Work Text:
Overall, Michael considers himself to be a good friend to the people he keeps close.
He might not be a fantastic friend to those who exist in the periphery of his life, having a habit of leaving them on read and rarely making the time to see them. It’s not something he’s proud of, necessarily, but it’s not something that bugs him either, because it’s not like said peripheral friends don’t treat him the exact same way. Maybe they’re more like casual acquaintances than actual friends.
But to the small group of people he considers to be his actual friends, consisting of people he loves deeply and would jump in front of a bus for if it came to it, he thinks he’s doing a relatively good job of being present and attentive and, when needed, caring.
Something he’s never been good at, however, is the act of comforting.
He doesn’t have the intuitively perceptive nature of Ashton, who seems to be able to throw one look at a distressed friend and immediately know what they need, nor is he inclined to attempt to solve any and all problems his friends are having by draping himself over them like a particularly heavy blanket, like Luke. It doesn’t come naturally to him at all, no matter how hard he tries and no matter how much he wants to be a good comforter.
He can absolutely be caring, by all means; he can make soup when a friend is sick (which he did when Ashton came down with the flu last semester), he can offer to pick up some extra housework when a roommate is sagging under the pressure of being a uni student (which he did when Luke was in the thick of finals week their first year) and he can help a scatterbrained friend organise a chaotic schedule (which he’s done for Calum on the regular since they were teenagers).
But comforting a friend who’s in some type of distress is something that in no way strikes him as easy or even doable. No matter how much he wants to be a source of comfort, everything he tries to say or do when a friend is sad or hurt or, on the rare occasion, actually grieving, be it over the loss of a pet or because of a breakup, feels stilted and awkward.
Stilted and awkward aren’t adjectives Michael would ever use to describe himself in general, so the fact that his demeanour when attempting to comfort a loved one can be described as stilted and awkward is not only strange, but also seems extremely unfair.
A hole in his repertoar of Good Friend Qualities.
Why couldn’t he just have been bad at remembering to bring snacks to movie nights, like Luke, or never being able to provide anything but a burnt omelette when he’s on breakfast duty, like Calum?
Maybe if something like that was his main flaw as a friend, Calum wouldn’t have spent the last half hour on the phone with Ashton, sad and downtrodden after finding out he failed his last final, seeking comfort and cheering up from someone who always knows the right thing to say.
Fucking Ashton and his way with words.
Michael loves Ashton, has loved him since Calum introduced them to each other approximately two years ago, but he doesn’t love him right now.
If it hadn’t been for Ashton’s existence, chances are Calum would be turning to Michael for comfort, and Michael might not have done a very good job, but he would have tried his very best. Because that’s what he always does for his friends, especially Calum. If he’s always a little extra motivated to be a good comforter when the person in need of comfort is Calum, then no one needs to know that it has roots in a collection of decidedly non-platonic feelings.
Keeping his eyes on the TV, Michael stuffs a handful of popcorn into his mouth, doing his very best to appear casual and unperturbed while Calum hangs up the phone with a, “See you tomorrow, yeah.”
“Feeling any better?” Michael asks without taking his eyes off the TV. In the corner of his eye, he sees Calum shift on the other end of the couch.
“Yeah,” Calum says. “We’re gonna meet up tomorrow and he’s gonna help me figure out what to do next. I don’t know if I can just retake the final or if I have to retake the whole class or what, so…”
Michael shrugs. “I could help you with that, you don’t need to go to Ashton.”
“I know, but I haven’t seen him in a while, so we’re gonna grab lunch, then maybe catch an early movie.”
When was the last time we grabbed lunch or caught an early movie together? is what Michael wants to ask. He takes pride in being perfectly capable of keeping the petty, bratty and somewhat possessive side of himself under wraps, though, and he’s not about to let it rear its ugly head now, when Calum is already feeling low.
“Okay, cool,” is therefore all he says before he shoves more popcorn into his mouth.
Silence stretches in the space between them for a bit before Calum sighs audibly and straightens his leg to poke Michael’s thigh with his toe. “Don’t be mad,” he says.
“What?” Michael whips his head around. Bits of half-chewed popcorn fall out of his open mouth, landing in his lap. “I’m not mad.”
