Balls [5sos ot4]

smelly balls

Luke's pov:

It's fucking cold.

I can see my fucking breath. I know it's still early morning but, honestly, the sun needs to hurry the fuck up and do its job for once. Warm me up, bitch.

At least the air is fresh for once, lacking the odor of sweaty bodies and horrifying farts. It's nice. It's fucking cold but it's nice.

The air that usually surrounds me isn't too bad. I love being surrounded by all the scents, the nice and the bad (even though the bad are bad), of my band mates--date-mates, as Ash would say. It's weird. I find myself wishing for their morning breath, even their post concert stench, when we've been separated for awhile. Yet when I kiss Michael right after we've woken up I never think I'm going to miss that awful taste. Or when Cal and Ash run off the stage after me and suffocate me with their b.o.--I never think I'll miss it. Like, honestly, I'm more concerned of getting out of that smelly death grip more than anything, really.

But I do. I miss it so badly and it's so stupid and disgusting and pathetic. But I do.

I don't miss it right now. I don't miss it yet. And maybe that's because Calum's walking right next to me, swinging our arms, hands linked together. And they smell nice, too. They smell fruity almost. I can only guess the thousands of bottles of cologne stacked up in their room has gone untouched today.

It works-the smells. The fruitiness, the sweetness, is floating with the freshness of it all. The natural scent of the outside world I sometimes forget about. But the sweet scent of Cal's perfume is warm, working against the cold breeze of the air surrounding. But yet it still works.

And maybe we'll get caught like this. Maybe a fan or two will run up, squealing at the "Cake" action going on. Or maybe the paparazzi will pop up and snap photos of our clasped hands. Maybe they're here already, just waiting for the secret fond glances to be exchanged. Maybe they're waiting for a risky kiss to the cheek. Lips would be better.

Maybe they're waiting for me to screw up again, to ruin my already damaged "image".

My "image" of being a good boy, someone any father would allow his daughter to date. But a good boy wouldn't go kissing another. But Cal isn't a good boy either. They don't see that, though. No one sees the truth. The obvious.

And none of them can ruin me.

If I end up ruined, it'll be because of me.

It'll be because of me, loving these idiots until no end. And that will be my fault. My fault for falling too hard, too fast. My fault for falling for three at once. My fault for caring about them all more than myself. It would be my fault if they ruined me because I would have let them. I'd be the one at fault.

I don't regret this. I don't regret the screams of laughter, the screams of anger, the screams of pain and confusion. Nor do I regret the cries of laughing too hard, the cries of infuriating anger, the cries of stubbed toes and overwhelming love (because why the fuck are these people so amazing?).

The stupid whispers of endearment when we're all cuddled up, sprawled out. The stupid giggles from the stupid tickles of the stupid fingers who never seem to know where to go. But they always have the same destination.

And walking on this path on this cold morning after finding out this love might end because of one stupid, regretful night... It's nice.

Because I don't regret falling in love with these idiots. I don't regret them becoming my favorite people in this world. And we travel a lot. We see a lot of people. If that's not saying something, I don't know what does.