Vanilla & Smoke || A.I.

Gloom.

Gloom
/gloom/
noun
1. total of partial darkness; dimness.

verb (used without object)
4. to appear or become dark, dim, or somber.

verb (used with object)
7. to make dark or somber.

~~~

Finally away from Mr.Tomlinson's perversion, Thora sped walked down the hallway next to Calum, almost having to run to get to their next class on time. They had general art- something Thora was semi decent at and Calum didn't bother trying at. Even his stick figures were disasters.

They spent most of the period with Thora trying to mold clay into something that vaguely resembled a mask, using Calum's face as a mold. The teacher was a middle aged woman with a husband and children, who gave Calum a B in the class no matter what crap he produced. She enjoyed looking at the art that his parents had created more than the art he produced.

After that class they had a free block, and they were going to go outside for a smoke but Calum had left his weed at home and Thora had run out. They'd have to find Mikey later.

Next Thora had Computer Tech and Calum had Maths, so they parted ways. Those were the classes they had skipped earlier in the week, and their teachers didn't appreciate it. Well, Thora's didn't. Mr.Styles was a crap teacher, and apparently he'd been badly hungover that day anyways.

Finally came English, Mr.Irwin's class. No one was absent. The majority of the class actually paid attention. Calum continued making jokes at Mr.Irwin's expense, asking whether it was raining outside or what his favorite color was. Mr.Irwin didn't pause before replying "red."

"Really? Mine's black," Calum had said rather innocently, despite the cocky smile on his face.

"Do you wear a lot of black?" Mr.Irwin had asked with a lost genuine curiosity from where he sat at his desk.

Calum nodded. "I don't like the school uniform. Too much navy and white."

This seemed to take the teacher aback. "You wear uniforms?"

After English came math, social studies (with the blond male teacher that even Thora thought was cute), and lunch. Calum was itching for a cigarette and ended up driving home to get his stash, skipping 7th period, but coming back for 8th. He had guitar class, his favorite, though he preferred playing the electric bass any day.

When school was finally over, they piled into Calum's car.

Thora had work that night- washing dishes at a restaurant too expensive for her to eat at- so she and Calum hung out until then. They didn't talk about it, but Calum drove her whenever she needed a ride. He would always pretend it was an inconvenience, or that he was headed that way anyways, but it was all lies. It was just his way of showing he cared.

That night, Thora was completely exhausted from going to school all day yet went with Calum anyways. He needed more weed, and he wasn't a fan of going on his own.

Calum was a very confident person, but there was only one person who made him visably nervous- the only person he'd consider almost as hot as him. Almost hot enough to fuck.

Michael Clifford, only found wearing ratty band shirts, a baggy jean jacket, black skinny jeans, with a backwards snapback that partially covered whatever color his hair was then. Right now, the color was indistinguishable in the shadows were he hid, away from the lamplight. He leaned against a brick building, lighting a cigarette as his green eyes flickered back and forth, assessing the shadows for assailants.

"Hey kitten," Calum purred, his lips twitching up in a smirk, a hint of lust in his eyes.

In a second the joint was out of his mouth and his hooded olive eyes were locked on the two figures emerging from the shadows. "That's not my name," he reminded, his voice gruff and husky. "I'm not going to sell to you if you keep calling me that."

Calum stalked forwards, Thora trailing behind him like a shadow. "Fine, don't sell to me. Kitten."

Calum's eyed were dark and his muscles tense despite his seemingly relaxed posture, and he stuck his tongue put slowly, letting it wet his lips better pulling it back in. Most would be intimidated, but Mikey just smiled knowingly, letting the larger boy draw closer. "We both know that's a fucking lie. You're an addict, Hood, admit it. How much?"

Calum wasn't paying attention. He kept walking until he was so close to Michael he could hear his breathes, putting a hand on either side of him, locking him in. "You're so pretty when you purr," he mused, eyes darting down to the boy's dark red lips. "Why don't you get on your knees like a good kitty and purr for me?"

Michael's hand was trailing to a pocket on his oversized jacket, the one with his knife in it. "I asked you a question. How much do you want?"

"How much do I want you to suck me off? You tell me."

He was growing impatient, slipping his hand in the pocket and clasping it around the knife. "How much weed. I know that's what you really came here for. The more you talk the higher the price will be, so I suggest you keep talking."

Calum licked his lips again, more hungrily this time, the smirk faded. Michael was right. He needed his fix. "Fine. The normal amount, I've got the money."

"Oh really?" He teased, finally in control of the situation. "I thought you'd pay in a different way?"

That was all it took for the lustful look to return to Calum's eyes, hungry for something besides weed. "Only if you beg kitty," he growled. A lie, but a convincing one.

Mikey was warming up to the idea. After all, Calum was one of the most attractive people he'd seen in a while. And from the way he acted, it was clear that he'd give him a good time, but Michael wasn't about to fuck him in exchange for weed. But he pretended to maul over the idea, the pros and cons.

"With your friend watching?" He asked, Calum's expression turning more and more hungry at the suggestion.

"She can close her eyes."

Michael nodded with a smile, not a yes sort of grin, but more of an amused look. He pushed Calum back slowly, the knife back in his pocket. "A cute idea. I'll get back to you. Now, the money?"

Calum let himself be pushed back, pulling the bills from his pocket. "The normal amount. Now give me the bag."

"Oh, you want me to give you a baggy now? After calling me kitten? Nah, you don't get it."

Calum was an intimidating person usually, but when he was angry it was a completely different story. Thora watched with bored interest, waiting for them to hurry up so she could go home.

He growled, standing taller to seem even more intimidating. "Stop playing."

"Add another ten dollars."

"What?"

"I'm not speaking German, fucktard," Mikey patronized, eerily calm despite the boy towering over him. "Come on. Ten more dollars, for calling me kitty."

It was clear he wasn't about to change his mind. So finally, Calum huffed, and passed another ten over. With a sny smile, he pulled out a little ziplock baggie from his jacket, passing it over. "Always a pleasure doing business."

"Go to hell."

Mikey chuckled, proud at getting getting the extra money. "Mrow!"

"Come on Cal," Thora rolled her eyes, the outside air too cold for her liking. "I'm tired, let's go already."

"Have fun," Mikey teased, leaning against the wall comfortably. "See you next week."