thirteen months 》cal

//eight//

song / slow down by the academy is

photo / caalllll <3

kekeeekekekek / calum nd ash lol

enjoooooyyyy hehe nd soz 4 my lackin' the past week, i promise u its wasnt writes block (((: 

☹☹☹☹☹☹☹☹☹☹☹☹☹

"You can say that again," Calum murmurs under his breath.

I shake my hips, looping my fingers through the belt hoops on my skinnies, struggling to get my pants up a little higher. Slipping my shoes off and walking through the flat slowly analyzing all that needs to be done in here.

"All your clothes need washing?"

He bobs his head in slow mo. "Just about."

"Laundry basket?" I ask, hundred percent doubting he does indeed have one. And as soon as he shakes his head, I click my tongue. There's a cardboard box in the corner laying on its side. "This'll do perfectly." I walk up to it, picking it up and clearing it out of all that's in there.

Calum picks up on what he thought I was doing - picking up all his clothes on the floor, bed, counters, and the ones in the lounge - and throwing them all into the box.

"No, no, no, no." I repeat about twenty times, scaring the poor lad. "We've gotta sort them all out - by colour?"

He looks down at me sitting beside the box, knitting his brows together. "All my things are black." Calum states the obvious.

I pull out his bright blue briefs.

"Give me those," he reaches over snatching the fabric right out of my hands. "Okay, so. Maybe I do have a few colours. So what? Can't I just wash them all together? I've done it before - they'll be fine."

I roll my eyes. "I never said they wouldn't. But you're only draining the colour out of their lives."

"They're boxer briefs!"

I find one of his sweaters that's half white and half colours in cute design. "What about this? You clearly cannot do this, leave it to me. Maybe your sheets need washing too. Go get those, and the pillow cases - whilst I finish here."

Calums swears a few under his breath, kicking his toes at the wooden floor. Wow, even his bed sheets are silk black.

When I'm done, there's three piles. One's all the black clothes (the biggest out of all). The second, we've got his greys - which all vary from light grey to a little more darker shades of grey. And lastly, the smallest, we've the tiny few of coloured ones.

"There's a laundry mat upwards of the complex office. I'll take these," he looks down at the box filled to the top of his whole wardrobe, "If you don't mind, starting in here without me."

I shake my head, not minding at all. "I've got no where better to be and nothing better to do." I walk behind him to shut the door after he is out.

"Don't rob me though," he panics just as he's almost all the way out.

I shove him on the shoulder causing him to make it out of the door's way. "Who knows? Maybe I will." I say before closing the door all the way.

"Fuck," I hear him thunder out through the door as he's making his way down the stairs. I bit my lip and laugh at him, pressing my forehead against the wall.

Turning around, the smile fell off my face just as fast. The mess sure isn't going to clean its self.

Since we've rid of all the clothes, the place seemed to have grown a little more spacier, and lighter. I walk over to the other side of the room and what looked to be an old dusty boombox sat on the shelf. I run my fingers over the top of it, bringing my hand back up closer to my face and change my expression to a more disgusted look.