after sunset // cake

1:25

Luke listened to Calum breathe next to him, his breaths slow and even. Fast asleep.

They'd been so emotionally worn out after the conversation they'd had. Calum had cried and apologized so many times that the word started to sound weird; Luke had cried and accepted that he'd been a really, really shitty boyfriend and needed to do something about it.

Calum snorted a little and muttered something under his breath, his knee nudging Luke in the back. Let's be honest, okay? We need to be honest, Calum had asked--pleaded.

We really suck at communication, huh, Luke had replied. Not a question. A statement. 

So they'd promised that they'd work to be better, not just to each other but to themselves.

Less running away from confrontation, Calum had said.

Less passive-aggressive masks, Luke had requested. Then they'd stared at each other for a second before collapsing onto the couch. Luke had flicked the lights on--more out of habit than actual fear, this time--and then he'd started to talk.

He couldn't control the words that came spilling out of his mouth, kept and cloistered for months out of fear that he'd upset Calum, or hurt Calum. So he let himself speak, with Calum quietly listening next to him, idly running fingers over Luke's knuckles.

Luke told Calum about what happened at the bar--him getting drunk, his friends asking about a girlfriend, and then a boyfriend, and the oohs and teasing that followed him for the rest of the night. He told Calum about his anger at himself for not being strong enough to come out to his high school friends, at his guilt for not owning up to it and, the worst part, his shame. Burning-hot and potent enough to bring bile up his throat, Luke told Calum about how he'd felt bad for being gay. About how he'd regretted even recognizing it in the first place.

I am a despicable human being, Luke had mumbled, right before Calum had crushed the air out of Luke in a tight hug that lasted for a very, very long time.

I wish you saw yourself like I did, Calum had said later, when they'd migrated to Luke's bed. But only you can do that.

I'm not much, Luke had replied, voice muffled by the pillow Calum had stolen as he fell asleep.

Yes you are, Calum had whispered back, voice fierce and harsh. Luke could hear how much confidence he had in that statement, how he believed it. You are so much, Luke Hemmings, and goddamn, I love you for it all.

Even now, at one in the morning, the words made Luke's insides feel warm. I love you for it all.

It was such a funny thing, to be loved and believed in by someone. Calum Hood loved him. Calum Hood believed in him.

Luke rolled over to face the sleeping boy, eyes tracing the planes of his face, the shadows created from the streetlight that filtered through the window. Snow fell thickly outside, soft and silent and pleasant to watch. A car passed by them, headlights making patterns on the wall, and a figure emerged from the apartment across the street, bundled against the cold.

The radiator near the window turned on with a rattle and a wheeze as Luke curled up closer to Calum, a soft, tentative finger reaching out to push aside the dark hair that fell across his forehead almost lazily.

Calum muttered something under his breath again; it sounded like the name of his sister.

A realization came to him in this moment, slowly descending onto him like the snow fell to the sidewalk outside; a light brush against his forethought, almost lost against the quiet peace of his mind. It was that he loved Calum Hood--a fact that did not surprise or shock Luke at all, for he suspected that he'd known for a while now, probably since Calum had showed up at Luke's door with coffee before he went to class.