5SOS Imagines

Bad Boys are Good Boys ft. Calum Hood

This is long! :)
"Okay now pluck the third string," he instructed. I picked the metal chord and felt how the thrum of its sound resonated through my body. I picked at the riff he'd been teaching me. He smiled as the notes took on the shape of the little melody. "That's it," he encouraged. I missed a note and furrowed my brows. "No don't stop. C'mon, keep going," he insisted.
My eyes swept over the sheet music as my brain translated the dots and lines into commands for my fingers to follow. I went down till the end of the page, the world reduced to the page, my fingers, and the feel of the bass. I blocked out the shallow breaths over my shoulder until the last bar stumped me three times and the trance was broken. I scowled at the page, "I can't do the last bit."
His fingers overlaid mine and guided them down a fret, "It's easier if you use these two fingers instead." I played the five notes without missing a beat and smiled. The page ended, the bass' vibrations subsided, and I suddenly became very aware of how the curves of my arms fit into the nooks and crannies of his. His breaths were suddenly the only sound in the room, I cleared my throat and sidestepped away.
"You should probably be learning how to calculate the length of a line now," I commented while placing the bass on its stand. He sighed, probably thinking he'd averted attention away from the fact that I was supposed to be tutoring him. "Come on Cal." Of course teaching me a little bit of the bass was his idea but I wasn't about to let him leave without a new formula jammed into his brain.
Calum knew by this point that it was useless to argue with me. Quite ironic considering all he ever seemed to do at school was get into fights. Only two years at Glendale High and he'd already managed to claim the title of 'school badass'. It was easy to see why though; he kept a great chasm of distance between him and everyone else, this made easy by the resting bitch face he perpetually wore. It always seemed that he was upset about something. Given his attitude, I got the vibe that he probably was. Upset at what though, I wasn't too sure. His grim ways spared little room for patience and he often got into meaningless brawls; fist fights were his specialty (and not because it was a poorly-kept secret that he was a boxer). But aside from all this, he did have that intimidating aura about him. Besides his sour expressions, he had a swagger in his walk and a tone to his voice that gave off the impression that he was used to being at the top of the food chain. As well, his exceptionally visible tattoos and face piercings greatly enhanced his punk look. While quite popular with a number of the ladies throughout all the grades, girls weren't exactly fawning over this bad boy. His refusal to interact gave off more of an outcast-feel, rather than the cookie-cutter brooding mysterious stereotype.
Branded as a violent, unfeeling, social outcast, we'd definitely rocked the social pyramid when I'd been assigned as his tutor. No one wanted to admit it, but our school definitely did have a social order. Not to get a big head, but I was definitely up a good bit higher on there than most. As to why; I'll never be quite sure, but I was. The news of badass Calum Hood being my student flared through the school, with no need of oxygen to assist in fanning the flames. Me? No president of any clubs, not of student council, definitely not a cheerleader, but against all odds, still very much liked at Glendale. An innocent girl, unfortunately stuck with this criminal-bound menace sparked many a rumor. But when our tutoring sessions resulted in nothing more than the absence of his scowl when it was me who accidentally brushed past him in the halls, order had been restored. And besides, I had a boyfriend.
Neither his nor my reputation changed drastically at school. But here, in the confines of my dining room, we would completely forget our reputations. Not that mine influenced my behaviour anyways. And it seemed to me that nor did his; he acted how he wanted, when he wanted to, and school just happened to bring out the worst in him. Here though, here he was patient when teaching me a couple bars of a song on the bass and tolerant of when I sped through lessons at an alarming rate. Here, he willingly got to know me and had allowed himself to open up. Why our friendship had never extended into the world outside of cream-coloured walls of this room was an unspoken understanding of sorts. Too many raised eyebrows, ride whisperings, and less than welcoming glances were already known to him, and I wouldn't know how to deal with the remarks. Since freshman year, our hallway exchanges had escalated from to awkward stares to smiles, but nothing more.
