Chapter Text
Michael was frustrated to the verge of tears. He hated that Mum could still drive him to that point. It didn’t matter how many times she frustrated him; he couldn’t stop himself from getting worked up over it. Every time she misinterpreted something, he felt the need to overexplain to deaf ears. Every time she defended a man who wasn’t worth defending, he felt the need to convince her otherwise. He knew she loved him, but, sometimes, he was afraid she loved that man more.
Usually, Mum gave up on the argument before he did. This time, however, she was insistent, demanding and relentless. She demanded information that Michael didn’t have. She insisted on a lie that he wasn’t making. He had no choice but to get out of the house while she screamed out the front door for all the neighbours to hear until Dad managed to drag her back into the house.
Michael avoided drinking to drown his emotions, but, this late at night, there was nowhere for him to go but the local pub. Of course, he didn’t want to look like an oddball, so he ordered himself a drink with the intent on sipping on that single pint for as long as he could before returning home.
In his rush to leave the house, Michael hadn’t brought anything but his phone. He didn’t have his ID, but, luckily, the bartender recognised him as his father’s son, and served him the drink he’d asked for. The tattoos on his arms he’d illegally gotten before he was eighteen also made him look a little older than his face did.
Michael’s beeline for the bar made him forget about the common decency of not sitting directly next to another person on the stools. But, now that he’d done it and he had his beer, he felt weird moving to another stool. He cradled the glass in both hands, grounding himself with the cold condensation, and cast a quick to the man next to him. His heart dropped when he realised he recognised him.
This was one of his professors. Considering the number of students attending his lectures, Michael hoped he wouldn’t recognise him. He didn’t even remember his name. He just knew he was the one teaching the development psychology module, which included people from other courses besides Michael’s.
Michael’s double-take had caught the attention of the professor. He looked over, held Michael’s anticipatory gaze, and smiled. Michael wasn’t sure if it was a polite greeting or an expression of recognition.
The professor turned back to his drink without a word. Michael relaxed, and took his first sip from his beer.
“Don’t you have a nine-a.m. with me tomorrow morning?”
Michael choked on his drink from the fright that question gave him. He turned his face into the crook of his elbow as he coughed up the fizzy liquid he’d inhaled. The thumping on his back that the professor gave him did nothing but embarrass him further.
“You were hoping I wouldn’t recognise you, weren’t you?” The professor chuckled.
“Um,” Michael rasped. He took a sip of the same drink that choked him to clear the hoarseness in his voice. “Kind of.”
“I don’t care what students do with their time,” the professor assured him. “You’re an adult. I don’t even care if you do your work. It’s all your responsibility anyways.”
Michael glanced nervously at him again. “You’re in at nine too, so what are you doing here, Professor?”
“Having a drink,” he said. “Also, you really don’t have to call me that. I feel weird when people call me that.”
Michael nodded.
“It’s because you forgot my name, isn’t it?” The professor chuckled.
“No, I just—I call all of my professors that,” Michael said defensively.
“It’s fine. I don’t know your name either,” he told him. “I’m Calum.”
“Michael.”
“Michael,” Calum echoed. “I wouldn’t have recognised you if you weren’t looking at me like you were expecting me to bite your head off.”
“Sorry,” Michael muttered.
“I do know you’re a first-year student,” Calum said. “I remember seeing you in my first-year undergrad lectures.”
“You remember me?” Michael perked up.
Calum nodded. “Why do you think I knew you were in my nine-a.m. tomorrow?”
“Lucky guess,” Michael shrugged. “Don’t you have – like – hundreds of students?”
“I do.”
Michael smiled privately. He felt seen. He always felt like he blended into the crowd of uninteresting people. He wasn’t worth people’s gaze – let alone, their acknowledgement. Did he really stand out, or was Calum just particularly good with faces?
“What course are you in?” Calum asked.
“Psychology,” Michael replied.
“Good choice,” Calum beamed. “What are you planning to do after this? Academia, clinical work?”
Michael shrugged. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
Calum stuck out his bottom lip thoughtfully. “What drew you to it then?”
