Michael starts crying at first, and then he leaves the room, and then he comes back again to run into Calum's arms. He to hold it all in, but then ends up making Calum's white shirt see-through with tears.
"Baby," Calum whispers, "don't cry. I won't be gone long."
Calum hates himself as soon as he says it. He winces at his own words, reminding himself of his father for a second. Don't worry, Cal, I'll be back.
He sighs, playing with Michael's hair and resting his head on top of his boyfriend's in attempt to comfort him. He kisses his forehead a few times, but nothing seems to stop him from being so upset.
"Six months," Michael sobs. "Six months."
Calum tries not to cry as well, and sits down, bringing Michael onto his lap. "You'll be okay without me, won't you?"
Michael nods, every tear making his lie more unsuccessful. "I'll be fine."
"Good boy." The Maori praises. "I'll miss you, but we'll be okay in the end, won't we?"
Michael hiccups, putting his head on Calum's shoulder. "Y-Yeah."
"I love you, baby," Calum mumbles, turnig awkwardly to kiss his cheek. "They'll be here soon. Do you want to come with me or stay in here?"
"I'll come with you."
Soon enough, Calum's mother answers the door and the men with clipboards come in, asking for tea and biscuits. Joy smiles tightly at how they request rather than wait to be offered, and goes to the kitchen. Calum looks insecurely at the house before sitting down across from them, hand-in-hand with Michael.
Mr Plymouth smiles the same way he probably does to thousands of people; like he's broken an arm, but pretended to be fine. "Calum," he greets, "and you must be . . . ?"
"Michael; his boyfriend." Michael says, unsure if he's meant to say such things to people he doesn't know about.
"Ah," the second man – who introduced himself as Mr Rusch ("With a 'c'.") – muses, like it's funny. "My nephew's gay."
"Nice," Calum says awkwardly.
Mr Plymouth looks between the two, and opens up his clipboard to see a couple of papers attached. "Since you've done majority of the paperwork many months ago, you just need to put your name on a few more things to say that we're not responsible if you have any injuries and we will not pay the expense, and things like that."
Calum makes a mental note not to hurt himself, and scribbles his name along the line once his mother has done the same thing. The two men in front of them drawl on about what'll happen, and how this is 'to shape them into a better athlete, but not give them a career in it'.
"But this is where teams look, if they want fresh meat." Mr Rusch says, nodding along to every word he talks. Calum has never found a habit that's irritated him more.
"So, we might not even get picked?" Calum asks.
"Teams always browse. Every year they do. It's just sometimes they decide that they like what they've already got. If you catch their eye enough, you might just have a chance."
Calum nods, scribbles his name on another line and waits for them to leave. He doesn't mean to be rude, but Michael's grip on his hand is getting increasingly tight, and he wants to know why. Soon enough, they leave, and Michael turns to Calum straight away.
"You acted as if you didn't even know about the possibility of getting picked for months. Why did you do that?"
Calum licks his lips. "I didn't think that I would bother until I knew that there was more of a chance of getting in."
