pretty boy ; malum

02| THE CONVERSATION

haven't had such a positive review of a fanfic since motherboard i'm so emo. thanks loves, please comment. xx

The paparazzi is so violent that Calum has to stay indoors most times. Every time he leaves, they ask him questions. Did you really hurt her?  How good did you beat her? Did you try and stop her from leaving? Calum just waves them off. If he reacts, or even speaks, front pages will know, painting the title, 'HOOD LASHES OUT ON PAPARAZZI'.  

They twinkle like stars as he looks at them out the window. He draws his blinds. Police have been called every day to get them off of his lawn, but they stand there like an army, using cameras as weapons. 

Calum didn't hurt her. He met her once. She just knows Calum is easy to blame. Nobody would believe him if he said anything. 

And he has a fake boyfriend now, even though he isn't gay, and he doesn't even know Michael's middle name. His fans have mixed emotions. The pop-star is too delicate to be hanging around a bad guy like him, and Calum knows that. 

It's late and most of the paps have gone home, and Calum is staring at his phone, thumb toying over the call button in Michael's contact. It rings and Calum already regrets it. 

"Um, Calum? What's going on?"

Calum sits on his couch, rubbing a hand over his face, wincing at his black eye. He doesn't know why he called. He doesn't even know him. "I just wanted to say that you can withdraw from the contract at any time. I've seen the reactions to the photos on Instagram, and they're not happy."

"People just like being mad because it's easy. They'll come around once they know that you actually have a good side." 

The Maori clears his throat, sitting up because he's sure he was dreaming. A good side? Not even Calum has tried to find it. Bad is what fits. "Why are you doing this?"

There's a silence. Calum's heartbeat raises. There was something he didn't know. "Can we meet somewhere?" Michael asks. 

They meet at a twenty-four-hour cafe in the middle of nowhere. They both look for paps, but see none before sitting down in the back. The lights are dim, and there's only an old man sitting with a cup of coffee with a waitress standing next to him. Michael wears a turtle onesie, and Calum can't believe that's who he's meant to be dating. 

Michael laughs at Calum's reaction, "You think I was going to change for you? It's nearly midnight. I was in bed." He can't help but catch the purple, swollen bruise that takes up most of Calum's eye, and is about the touch it when Calum swats it away. "When did you last fight?"

"A couple days ago. They've been putting me on a lot more since I get more attention and boost ratings." Calum mumbles, falling into the seat, eyes closing. He looks exhausted, bags obvious and hair messy. 

Michael's mouth falls open, eyes wide. "You're being convicted for assault. Actively punching people makes you look worse."

Calum glares, because he knows. He's locked in a contract. If he purposely misses a game, it's his third strike and he won't be able to fight anymore. "Not my choice. You're the one who chose  to be my boyfriend."

It comes out like an insult, but Michael smiles like he's got a joke in his head. "Yeah, I did. That means you've gotta stop pulling this dick act on me. I have your career by the balls, right now. Be nice." 

It sets in that Michael could go and tell the reporters that Calum hurt him just like he hurt that girl. Calum fumbles for a bit, but tries not to show it. "What do you want me to do? I'm not the cuddle type." He bites, angry by how powerless he is as he crosses his arms. 

"How 'bout you smile every once in a while and be polite? Buy me something nice and I'll even tweet that you're a good kisser." Michael plays, putting his head in his hand as he revels in the Maori's frustration. 

"You'll never get to fucking know." Calum says, looking away to signal for the waitress. 

The bleached blond looks at the boxer's features, thinking about how cute he looks when he's mad. "Whatever you say, puppy." 

Calum opens his mouth to say something, but the waitress interrupts. He orders a black coffee in an annoyed tone as Michael smiles at him condescendingly. The waitress leaves. "I'm not a puppy, you know I fight people, right?" Calum tries again. "I could haul your ass all over this cafe."

Michael shakes his head, throwing a sachet of sugar at him. "You're a puppy." He pulls some make-up out of his pocket, and Calum looks at him incredulously. The Maori pushes himself further into the corner of the booth, edging away as Michael sits next to him. "Trust me, alright? I just want to see what you look like without bruises on your face."

Calum kicks him, leaning over to whisper, "I'm not letting paps see me with make-up on." He flicks his head to the window, where a man is standing with a camera, shamelessly taking photos. 

Michael puts the make-up back in his pocket, the moment gone as he stands up. "Let's go back to mine. Forget about the coffee, I want to see you with a clear face."

Calum hates make-up, but sometimes he forgets what it is like to have a body free of bruises, so he agrees. As he enters Michael's house, he finds Luke asleep on the couch underneath a blanket. The TV is still on, but the blond snores over it. Michael looks at Calum, whispering, "He sleeps here whenever he needs to organise my tour."

Calum nods, but is distracted by how filled the place is with books and plants. "You're into reading?"

Michael puts a blanket over his manager, who only snores louder in return. "Yeah. Let's go into my room." 

Calum isn't one to typically to do what people say, but he sits down on Michael's bed, feet sinking into the carpet as he watches Michael search for make-up, changing into a flannel shirt. He realises how unlike him this is when the pale boy sits across from him and starts to open a bottle. 

Michael applies make-up to his brush and Calum backs away, putting a cushion in front of himself. The lamp-light shows his uncomfortable expression as he shrivels up his face. "Don't put that on me, please. I take it back."

The pale boy smiles, listening to the clock strike two as he reassures him, "It won't hurt you. It'll probably make you look better, even." 

The Maori bites his lip, and Michael thinks that's really hot. "Okay, just be gentle." He says, hesitating. 

Puppy. Michael smiles. No matter how big and bad everybody thinks he is, he's barely brave enough to have make-up on. The pale boy makes sure to be soft as he covers Calum's face. He moves too often, asking what everything is, looking at the eye-shadow like it's a diamond as he tries them on his arm. 

"You know, for being a boxer, you're way too scared of being hurt." Michael states. 

Calum is distracted by the blush when Michael says it, but the words make him pay attention. He bites his lip again, and sighs. The joke catches something in his throat, rendered speechless as he tries to find the words. He looks up, closing the lid. "I guess I am." 

Michael sees his expression. "Did I say something wrong?"

Calum gets off of the bed. "I just - I think I should go." And he leaves, concealer covering his bruises as he walks back to his house in the cold, winter night. 

calum my baby

why do you think michael agreed to this relationship with calum?

thoughts on the love-hate relationship?

anything else? how was your day? hope it was good!!