“Interest,” Michael said. “Seemed like the most interesting course, and I was accepted, so here I am.”
Calum swirled his whiskey, and shot it.
“I know that’s probably – like – annoying to here that something you’re passionate about was just something I happened to get into,” Michael said dolefully.
“At least, you’re honest,” Calum said. “Is there anything, right now, that piques your interest particularly, or you’re still exploring?”
“Probably psychopathology,” Michael said. “It’s cool learning about all the different disorders.”
“Oh,” Calum muttered like he didn’t like that answer.
“Developmental psychology is cool too,” Michael added quickly.
“It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to like it,” Calum said. “It’s not something everyone’s into.”
The conversation died off there. Michael didn’t have anything to add. Calum sat comfortably in the silence he’d created while Michael’s chest hurt with awkwardness. He disobeyed his own rule unconsciously as he anxiously drank from his glass until he’d emptied it.
Michael checked the time. He didn’t want to go back home until Mum had completely calmed down from their argument, and his parents were tucked away in bed, which would be for a while. She tended to go to sleep pretty late when she argued with Michael in the evening. It took her a long time to decompress before she could even think about sleeping. So, Michael would have to be here for longer.
He ordered a mixed drink instead since the beer was already hurting his stomach from the combination of the speed he’d drunk it at and his own anxiety. Adding more alcohol to a sore stomach wasn’t the cleverest thing to do, but he didn’t want to order something without alcohol for fear of being judged for it. He couldn’t rationally explain why someone would judge him for ordering a non-alcoholic drink like a Coke, but he had a gut feeling.
Calum was still silent beside him. Michael tried to come up with something to talk about, but nothing came to mind. He didn’t know current affairs, so he couldn’t bring that up. He had no questions about the lectures, so that topic was impossible for him. It would be weird for Michael to ask personal questions to Calum like his family, his age or his friends. Michael couldn’t possibly think of something, and what irritated him was knowing that Calum did have the ability to continue the conversation – he just chose not to.
Michael tried to pluck up the courage to sit somewhere else, but two things stopped him. Firstly, he didn’t want to seem rude, and, secondly, he would have to return to where Calum was sitting if he wanted another drink. He tried to think of an excuse, but what could he possibly say? He couldn’t say that his friends were here, and he was going to go sit with them. This bar was small enough that Calum would be able to see him wherever he went.
Michael finished his second drink, and ordered another. He drank it while he devised a plan to leave this seat. It hadn’t even been forty minutes since he’d gotten here, and he was on his third drink. Calum was sipping his second glass of whiskey. It was considerably less liquid than Michael’s full pint, and two full glasses of rum and Coke. Yet, he was making it last.
It took a while, but Michael eventually plucked up the courage to move. He decided it actually didn’t matter how Calum perceived his behaviour. His intention was not rude, and, if Calum was any good at psychology, he would understand Michael’s awkwardness.
Before Michael had the chance to stand, however, Calum spoke again, “What’re you doing here alone tonight anyways?” He paused before adding, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I had to get out of my house,” Michael mumbled.
“Just wanted to get some air, or?”
“Family stuff,” Michael said vaguely. “I was arguing with my mum.”
“Ah,” Calum said with an entertained smile. “The usual.”
Michael couldn’t hide his reaction to that comment. Maybe, he was just not in the mood to repress his facial expressions. Maybe, it was something else. He rolled his eyes, and inadvertently scooted away from Calum.
“Sorry,” Calum said. “I’m not trying to say you have no reason to be upset by that. I still get upset when I argue with my mum at my age.”
Michael glanced over him to try and work out his age, but he wasn’t very good at estimating that. “It’s just that I wish it was usual stuff like other people.”
Calum observed him for a moment. He didn’t respond verbally or nonverbally. It made Michael feel like he was being examined.
“What kinds of stuff do you argue with your mum about?” Michael asked.
“Normal stuff,” Calum replied. “When I was your age, it was about curfew and drinking and studying.”
“And nowadays?”
“Mostly, why I’m still single,” Calum said. “Not much for her to argue with me about since I moved out.”
“I wish I could move out,” Michael muttered. “But, at the same time, I feel like I need to stay there.”
