strippers :: [malik]

xliii. wedding|szn

"Oh no no no, I can't take it
Oh no no no, I won't break your heart again 
I don't wanna be a monster among men..."

__

At four-thirty, Calum sits on the edge of Kezie's bed in her flat and watches her pull the teeth of a blow-dryer through her hair. Steam is rising from the machine as she pulls the heat through her thick, curly hair and he watches the coils expand and straighten.

He's slipping into his shoes—it was almost time for him to head out anyway—because his tuxedo was already waiting for him in the hotel where he and the rest of the groomsmen would get ready before the wedding.

It was New Year's Eve.

Louis was getting married.

And the thought truly hits him at this moment.

Louis was getting married.

How often had they joked while in uni about this? About who would be first? About who would never settle down? About who would be the dad with the beer belly chasing after kids?

Shit.

And here he was, getting ready for one of the biggest days of his mate's life—like this. This was supposed to be huge, so why had so much shit surrounded it? There should have been more celebration. There should have been more shenanigans. More fun like they used to have.

And he looks at Kezie, the corner of his lips lifting gently into an easy smile. How many nights had he spent dreaming of her; dreaming of her giving him a chance. How many nights had he kept himself awake daydreaming about what it would feel like to finally have her to himself?

She was it for him.

The thought nearly makes him laugh. Who would have ever guess that Calum and Chikezie would one day grow into Calum and Chikezie—mates from boarding school that would grow into...

"Cal?"

He blinks, watching her frown from the bathroom, her hand on the hips of the matching nude lace underwear she had been so excited to find in her shade.

She was so cute. 

"Don't be late, love."

"I won't," he replies, watching now as she unplugs the blow-dryer and parts her blown-out hair into sections.

She reaches for her flat-iron below the sink.

"You look so lost and dreamy over there," she giggles.

He laughs—he loved that little giggle. "I won't be late, Kez," he pushes himself from her bed. "I'm not Luke."

"Luke is definitely," she nods, watching steam rise from the flat-iron, "always late as shit."

"Like, has anything changed?"

"Nope," she sings, that long, thick hair falling straight down her back. "Shrinkage," she'd told him before. "And I don't think it ever will—Cal!"

"What?" He whines because he's in the bathroom, now, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

"What do you mean, what? Sheesh, mate," she laughs, "don't have me burn you."

He kisses her cheek. "'Kay," he replies softly.

She looked naked in her nude underwear.

He likes that; so hot.