. He can’t do this now.

He walks over to join Calum and tries to gloss over his minor emotional breakdown with a terrible joke, as he is wont to do. “Lady Edith would never do something so uncouth as spilling beans. She’d, I don’t know, toss the tea.”

“Toss the tea?” Calum bursts into choked laughter and just barely manages to get out, “Would you perhaps say she—” a few silent wheezes — “spilled the tea?”

Glaring and rolling his eyes, Luke hip checks Calum as he walks past to inspect the paintings along the wall. “Shut up, I don’t know how the cool kids talk.”

Calum comes up behind him and puts his hands on Luke's hips, smug when he whispers in Luke’s ear. “Clearly not.”

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

The gift shop is underwhelming. Calum was right. Not nearly enough Downton gear, but enough floral dressing gowns to outfit an entire army of Beefeaters. Still, Luke is compelled to get something to commemorate their visit, because he’s cheesy that way. It might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him; he absolutely needs an overpriced gift shop souvenir. 

“I really think you should’ve gotten a dressing gown.” Calum’s finger is poking the small of Luke’s back while they stand in line for the checkout, something that started as an attempt to irritate him but has quickly morphed into a tiny massage as Calum gets distracted looking at a rack of candy.

He grabs a Snickers bar and tosses it on top of the fancy gardener’s notebook in Luke’s arms. “Will you get me this?”

“Yeah,” Luke replies easily, slipping the candy bar under his thumb to hold it more securely.

“Will you get me the armillary sphere?” Calum’s been on about the armillary sphere since they stepped into the gift shop and Luke tripped over it. While they browsed the shop, they had a fairly extensive discussion about where in his apartment Calum would theoretically place the giant metal sphere with an arrow through it.

“Don’t push your luck," Luke warns.

“But I want it.” Calum pouts, pulling out all the stops with wide puppy dog eyes. It’s annoyingly effective. “It’s not a serious mechanism to tell time,” he recites off the label he’s apparently memorized, “but it’s such a nice decorative object! To decorate!”

Luke’s resolve cannot waver on this just because Calum is really fucking cute. “How the hell would you get that back to Chicago? It’s massive and probably qualifies as a weapon.”

“I could have it shipped from the online store. It folds flat for postage!”

“Then buy it yourself,” Luke challenges, making a mental note to order the absurd armillary sphere for Calum once they’re back home. He can be romantic too.

The person in front of them steps out of the way and Luke dumps the notebook and candy on the counter and starts to dig out his wallet. 

“Great choices,” the girl behind the counter says, ringing up the notebook. Her hair is done up in an elaborate braid and her nails are a sparkly green that reminds Luke of Calum’s silent disco top. “Do you garden?” she asks, nails clacking along the surface of the notebook as she slides it into a bag. It's just a notebook. Does she think everyone that buys one gardens?

Behind him, Calum coughs over a laugh, and Luke smiles bashfully. “Not so much. I’m more of a city guy.”

The girl snaps her gum and looks at Luke intently. “Oh yeah? Where are you from?”

“Chicago,” Luke replies, card hovering awkwardly in the air, waiting for the girl to finish ringing him up so he can tap to pay, but the Snickers bar still sits, untouched, and the girl flips her hair over her shoulder.

“Chicago! Brilliant. The windy city!” She smiles and cocks an eyebrow.

“Uh. Yep!” What is happening? Why will she not scan the candy bar and let Luke escape from this interaction?

“You’re staying in London?”

Calum’s fingers are pressing into Luke’s back again, this time impatient taps. Yeah, yeah. Luke’s ready to get out of here too.

“Yeah.” Luke nods. He tries to think of another word or two to say. Maybe it’s a code. Maybe he just needs to figure out the right password to get the Snickers bar. “It’s…satisfying?” he tries, grimacing at how absolutely asinine it sounds coming out of his mouth.

He can hear Calum snickering behind him. The irony.

The girl smiles eagerly as her eyes sweep over his face. “How much longer are you staying?”

“Oh, um. Just one more night.”

“Damn, if you were going to be around longer, I’d offer to be your tour guide.” She finally reaches for the Snickers bar and Luke exhales in relief.

Then he realizes what she just said. Shit, not this again. What is going on? Is he, like, a Chicago four but a Downton Abbey slash cheese stand slash airplane ten? 

