player ♚ lrh

44 - permission

"Ashton did that?"

"That's what you're focusing on?"

"One thing at a damn time, Hood," Luke grumbled, his hand sliding down his face in exhaustion. "It's been a long fucking day."

In truth, Luke didn't know how he felt, or what he should be feeling at the moment. Perhaps that's why he purposely latched onto the part of Calum's story so seemingly insignificant, at least in comparison to the rest of it. He wouldn't call it stalling, per say, but he was certainly holding off on delving into the more important, and conflicted, thoughts of his.

Beyond that, he thought it was fair to feel a bit shocked to hear—and see—what Ashton had done. He had to give his friend credit; it was a solid hit, impeccable timing, and the boy sporting the blossoming bruise in front of him was sure to feel it the next morning.

A part of him enjoyed knowing that last bit. Just a small part.

Calum kept his mouth shut, reluctantly, choosing not to pick a pointless fight over which part of his rather important story Luke chose to respond to. He knew better; it wasn't his turn to speak anymore, and it wasn't in his best interest to anger him—not after the revelation that had been made earlier that day.

After a moment, Luke tried his best to sigh, but it came out rough, for the air around him was tight and his throat felt like it had closed. "I don't know what you want me to say,"

"I don't know either,"

Luke glanced up, catching Calum's stare on him for the first time. He noticed that the other boy looked nervous—his arm fidgeted in it's crossed position and his eyes were wary, full of uncertainty. He was completely out of place, and utterly unsure of himself. It was a rare sight, but Luke had to admit he could understand it.

They were in his kitchen, after all—for Luke hadn't exactly wanted to put on yet another show for the lobby attendants to gossip about—and the last time the two had been there, they'd been actively trying to beat the shit out of one another. And yet, somehow, the roles had reversed in a matter of days, and Luke was no longer the one with hands full of shame and an unwarranted apology to match.

This, Luke couldn't help but think, even if it wasn't the time, is so fucking weird.

"Why did you come here?" He looked away, willing his chest to get rid of it's tightness. There were two answers to his question, and he was fairly certain he would only receive the obvious one.

"What do you—" Calum shook his head, looking slightly taken aback. "What do you mean? Didn't you hear what I said? What Sidney—"

"I heard it." Luke stopped him. He had heard it. He'd heard every last pathetic detail of Sidney's watered-down version of the truth. He wasn't entirely in the mood to hear it again, even if it had been somewhat to his benefit. "Doesn't answer my question,"

Calum frowned. He didn't know what Luke wanted to hear. Apparently, as he'd found out earlier that day, he didn't know much of anything at all.

"I—" His brows furrowed. He'd never felt so off in his life. He hated it. "I needed you to know,"

"Why?"

"Why?" Calum echoed, blinking. He couldn't believe Luke would ask. He'd almost forgotten how frustrating he could be. "Because—because this is fucked up, Luke," he ran a tanned hand through his dark hair, huffing. "I spent years thinking you—" he trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"Thinking I what?" Luke caught his pause easily, his arms crossing in defense."Say it,"

Calum looked away, averting his eyes to his own crossed arms, staring at the ink permanently etched over the skin of his hand. "Don't make me do that," he mumbled, voice lowering considerably.