But here, he joked about the way I stick my tongue out in concentration and I teased him for the way his face crinkles when he doesn't understand something. Here, we were friends.
"No but why is this necessary?" he whined.
"Because if you fail I take 60% of the heat for it," I reminded him.
"But besides that," he inquired.
"Well it depends what you want to go into. For instance, I'm looking to drop out and become a hobo so this is completely unnecessary but I need something to pass the time in the meanwhile."
He chuckled, "One of those singing hobos?"
"Singing? That's been done to death. I'm going to start the first-ever hard-core, totally metal, completely punk rock hobo band," I said with a straight face.
"You're completely insane,"
"You're completely wrong. I am 100% mentally on point." I glance down at his work, "Nice work...I'm guessing you don't want to become a hobo?"
He laughed once again and moved on to the next question, he seemed to be faring well with the concept so I busied myself with my own work. Though we were the same grade, he'd failed math so in that subject, he was still technically in grade ten. He was breezing through the course however, the teachers complying with the idea of giving him the lessons and work ahead of time in hopes of ensuring that he graduate with his class. Due to his special case, I'd been told that agreeing to continue our tutoring would require me to spend at least an hour with him every day, rather than the standard three times a week. I hadn't had the heart to stick him with another tutor, when we had just finally started to get along. I figured that sticking him with another tutor would just throw off the good pace he was making.
Before we knew it, five o'clock rolled around and he decided it was about time he started heading home. I continued my work as he packed up his stuff when the table began to vibrate. He put down his textbook and helped me search for my phone under the mountains of paper we'd accumulated. After finding it under his black pencil case, he handed it to me.
"Thanks," I took the phone. "Hello?"
"Hey Gem," the caller answered.
"Oh hey babe, what's up?" Calum finished packing quickly and slung his backpack over his broad shoulders. "Oh wait - hold on," I instructed. I got up and walked him to the door, waving goodbye as he walked out. "What's up?"
"Nothing much, just wanted to see how you're doing," he replied.
"I'm good, just finishing up my math work, how was your day?" I asked. Danny and I talked for a good hour or so before I told him that I had to finish my chemistry assignment for tomorrow.
"Alright. Oh speaking of tomorrow, want to come over after school?"
"I can come over at like 5:30, but I have to tutor after school," I reminded him.
"That punk? Still?" he sounded quite annoyed.
"Danny, it's not that big of a deal. He just needs help finishing up grade ten so he can start his mixed math stuff and graduate with our class." How many times I'd already explained this to him, I wasn't sure but lately he'd been pretty impatient about the situation. He questioned why it had to be me tutoring him, he complained about how we barely got to see each other, and snapped that having classes together hardly promised any time together after I reminded him that we had six out of eight classes together. I argued that he was being ridiculous and that it would help if he didn't waste the "scarce amount of" time we did get to have some one on one time by arguing about how we didn't get to see each other. By my estimations this had been the third time this week we'd had this argument this week. I ended up staying on the phone with him going back and forth like this for another fifteen minutes.
"I just miss you babe," he sighed.
"I'll be over at 5:30 at the latest tomorrow. Swear," I promised.
"Fine," he caved. "See you."
"Bye Dan." I sighed at his contact photo after hanging up and started on my chemistry work.
***
The next morning brought a rare - but not entirely foreign - sight; Calum was at my bus stop. He was bent down at a little girl's feet, tying her pink plaid converse. As I neared, I heard him talking to her, "So then the bunny's ears cross to make an X and then you put the top one through the bunny's mouth like this..." The little girl watched in amazement as he transformed her shoes into a rabbit, which then morphed into her tied shoes.
"Thank you Mister Calum!" she said as he stood. Him, being over six feet, he towered over the little girl, much like the CN tower to a tourist. Yet, this and his rather menacing ensemble had little to no effect on her toothless smile of gratitude. The little girl skipped down the street and stopped at a school bus stop.
"Aw would you look at Mister Calum," I mocked. "Not such a badass at the hands of little girls now are ya?"