“Damn,” he echoes, attempting to sound sincere. Calum’s burying his face in Luke’s back now, hiding his laugh from the checkout girl behind the safety of Luke’s wide shoulders.

Luke collects his bag and offers the checkout girl a quiet thanks, then makes a quick getaway, Calum trailing behind him, as the checkout girl calls, “Bye babe, have a good one!”

“Have a good one, babe,” Calum mocks, slapping Luke on the shoulder and leering at him with lusty eyes. 

They push through the door and out into the expansive castle grounds. Luke glares at Calum lovingly. “And you just watch me struggle.” It’s sunnier now, and Luke tilts his face toward the warmth.

“Trust me, I’m struggling too,” Calum says, hooking an arm through Luke’s and pulling him toward the gardens. “I’m in constant terror of some stranger snatching you away from me.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll just stay here and move in with the gift shop girl.”

“How many dates would you say we’ve had at this point?”

Luke blinks at the abrupt change of subject. “I don’t know.” He does a little mental math. They’ve spent the last ten days together. They’ve barely been apart. Under non-vacation circumstances, it would probably take months to spend this much time with someone. “At least twenty. Why?”

The sun shines on Calum’s face, lighting up those gold flecks in his eyes. Calum is in no way shy, but there is something just a tiny bit reticent in his voice, like he's actually thinking through his words before he says them. “Would it be weird for me to suggest that maybe we consider being, uh. Exclusive?”

Oh, okay. This is not a subject Luke expected to be taking on at not fake Downton Abbey. “Why would that be weird?”

Here it is, the exact thing Luke has been freaking out about very quietly and calmly since their first day together, and Calum's just offering to solve it. That's not weird; that's as goddamn ideal as this scenario gets.

“I don’t know. Because we haven’t even gotten back to Chicago yet? But I don’t know if I can wait to lock this down with the way people are constantly throwing themselves at you.” It’s said with the same sort of casual confidence Calum often employs when he’s being particularly flirty. No big deal. But it is kind of a Big Deal.

Luke takes a second to sort through it, watching his shoes cut through the grass. The logic is incredibly flawed. Calum’s really in no danger of losing Luke to a random stranger, but Luke also doesn’t give a fuck if this is a thinly-veiled excuse to have a Big Conversation without making it a Big Deal. In fact, he supports it. Encourages it. Will play along, happily.

He looks up and smiles gamely at Calum. “I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not, but either way, I’m in.”

“Really?” Calum’s eyes light up, and Luke can’t imagine how this is at all surprising. 

Shrugging, Luke says, “We’re obsessed with each other, right? Might as well be officially obsessed with each other.”

Calum’s expression lands somewhere between absolute adoration and impressed disbelief. “Have I mentioned I like the way you think.” 

Luke points at the entrance to the expansive garden in the distance and grins at Calum. “Wanna go find a place in the garden to make out?” 

“I really like the way you think.”

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

On Luke’s last night in London, he stays with Calum at his hotel.

They spend it doing a few key things: Eating pizza, having sex, and making a plan.

It’s a travel agenda — they fill the blank pages of the gardener’s notebook from Highclere Castle with a list of all the things they want to do back in Chicago. Together.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

It’s not practical for Calum to go with Luke to the airport. It’s a waste of time and money, especially when he’s just going to have to turn around and come back again tomorrow for his own flight.

But he does anyway, even though it means waking up before the sun because Luke has anxiety about missing flights and irrationally insists on getting to the airport hours earlier than he probably needs to. 

The blue bakery is neither open nor convenient at this hour, but Calum goes out and gets them iced lattes from the Starbucks down the street while Luke finishes packing his bags, and then they ride the train together, drowsily draped over each other, not talking much, voices low and quiet when they do, keeping their secrets from the empty seats across from them.

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?” Calum almost-whispers against Luke’s shoulder.

“Sleep.” Luke’s head tilts back against the window and his eyes flutter closed.

“Wrong. You’re going to call me.” 

Luke loves the sound of Calum’s voice like this, early in the morning, or very late at night, when it's thick with exhaustion. It’s so deep and soothing. He wants to drizzle it over some ice cream and lick it up.

“Okay. I’m going to call you, then I’m going to sleep.”

“What’s the first thing I’m going to do when I get back?”

“Call me?” Luke guesses.

“Fuck that, I’m showing up at your door.”