“Yeah?” Calum said. “It is nice to have dinner on the table and your clothes washed.”
“Yeah, it is,” Michael agreed, “but it’s more than that. I just feel like—” he glanced over to this borderline stranger who he was about to spill his guts to. “Never mind.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m listening,” Calum assured him. “Actually, can we move to a booth? My back’s starting to kill me.”
Before Michael could answer, Calum was on his way to a booth. Michael felt obliged to follow him. The question seemed more like an invitation that would be rude of Michael to refuse. He regretted sitting across from Calum. It made it weirder for him not to make eye contact.
“I’m listening,” Calum repeated when Michael didn’t continue.
Michael shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
He lifted his drink to his lips, and leaned his head back. A trickle of Coke met his lips. This was his fourth drink. He didn’t realise how much he’d drunk of it.
“What were you and your mum arguing about?” Calum asked instead. “I hope not curfew.”
“No,” Michael said. “Not curfew. She’s not very strict about that.”
“It sounds like it was pretty bad,” Calum said, “so you don’t have to tell me. Sorry for bugging you about it.”
“It’s fine,” Michael said.
“You’ve tried to drink from that empty glass three times now,” Calum said with a laugh. “Why don’t you get another one?”
Michael looked longingly towards the bar. “I want to, but I really shouldn’t. I’ll have no money left.”
Calum drummed his fingers on the side of his glass thoughtfully. He looked from the bar to Michael and back again. Then, leaning across the table to Michael, in a low voice, he said, “Don’t tell anyone I’m doing this for you,” and went to the bar.
Michael smiled to himself. He felt like he was witnessing a ‘grown-up’ doing something wrong, and it was exciting to him. Not only was he doing something he shouldn’t; he was doing it for Michael.
Calum returned with another rum and Coke for Michael, and passed it to him.
“Thank you,” Michael said. “You didn’t have to.”
“I can’t keep watching you drink from an empty glass,” Calum chuckled.
“My mum was accusing me of taking drugs,” Michael said. “That’s what we were fighting about.”
Calum’s eyebrows twitched in surprise that Michael was even telling him. “And you weren’t taking drugs, or?”
“No, I wasn’t,” Michael said defensively. “I’ve never taken drugs except—it doesn’t matter. I don’t take coke.”
“Why was she accusing you?” Calum asked.
Michael took a big gulp from his drink. “Because she found coke in my room, but it wasn’t mine. I know it wasn’t. It’s my dad’s.”
“Did you tell her it’s your dad’s?” Calum said. “Or do you not want him to get in trouble?”
“I don’t fucking care if I get him in trouble,” Michael growled irritably. “She just doesn’t believe me even though he was a heavy coke user for fucking ages. He just has been clean for – like – three months. My mum’s too optimistic. She believes everything he says. If he tells her he’ll never touch coke again, she believes him. So, when coke ends up in the house with a coke addict, she blames me instead. It’s fucking stupid.”
Calum nodded. “That’s extremely frustrating.”
“It is,” Michael said. “It’s always like this. I love my mum, but I just wish she didn’t love him. That’s – like – the only thing we really disagree on.”
“What?”
“That he’s a good person at heart,” Michael clarified. “He’s not. I know he’s not. He’s evil all over. Maybe, he wasn’t evil when she met him, but he’s evil now, and he’s never going back.”
Calum was silent.
“I hate him,” Michael grumbled.
“I can’t imagine how painful it is to live in that house with them,” Calum said.
Michael nodded. “I can’t leave her there with him, though. I don’t know what to do. Even when I have enough money to move out, I don’t want to leave her with him, and she won’t want to leave him either. I’m stuck.”
Calum sipped on his drink. The silence that fell over them sobered Michael up to the point that he realised how drunk he was. Between his medication and the speed of his drinking, he’d ended up drunk when he wanted to leave this place sober. Not only that; he was telling his psychology professor everything there was to know about him for no reason.