With a straight face he questioned, "What gives you the impression that I'm a badass?" We looked at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. After calming down he explained that, "She was stooped over in front of that tree over there staring at her shoe laces and she was trying so hard to tie them. I couldn't not take a closer look. She does that weird tongue thing you do when she concentrates - "
"I'm telling you it works," I interrupted.
"Yeah, whatever," he rolled his eyes. "She started getting frustrated and her eyebrows furrowed so closely together I thought she might end up with a unibrow if it stayed like that any longer. And I couldn't just leave her to develop a unibrow in the cruelty of this world. Kids would eat her alive!"
"Unibrows must be prevented at all costs," I agreed.
"So I helped the kid tie her shoes after explaining that the metal on my face is actually parts of my system that are sticking out and that I'm actually part robot. Oh and did you know that the ink on me are actually symbolic commands for my missions?"
"That's only Cyborg 101 Mister Calum." We continued talking at the stop while waiting for the bus, discussing only the most important topics (including his latest missions) until a question I'd been meaning to ask popped back into my head. "So why are you at my stop?"
"Oh yeah." He slung his backpack to his front so he was able to unzip the small, trademark pocket of the Jansport. He pulled out a long strip of fabric. "The strap on your bass looks older than the two of us combined and I know it was your dad's...so uhm...I figured you'd be upset if it snapped. Anyways, I got another strap for mine so I thought you could have this one." He handed me the slightly worn white strap, sharpie-marked with a 'C' at one end.
I smiled as I unzipped my own bag to stash away the strap, "Thanks Calum. You didn't have to come by though, you could've given it to me this afternoon."
"I also came by to tell you that I can't come this afternoon. Family thing," he explained curtly. Family was a touchy subject for him, so I didn't push. "Would've texted but my phone's dead. I forget to charge it." He nodded his head slightly, as if gesturing to something behind me and I knew the bus had arrived.
We got on the bus and spotted the only empty seat left near the back of the bus. Averting his gaze out into space, Calum took hold of the overhead bar with ease, I took the cue and sat made my way to the seat. The bus began moving just as I sat, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. I looked out the window right before the bus' speed vanished Converse girl's wave from sight.
The ride, much like the rest of my day, was silent. Mundane and groggy from the tiresome atmosphere of the high school society, the day progressed slowly as if the clocks had continuously broken down. Social drama had taken a backseat and made way for a 'kill me now I actually don't give a fuck' kind of day. All four of my classes seemed double their length. Even vocals had lost its appeal on account of we were learning theory. The note names and key signatures melted and mushed together in a blur of lines that I didn't care about at all. The only thing I did care about was the sweet sound of the end of day bell signaling our freedom from this week's never-ending hump day.
I walked out of the choir practice room, into the adjacent band practice room that I had to make my way through in order to get out into the hallway. I bumped into someone on the way out, causing them to drop their sheet music. She sighed as I bent down to assist in picking up the mess I made and in the process, found a familiar piece of plastic.
I scanned the class, knowing band was one of the few he regularly attended and made my way over to the amp next to the room's exit. "You dropped this," I handed Calum the pick and he gave me a quiet "Thanks," as I stepped out into the crowded, end-of the day stampede of a hallway. An overeager freshman was a mere step away from knocking me over as he raced to his friends and (after narrowly avoiding me) he took down a boy from my honors chemistry class. The poor guy was blind without his glasses and was desperately attempting to reunite himself with his spectacles. Spotting them next to the blue-bin just to his right, I made my way towards them.
But as I approached, I found myself wishing that it was me on the floor, blind and completely unaware of my surroundings. Because just beyond the obscenely thick glasses, were a pair of heels facing my boyfriend's favourite pair of Jordans. The shoes were much too close for comfort, and the situation only got worse as you went up. My eyes followed the angle of her perked leg and I noticed that there was only an obscenely small gap separating them. The gap continued to narrow as my sight took in the snug way their chests fit together. But worst of all was the way their lips melded ever-so-perfectly together in such a way that it was difficult to tell whose mouth was whose, even more so since the cunt's red lipstick was smudged all over.