“You seem mad,” Calum says, eyes wide and unblinking, dark and glinting in the dim light provided by the ceiling lamp. “I’m not, like, replacing you as my best friend or anything if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” Michael says. It’s not a lie, per say; he’s not worried about being replaced as Calum’s best friend. What he is worried about is Ashton one day being offered the position that Michael has been wistfully side-eyeing for five years, the one of Calum’s boyfriend, because then what? Is he going to be mature and evolved enough to sit idly by while Calum and Ashton fall in love, or is it going to be too much to bear, forcing him to somehow sever all ties with Calum?
He’s being ridiculous and dramatic and he knows it very well, because as far as he knows, Ashton isn’t gay or bi or anything that would indicate an interest in men, but what if? What if Calum is Ashton’s exception? What if Calum is Ashton’s bi awakening?
Michael could hardly blame him if that turned out to be the case.
“Good, ‘cause that’s never gonna happen,” Calum says. His tone of voice has gotten weirdly defensive. “Can this be the part where you tell me that Luke is never gonna replace me as your best friend?`”
More popcorn falls out of Michael’s mouth, this time because his jaw drops with shock, and he puts the bowl away. “What?” he asks. It comes out squeaky. “Is that—what? Why would you even ask me that?”
“Because…” Calum throws his hands in the air, face contorting into a part frustrated, part embarrassed grimace for a moment. “It feels like you’ve spent more time at his and Sierra’s place lately than at home. You always go over there for dinner—”
“Yeah, because they invite me and they make really good food,” Michael cuts in with a small laugh. “Not because I’d rather spend time with Luke than with you.”
“So…If I learned how to cook, you’d spend more time at home?” Calum pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “With me?”
In a weak attempt at a joke, Michael says, “Well, they do say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, so I reckon it’s worth a shot.”
Calum’s eyelids flutter and he casts his gaze down.
Michael frowns.
He’s known Calum since he was seven years old, he knows all his little ticks and cues, and fluttering eyelids and downcast eyes usually means he’s nervous. A little anxious even, perhaps. He also knows that pushing isn’t going to make Calum speak up any faster, though, so he remains quiet and waits patiently.
“Is it?” Calum asks eventually. He’s blinking slightly faster than normal, but he’s looking Michael right in the eye. “The way to your heart. Is it through your stomach?”
Michael blinks. “What? No, that was…mostly a joke. I’m not that much of a foodie.”
“Oh,” Calum mumbles, and just like that, their eye contact is once again broken.
“What, were you planning on wooing me by cooking me fancy dinners?” Michael asks, pushing out a laugh in an attempt at emphasising that he’s joking. “You’ve seen me add extra chilli powder to a pack of instant noodles and call it a decadent meal, Cal; you of all people should know that the way to my heart is likely not through my stomach, so if you’re looking for a way there, you should find a different route.”
Maybe they could have continued to build on Michael’s joking and lighthearted demeanour, maybe they would have, had it not been for the fact that when Calum speaks next, his face has turned pink and his voice has dropped to a mumble that Michael can barely hear over the low sounds coming from the TV.
“Is there a map or something to find the right route?”
Barely audible or not, Michael hears the word loud and clear.
“What?” he asks. It comes out weak. “Why are you…What?”
Calum’s chest rises and falls slowly, deliberately, under his oversized hoodie. He’s fiddling with the string of his trackies, his eyes locked on Michael’s shoulder. Again, it takes a while before he speaks, and again, he looks directly into Michael’s eyes when he does. Leave it to Calum to always face a challenge head-on when he’s put his mind to it, no matter how scared or nervous he is.
“What is the way to your heart?” he asks, and though his face is still shining bright pink, his voice is strong and steady, and his gaze is unwavering.
Had it not been physically impossible, Michael would have thought his heart to have relocated to his cranium, because that’s where he feels his heartbeat now. Not in his chest, not even in his throat, but in his head. Against his temples and forehead, and in his ears, more specifically.
His own voice sounds like it’s coming from far away when he gathers whatever remains of his sensibilities and asks, “Why are you asking?”
An attempt at shielding himself from potential disappointment is what the question is, because maybe Calum’s asking on someone else’s behalf. Maybe he knows someone who has a crush on Michael and is doing that someone a favour. Michael isn’t about to embarrass himself by making assumptions, even if making the assumption his heart is telling him to make could potentially have a positive outcome.
Calum swallows thickly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing with it. Drawing another deliberately deep and steady breath, he rises to his feet, and for a moment Michael panics and wants to plead for him to not leave.
