hiatus : c.t.h.

"everyone has their muse"

"Calum, you need to slow down," Ciara said, cutting across the boy's excited rambling.

"I want to come to Weybridge this time instead of you coming into London!" he said, his voice over the phone marginally slower. "I just don't think it's fair that you get to see my city but I don't get to see yours."

"Alright, A) you were born in Sydney, not London. B) There's a reason I go to London like everyday instead of staying here."

"You are such a party pooper." Ciara could practically hear his pout over the phone. "I bet Weybridge is a party."

"Yeah, if you consider a carbon copy of literally every small town in Surrey a party."

"There has to be something I would be excited to see," he pushed. "C'mon, you're supposed to be the one that sees the beauty in everything!"

"Whatever," she grumbled, thinking. "I mean - there's a library I go to whenever I can't go into the city. But you don't want to see me around books. You'll never escape. I will literally lecture you about every mildly well-known author ever."

"Sounds delightful. I'll see you around 11 at the train station tomorrow morning."

"Calum - "

But he cut her off with a cheerful, "Bye, friend!" And the line went dead.

Rolling her eyes affectionately (an action that happened far too often when she was talking to Calum), she opened her e-mail, refreshing it for what seemed like the tenth time that hour. Still no message from the magazine.

Putting down the phone regretfully, she stared out the window of her bedroom, her fingers tapping irregularly on her desk.

When she couldn't take it anymore, she picked up the phone again. Still no e-mail.

It had been exactly three minutes since she'd checked last.

///

At exactly 11 the next day, Calum was standing right by the doors of the second carriage of the train as they opened. He looked up and down the platform, his face breaking into a grin when he saw Ciara waiting by the station.

"Yo!" he called, starting toward her. Her head shot up, looking around for him and smiling when she spotted him.

"What, are you a gangster now, Hood?" she teased when he reached her.

"Aw, c'mon," he played along as he followed her through the small station and onto the high street of Weybridge. "You know I'm as street as they come."

"Yes. You really give off that street-hardened, don't-mess-with-me kinda vibe. What with the curly hair and the dimples and squishy cheeks and stuff."

"Squishy?" he demanded.

"Squishy."

"What the heck do you even mean by squishy?"

"You know," she shrugged, smiling, looking both ways before leading him across a street and turning left, walking along a narrow road that ended in a large silver building. "When you smile and stuff, your face gets all squish-squish."

"Squish-squish," he repeated dubiously.

"Shut up, idiot. I was awake till two this morning."

It became clear to Calum that they were headed for the large silver building, and he looked up at how awesomely tall it was as he replied to her. "Why?"

She sighed, opening the door to the building and ushering Calum inside. "Stupid magazine is taking stupid forever to pick their stupid winner and I'm going to stupid cry."