Michael didn’t understand what had happened. He’d gotten drunk plenty of times before, and never spilled his guts like this. He was closed off. He tried not to tell anyone about what he was going through. He was embarrassed about it. Embarrassed that neither of his parents were worthy of the title of caregivers. Embarrassed that he still loved his mother despite how she defended the man he hated. Embarrassed that he wasn’t normal.
This time, Michael wasn’t embarrassed about any of that. He was just embarrassed that he’d word-vomited to someone who probably didn’t want to know all of this about him. Calum was like some kind of emotional crowbar where Michael thought himself to be a steel door. In fact, Calum was far more powerful than a crowbar. He hadn’t even pried, and Michael was telling him everything.
“Sorry,” Michael muttered. “I shouldn’t have told you all of that.”
“It’s okay,” Calum said. “I can tell you’re a closed book, so I’m actually very flattered that you’re telling me this.”
“You’re just trying to enjoy your drink and stuff.”
“I like company,” Calum assured him. “I hope getting that off your chest was relieving in some way. I’m happy to hear about it if it makes you feel better.”
“Really?” Michael raised a brow.
“Really,” Calum smiled sympathetically.
Michael ran his fingers over the condensation on his glass. “That’s kind of all it was today.”
“Your mum frustrates you the most because she’s the one you care the most about,” Calum commented.
Michael nodded gloomily.
“I know it’s not comparable, but I was always more upset when my mum scolded me than when my dad did.”
Michael smiled. He liked to know that the sentiment was shared, in some regard, with someone who was actually normal. “So, what are you doing here at this time when you have a lecture to teach tomorrow morning?”
“Celebrating,” Calum said with mischievous smile behind his glass.
“Celebrating what?” Michael asked, excited by the mischief.
“Someone’s downfall,” Calum said. “His paper has been rejected by a journal for a third time.”
Michael giggled. He liked the petty rivalry that a grown man held.
“I know, I know,” Calum said. “It’s childish.”
“It’s funny,” Michael admitted. “Why do you hate him?”
“His opinions, his theories, his practice,” Calum listed. “And he told me he’d help me with one of my papers, and deliberately botched the results so that he could get his own paper published instead of mine.”
“That’s fucked up,” Michael said.
“It is,” Calum said, “and he makes more than me.”
“Even more fucked up,” Michael said. “Who is it?”
“I can’t say,” Calum said with a secretive finger over his lips.
“Would I know who you’re talking about?” Michael pressed.
“Depends,” Calum hummed.
“On what?”
“I can’t say any more than that,” Calum said. “Professionalism and all that.”
Michael pouted.
“Have you been doing your required reading?” Calum asked.
Michael averted his eyes guiltily. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
“Yeah?” Calum chuckled. “What’s the book called?”
“The Fundamentals of Psychology,” Michael said.
“Nice try,” Calum said. “It’s The Developing Child.”
“Oh.”
“You can get started on it when you don’t come in tomorrow on account of your massive hangover,” Calum told him.
“I’ll be in,” Michael said stubbornly.
“I’ll look for you then,” Calum said.
Michael checked the time. “I’ll get going now. Thanks for keeping me company.”
“Likewise,” Calum said as Michael got to his feet. He noticed the wobble in his step. “Do you need a lift?”
“No, I’m – um – just around the corner,” Michael said.
“Let me walk you home,” Calum told him.
“I’m fine, really,” Michael insisted. “It’s less than a ten-minute walk from here.”
“Now, you definitely have to show up tomorrow, or I’ll be worried about you,” Calum said.
“I’ll be there,” Michael assured him. “If I’m too sick, I’ll email you.”
“Okay,” Calum said, squeezing Michael’s shoulder compassionately. “Safe home, buddy.”
He passed by Michael to walk to the door. Michael watched him leave. He lifted a hand up to his shoulder where the absence of Calum’s was palpable. He felt sad. This was almost definitely the last time he’d talk to Calum. It was just a coincidence that they happened to be in the bar together, and struck up conversation. Calum wouldn’t try to ‘hang out’ with him again. He wouldn’t try to have this kind of one-on-one conversation with him that Michael had been so desperate to escape in the beginning. Michael didn’t want this to be the last time he talked to Calum outside of answering questions during lectures.