But Calum doesn’t leave. He takes four clumsy steps along the narrow space between the couch and the table, stopping right in front of Michael, then manoeuvres himself back onto the couch. He sits back on his heels, his knees pressed up against the side of Michael’s thigh, and his eyes are wide with an odd blend of what Michael perceives as hopefulness and uncertainty.
“I don’t think I have the emotional maturity or vocabulary to spell it out to you, so please don’t make me,” he says, raising a shaky hand to Michael’s chest, flattening it right above his heart. His skin is hot and clammy, Michael can feel it through the thin fabric of his own t-shirt. Calum’s palms always get clammy when he’s nervous, which is a common trait, Michael knows, but somehow it’s more endearing than gross when it’s Calum.
“I kinda…I really need you to spell it out for me, though,” Michael says as he covers Calum’s hand with his own, gnawing on his lip as he stares into Calum’s eyes.
He wonders if his eyes are as pretty as Calum’s when they’re widened with hope.
Calum releases a trembling breath, his head twitching on a slight shake of his head. “Knew I should’ve taken Ashton up on his offer,” he says, mostly to himself by the looks and sounds of it.
A cold spike prods at the sheen of hope that has enveloped Michael’s heart then, because what does Ashton have to do with anything?
Something on his face must give him away, because Calum speaks awfully quickly when he continues, “No, not like—no, he offered to help me figure out how to…how to do this. What to say when I finally gathered the courage to…yeah.”
Michael’s lips part on a muted, Oh before he clears his throat and curls his fingers around Calum’s hand. “Okay, I…” He closes his eyes and lets out a small laugh. “No offence to Ashton and his words, because I love him and I love his words, but I’d rather hear this with your words, even if they’re not gonna be as eloquent and poetic as his might have been.”
Sinking down a little, Calum rests his forehead on Michael’s shoulder, echoing Michael’s frail laugh. “I was kinda just gonna…tell you I love you and hope for the best, to be honest.”
“That could’ve easily been misunderstood, though,” Michael says. He’s rather surprised he manages to get the words out, because every cell in his body is aching to let out one hysterically elated laugh after the other. “You’ve told me you love me hundreds of times over the years, so unless you followed up with a kiss or a clarification, I’d just assume you meant, like, friendly love.”
Calum lifts his head, blinking up at Michael with eyes that are no longer uncertain. They’re not even hopeful anymore. They’re shimmering with warm, crackling happiness.
“Do you want that, then?” he asks. “A clarification or a…kiss? Both?”
Michael can only nod jerkily.
“Okay.” Tilting his chin up, Calum huffs out a shallow breath that fans over Michael’s lips. “I—I love you. As in, boyfriend-y love.”
No sooner are the words out of his mouth before he closes the remaining distance between them and brushes his lips against Michael in a brief kiss.
It’s over before Michael can even properly digest it, but it doesn’t matter.
He’ll have plenty of chances to digest Calum’s kisses.
He wrinkles his nose. Digest Calum’s kisses. That sounds gross, even in his head.
“What?” Calum asks, his brows drawing together. “Not good?”
Michael doesn’t quite giggle, but it’s a close call. He twists his body for a better angle before he mumbles, “I love you, too,” and cups the back of Calum’s head to pull him in for another kiss. A proper one.
Kissing Calum feels right in a way that no kisses he’s had so far in life have, it feels easy and laced with hopes and dreams and a dizzying sense of relief.
They sit there and kiss until their lips are sore and Michael starts to get a crick in his neck. Calum doesn’t move far when their lips part, though; he simply clings to Michael like a koala with all four limbs, rubbing his nose against Michael’s shoulder. Michael responds with gentle headbuts aimed at the crown of Calum’s head.
“You know I only choose Ashton over you when it comes to, like, consoling, right?” Calum murmurs at some point. “Not because I don’t prefer your consoling techniques, but you’ve always seemed a little uncomfortable with it, so…you know.”
“I’m not,” Michael says. Calum makes a sound of scepticism. “I swear, I’m not. I’m just…awkward about it, I’m no good at it, but I really don’t mind giving it a go. Especially not for you.”
“You’re not awkward about it,” Calum protests gently. “It’s…I don’t know. Even if you were complete shit at it, which you’re not, it’d still be the most effective comforting anyone could ever give me, simply because it’s you. You know that, right?”
Michael sure as hell didn’t know that. Maybe he should have, though, because Calum truly is a horrendous cook but he’d take a slightly burnt omelette from Calum over a decadent meal from anyone else any day of the week.