Luke smiles and squeezes his eyes closed tighter. “You could still call me on the way.”

“Nah, I want to catch you off guard. Get a glimpse of the elusive Luke Hemmings in his natural habitat.”

“So you want to see me watching Netflix on the couch with my dog and eating M&Ms?”

“Hot,” Calum grunts. “Yes please.”

Luke titters and slips his arm around Calum’s shoulders. “I’m gonna show you all around my hood. Hood in my hood.”

Calum groans, resting his hand over the hollow of Luke’s throat, covering the charm on Luke’s necklace with his palm. “Sometimes I wonder why you’re my favorite.”

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

The airport is quiet when they get there. Almost desolate. Luke’s probably going to regret being here so early. There’s only so much time he can waste scrolling through his phone and reading his horrible book, which is still bookmarked on the exact same page he left off on when Calum offered him a cinnamon roll on their flight to London. So much for vacation reading.

There’s only so far Calum can go along with Luke, and Luke’s in no hurry to leave him behind. They drag themselves toward the security checkpoint, and they naturally slow to a stop at a cluster of chairs near the back of the line. Then, they just look at each other. 

It won’t be long until they see each other again. This doesn’t need to be a big deal. Luke doesn’t know why it feels like one. By the time he gets home, catches up on sleep, and unpacks, Calum will already be back in Chicago.

It’s a tiny, insignificant, irrational worry, maybe. That just one day apart after so many together will change things.

Luke drops his backpack onto an empty chair next to him so he can hug Calum properly. With his head on Luke’s shoulder, Calum says, in a tone that doesn’t quite sound serious but also doesn’t sound at all like a joke, “What if I just went home with you? On this flight?”

Good to know Luke’s not the only one having irrational thoughts. It’s comforting, knowing they’re both doing this, one way or another. He smiles against Calum’s hair. “You can’t. It’s probably full. And you don’t have any of your luggage.”

“We’re so fucking early. I’ve got plenty of time to go back and get my shit and still make the flight.” Calum’s hands are a comforting weight on Luke’s back. His hugs are always just a touch aggressive, never tentative. Exactly how Luke likes them. 

“You’re coming home tomorrow anyway,” Luke reasons. He still hasn’t sorted out how serious Calum actually is about this, but either way can’t believe he’s trying to talk him out of it.

“I know,” Calum sighs. “But what the fuck am I supposed to do in London all day without you?” He pushes his hands into Luke’s hair and presses their bodies together so tightly that Luke almost feels like he’s floating out of his.

“You’ll figure something out. Or you can just sit in your hotel room and mope.”

Ignoring Luke’s jab, Calum just says, completely without pretense, “I’m going to miss you.” 

Oh Jesus. Luke can’t deal with serious emotions this early in the morning. His heart may be levitating out of his chest, but he manages an appropriately sassy response. “For a day?”

“Yes, dickhead. I haven’t had to go a day without you since I got a good look at your ass.” His hands slide down low on Luke’s back, threatening to dip lower. 

Luke laughs and shimmies out of Calum’s grip before they get detained by whatever the British equivalent of the TSA is for public ass-grabbing. He doesn’t have that much time to kill before his flight.

“I’ll miss you too,” he admits, to take the sting out of ruining the ass-grabbing. “But hey. It’s probably healthy or something for us to have to spend some time apart.”

“Sounds fake,” Calum says, stepping right back into Luke’s space and grabbing him by the waist to hold him in place while he lifts up on his toes to kiss him goodbye.

$ˏˋ°•*⁀ ➷ £

It takes all of twenty minutes for Luke to get through security and find his gate, which leaves him over three hours to just sit. He sifts through his pictures and dumps a bunch of them into an album he shares with Calum and Michael. He emails his neighbor back home to make sure Petunia hasn’t run out of food. He watches an episode of Bridgerton on his phone. It’s no Downton Abbey. He gets a latte from Costa and wonders if Calum went to the blue bakery without him after he left Luke at the airport.

Luke: did you go to the bakery without me

Hot Eavesdropper: 💁🏽

Luke: wtf does that mean

Hot Eavesdropper: 💁🏽😘

Luke sighs and presses play on another episode of Bridgerton.

Finally, half an episode later, boarding starts.