I felt my face get hot and the need to get out of there flared ferociously; unable to be doused by the tears that began to form. Through blurred vision, I noticed that I'd forgotten my backpack and stormed my way back to the choir room. Lifting my arm up to angrily wipe my eyes resulted into me bumping into someone yet again, but I marched onwards to the relieving vacancy of the choir room and slammed the door behind me. I took a seat next to my backpack and let the tears fall. Thoughts swirled around me in a vicious hurricane.
This is what you get for not spending enough time with him.
You had this coming.
This is your fault.
No.
No it wasn't. It wasn't my fault he was a dickhead. It wasn't my fault he was a brat. It wasn't my fault she was skank. It wasn't my goddamned fault. I took a couple minutes repeating these words inside my head, forming an uplifting chant. It wasn't my fucking fault. He was a fuck. I wasn't responsible for his being a bastard. None of this was my fault.
My tears suddenly replaced with white-hot rage, I yanked my bag on and stomped out of the room. The choir's practice room had been soundproofed a while back, which probably explained why I hadn't noticed the commotion coming from the open door of the band room. But even as I maneuvered my way around the band's chair setup, I didn't notice the screams and yells coming from the hallway. The shouts mirrored the war raging on up in my head, so it wasn't until I actually stepped out into the hall that I noticed the mass of students.
This crowd differed greatly from the usual chaos of students. Rather than rushing off in their own paths, creating an intricate weaving of bodies, they instead were all focused around a handful of people. The crowd's chant, "FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!" rung through my ears as I started to walk away. I had no interest in witnessing some stupid school brawl.
I was nearing the corner when I tall tattooed figure emerged from the centre of the wall of students. Calum, again? I sighed and fought my through the barricade of recording phones and shouts of encouragement. Acknowledging that he wasn't my responsibility, I still pushed forward unable to let him screw up again. He'd been working so hard to ensure he'd be able to graduate with our class. He'd been attending (almost) all of his classes, had steered clear of all school drama, and his grades had skyrocketed. I couldn't bear to watch his hard work go down the drain at the hands of some punk. I couldn't let that happen to a friend.
With every intention of prying him off of whatever sorry idiot was getting his ass whooped, I pushed and shoved until I broke into the centre of the circle. Cal's face was contorted into a mask of pure rage. His inked fist was raised; his arm a cobra prepared to strike. A girl with smudged lipstick was desperately trying to yank his arm back, but much to her dismay Calum evidently benched at least twice more than her flimsy body weight. My eyes shot down and followed his gaze towards the source of his anger. My mind reeled as I pieced together the scene in front of me:
Calum Hood; the undeniably lethal, socially exiled, completely unchallenged badass of our small town was beating up my douchebag of a boyfriend. My gut twisted itself into a sailor's knot.
"Cal..." it was barely a whisper, but somehow it managed to claim the attention of the entire hallway. His fist dropped and Danny's eyes shot in my direction. All eyes were on me but mine were searching Calum's face. I shook my head softly and his anger subsided into what looked like sorrow. He gestured lightly to Danny and I looked down. Danny couldn't quite look at me, or maybe Calum had broken his neck. Either way, he deserved it.
Jackass.
The silence was deafening and I felt my face grow warm again. The air suddenly became heavy with the sound of our principal's voice, "Here's a stupid question, but is everyone okay?"
No, no it's not, I thought as the rush of scattering flesh created a breeze in the hallway. I felt a tear dribble down my face as I choked on his name, "Cal?" He closed the gap between us in one ginormous stride and wrapped me up, shielding me from the principal's questioning looks, Danny's distorted scowl, and the whispered gossip of our schoolmates. I grabbed a fistful of his black shirt and sniffled. I felt his chin rest on top of my head and I buried myself deeper into his chest.
