written in ink » c.h.

i

Calum had decided to take a "me day" since he and the other three-fourths of 5 Seconds of Summer were stuck in London until the end of the week with nothing to do; they had been left to entertain themselves. He had settled on getting lunch and walking around for a while, maybe even do a little shopping while he was out (his all black Converse were staring to wear a little thin). It was either that, or sit alone in his hotel room and tweet at fans, order room service, and try his hardest not to get his bare ass sent into the Twitter-verse for the umpteenth time (and if he was being honest, he did not need to be sent five pictures of his own butt from his sister when she saw the tweet - she'd taken it upon herself to remind him every time that she saw his ass on the internet that he didn't need any more pictures of his ass on the internet).

After he'd eaten (and tweeted about how delicious his lunch was and how his bandmates should've gotten out of their hotel rooms to join him) he decided to wander around a little bit, looking for shops where he could replace his Converse. He'd pulled up a map on his phone, trying (and failing) to follow the directions that the map on his screen was giving him.

He'd walked three blocks before he was thinking about giving up - the map was telling him to turn around, even though he hadn't even seen the shop it was telling him to go to! - when he spotted a girl staring at him, whispering and hitting her friend's arm. He smiled in her direction and he could instantly tell that she was a fan, just by the fact that her eyes widened and she began hitting her friend faster. He took that as in invitation to walk towards her, the smile still on his face; she met him halfway, leaving her friend to sigh exasperatedly and wait for her return.

"Hi!" he said, pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead. "Did you want a picture?"

"Yes!" the girl said, extending her hand that held her phone out as he leaned in next to her. As he pulled a funny face, he noticed that there was a tattoo on the girl's wrist, but promptly fixed his gaze back on the phone's camera.

"What's that say?" he asked, motioning to the girl's wrist as she pulled her phone back to look at the picture she had just taken. At first he had though that it was song lyrics, but when he got a better look at it, it definitely did not look like lyrics, considering its shape; it looked like a semi-circle and some waves, touching each other, the tiny words creating the shapes.

"Oh," she said, "it's a poem." Her arm extending out of what seemed like habit, in his direction. "He was the ocean / she was the moon / and at night he would pull himself up / just to try and get closer to her / night after night / each time closer and closer / but she was just out of reach / still he'd swell and reach up / just to touch her / and tell her how beautiful she is / but it was for naught / because she was still out of reach / so he took it upon himself / to reflect her image / and show her how beautiful she really is," the girl recited, probably having memorized the poem.

"Did you write that?"

"No way. Y/N did! She's a really talented writer!," she said before making a motion to step away. "Anyways, thanks for the picture and good luck with your album!"

"Yeah," he said, but he was distracted. Y/N. He'd have to look you up when he got back to the hotel, deciding to forgo his hunt for a new pair of black Converse. "Thanks."