Anxiety floods Luke’s veins as he gradually makes his way toward his seat. Who will he be stuck sitting next to for twelve hours this time around? It's impossible to top Calum, and chances are he'll wind up next to someone who's all elbows, or maybe one of those people who watches movies without headphones. Or, if he's really lucky, a toddler!

It turns out to be a girl with dark hair and a gold nose ring, fully engrossed in a fashion magazine. He's cautiously optimistic. Luke’s never understood people who can hop on a plane and immediately make themselves comfortable. Don’t they get distracted by all the people shuffling by and the slamming of the overhead bins? Don’t they find it impossible to relax while the flight attendants do the safety presentation and the plane shudders its way to cruising altitude?

He supposes it’s promising that this girl is fully capable of disappearing into her own little world. Less chance she’ll have any interest in bothering Luke if she’s just as inclined to keep to herself.

Luke drops into his seat carefully, a polite smile on his face in case the girl looks up to acknowledge him, but she doesn’t, and his smile gets even wider as he arranges his backpack under the seat in front of him. Yes. This will be good. No, nothing will ever be as good as sitting next to Calum, but this might be the next best option.

He takes his time getting himself organized, securing his phone and his headphones and his book in his lap, and slipping a bag of M&Ms in the seat back pouch for later. He’s tapping through his phone, trying to decide which playlist would be best to have on as background noise while he thinks about Calum for the next 12 hours, when he hears Calum’s voice.

“Bro is that you?” 

What. The. Fuck.

“I haven’t seen you in ages man! Not since, what, that night we made out at the silent disco?”

Yeah, that’s definitely Calum in the aisle next to him, backpack slung over his shoulder and a shit-eating grin on his face. 

Luke does his best to hold back incredulous laughter. “Oh my god,” he replies stiffly. “That was a crazy night! Where are you sitting? Maybe we can—”

There’s a tap on his arm. A long, manicured fingernail is summoning him. It’s attached to the girl next to him, who says, like an angel from the heavens, “He can have my seat.”

Actually, she sounds a little desperate. She wants nothing to do with a couple of bros loudly catching up inches away from her. Luke respects that so much. So, so much.

“Are you sure?” he asks, because it’s the polite thing to do, but she’s already unbuckling her seatbelt and gathering her bag off the floor. “Thanks.”

With just a nod of acknowledgement at Luke, she slips past him, then presses her hand against Calum’s arm when she’s out in the aisle. “What seat were you in?”

Oh Jesus. Her voice has gone up an entire octave and she’s looking at Calum through her eyelashes, smiling sweetly up at him. Luke drops his face into his palms. He can’t watch this.

“12D,” Calum replies. This almost gets Luke to look up just to glare at him, because that’s so much closer to the front! How the fuck did he get a better seat than Luke when he clearly managed to charm his way onto this very full flight at the last second?

“I’d like to see your 12D,” the girl says coyly, and Luke retreats further into his hands. “You know where to find me if you’re interested.” Honestly. People actually talk like this? But Luke kind of gets it. Calum is really hot.

“I think I’ll just stick with fucking my pretty giant boyfriend, but thanks for the offer!” Calum calls, quite loudly, very proudly. 

Luke lowers his head into his elbows and folds over his legs so he’s eye level with his M&Ms. He loved that. He hated that.

“Holy shit!” Calum exclaims gleefully, punching Luke lightly on the shoulder to get him to move out of the way so he can climb over him to settle into the open seat. “Did you see that? That hottie was hitting on me! Me! Not you!”

Luke slowly unfolds himself and catches Calum by the waist as he trips over Luke’s thighs and into the middle seat.

“I saw,” he says, shaking his head. “Well. I didn’t see. I heard.”

Calum’s eyes go wide as he jams his bag under the seat. “Oh my god, so you missed her shaking her ass while she walked down the aisle?” He comes back up with — what else — his fleece blanket.

“Sure did,” Luke confirms. He can’t say he’s disappointed.

“Don’t worry,” Calum says, patting Luke on the leg before he unfurls the blanket. “Her ass has nothing on yours.” He lets the blanket settle over both their laps.

Luke looks over at Calum longingly. He’s right here. But Luke still longs for him, because he wasn’t supposed to be right here. Luke’s not supposed to be able to have him right now. “You’re here.”

Calum shrugs it off with a tiny, mischievous smile, tucking the blanket around Luke’s thighs. “This is where I want to be.”