Obviously thrown off by a caring Calum Hood, our principal cleared her throat, "Uh...Let's - uhm - let's get you to the school nurse Mr. Caldorn...Mr. Hood, and Miss...." I guess she couldn't recognize me, what with my face underneath his biceps. "I'll be expecting you in my office immediately after school tomorrow."
I nodded slightly as Calum replied, "We'll be there Principal Jennings."
I wriggled my head out of his grip and he released me. I turned to face her, "First thing after school," I promised as I wiped my eyes.
"Ms. Vander?" Jennings seemed shocked to see me coming out from Calum's grasp. I nodded and I think she scoffed, "Alright see you two then..." She helped Dan up and led him to the nurse's office. We watched the two of them disappear around the corner in silence.
"Let's get you out of here," he tugged on the sleeve of my shirt slightly and turned me around to face him. He took my face in his hands, inspected it, and frowned. "Gemma, you honestly look a lot better without these things," he commented as ran a thumb over a cheek and cleared it of my drying tears.
"Cal...why?" I asked softly.
He jerked his head down the hall, "Not here, c'mon." We walked briskly, towards the back of the school, we stopped on our way out at his locker to grab his jacket and continued towards an exit that I'd always assumed had been left untouched for decades. From the handprints among the thick layer of dust, each with digits this size of his, I assumed this exit had been in fact untouched for years on end until one Calum Hood arrived at Glendale. He pushed the door open, and was greeted with a low groan from it rusted hinges. I ducked under his arm holding it open. The exit lead to the back of the long building. The school's fence towered menacingly over us, an odd combination of rust and foliage. He made his way along it, stopping at what seemed to be the most entangled section of the fence. He pushed back the curtain of leaves to reveal a Calum-sized hole in the metal. I bobbed through the fence and waited for him to appear beside me in the alley I found myself in. I followed him down the narrow passageway, until we were on the street at a bus stop.
"Don't you have some family thing?" I asked.
"I'll be honest, I just wasn't in the mood for math today," his profile gave me a small smile.
I laughed lightly, "Same."
The smile disappeared, and his neck craned so he could look at me. "How are you?" he had this strange preference of the phrase, 'How are you?' over 'Are you okay?' and I was beginning to see the appeal.
I shrugged. "Been better, been worse." The sailor's knot still hadn't unclenched itself so I looked down at the sidewalk and moved a pale pebble with my burgundy Vans. "You?"
"Why does that matter right now?"
"Why does it not?" This silenced him for a bit, and the bus rolled on by as he weighed his response options. We got onto the strangely vacant bus and headed to the back seats. He let me get in first and then took the seat next to me.
As the scenery outside the window continued to change, he formulate da response, "Because,"
"What?"
"How I feel doesn't matter right now because," he said simply.
I lifted an eyebrow, "Because what?"
"You know what," I turned to face him.
Hid brows were mushed together, his eyes focused so intently on me. "Careful," I tell him, "I think you're forming a unibrow."
He didn't laugh. His mouth was a tight line but I could see him fighting the smile itching at the ends. But his expression was guarded as he looked past me, through the window and pondered wistfully, "I just don't get it." Afraid to ask, I hesitated but I ask him what anyway.
"So many things. But for starters, how you can be asking me how I feel after that fiasco. I mean - you know I hate asking, but are you okay?" he was looking at me now. I started to my mouth when he answered his own question, "No, no you're not. And I know I should be helping you right now, but could you do me a favour? Could not pretend to be alright with me? Pretending isn't exactly my cup of cocoa," he hated tea and coffee. His eyes went dark then and he couldn't quite meet my puzzled gaze. He looked down at his seat and shook his head slowly to himself, "You don't have to pretend with me okay? And I'm done pretending with you."
I was about to interject that he was always real around me when the full meaning of what he was saying clicked. We were friends now. Real friends, whom weren't burdened with a geographical limitation. Not that we had much choice; the façade had disintegrated in the hallway, and everyone knew. But I realized now that we'd been the ones pretending, I could've dealt with the whispers and odd glances; the unsolicited attention. And all along we'd both known that both he and I were more than capable of handling crude looks, him with the experience, me with my ability to push aside personal feelings for the sake of others. So I had a new friend now, I really did have a new friend. It was no secret, there would be no curtains, no front act, but damn right there would be an audience. And I was okay with that.
"Yes Mister Calum," I poked his shoulder. He looked up at me once again with a goofy little grin. "But if we're not pretending anymore, then let's not pretend that your feelings don't matter here. Fuck to Danny and his dickheadedness, I broke into that fight to get you out. I didn't even know it was Danny you were beating the crap out of. You've worked too hard to let it go to waste on some moron. You didn't have to do what you did." He shook his head, "Cal, you really didn't." He got up then, not exactly ending the conversation but stalling it as we got off the bus at my stop. We hadn't discussed going back to my place as our destination, but over two year of tutoring had programmed this location into our heads as an after-school hangout. He leaned against the doorframe as he always did when I fished around my bag for my keys. Walking in, he B-lined for the couch as I plopped my bag to the floor and went into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. I walked over the steaming mugs and saw that he'd taken his old strap from my bag and replaced my dad's old strap from the white bass with it.
"I really did have to." I knew he wasn't talking about replacing the strap.
"Why?" I asked him the second time today.
His eyes were busy monitoring the adjustment of the strap as he sighed, "Because bastards like that don't deserve to walk around whole while - " he put the instrument on its stand and faced me, "good people like you walk around carrying pieces of yourself in your dainty little hands." He held his hands up at face level and I pressed my palms against his. The tips of my fingers came nowhere close to the ends of his and he continued on, "Now you see, your hands are too small to hold all of the pieces. But mine, mine can and then some. I'm just being generous and lending a hand." English had always been his strongest subject and it was easy to see why. "And that, my dear Gemma is why I had to."
"You aren't getting suspended over my stupid little heart," I said firmly.
He took a swig of his hot chocolate, "Two things;" he paused to lick his lips, "One, not a single part of you is stupid. Except maybe that little bit that decided to waste 16 months with Danny. Two, maybe I will, maybe I won't but don't worry about it. I can handle myself. Besides, it was worth it." He reached for the bass once more and turned on the amp, "And before you say it, don't even try to apologize okay? I know you feel bad, and will feel worse if I do get in some obscene amount of trouble but honestly it wasn't your fault. It was my decision, it was Danny's decision, and it was Danny's fault. Got it?" he was talking about so many things at once, it made my head spin.
He plucked a few stings with the pick he'd materialized from his pocket then passed me the bass. He fumbled with the contents of his bag before producing the sheet of music he'd been teaching me. I started the piece, and let myself get lost in the melody. The beat seemed to keep time with my heart, until I fumbled a little and he quickly corrected my fretting with his long fingers. He played the rest of the piece with me, and I failed to make a mistake, even at the last bar. "Got it," I answered. He was looking over my shoulder at the paper on the table and rested his chin on my shoulder. I moved the bass off of my lap and he reached over to put it back on its resting place. I sunk my back into the couch and he looked at me as I leaned my head back. I stared at the ceiling "I'm not okay," I said.
"I know," he replied. I scrunched up my nose and tipped my head in his direction to look at him. He scooted himself closer when I leaned into him, resting my weight against his body. His arms made their way around me and the top of my head found itself a comfortable spot in the groove of his shoulder. The sailor's knot had undone itself and began being replaced with tugging sensation in my gut as his chin rested itself on my head for the second time that day. The day had been filled with so many firsts and seconds and I'll continue to believe that they all happened for good reason.
"He's a dick," I stated.
"I know," he said again.
"You're such a good boy."
I felt his body shake lightly with a chuckle. "Only for you,"
I shifted to look at him, "Badass goes soft for his tutor, what an archetype." He chuckled once more and I felt a pair of soft lips on his forehead. Another first. "No more pretending?" I asked.
"None," he promised as he went in for our second kiss of the day.