Work Text:
With his snow white hair, styled in little peaks and troughs, Michael’s flower crown was all too obvious. A colourful threaded ring of colour atop his head made of twine with daisies, lavenders and bright blue pansies. It stood out on the plain backdrop of his white and not bleached hair, and contrasted so well with everything he was, whether that was him as a person, or his style. The, almost girly look to his hair, with his pale, almost translucent skin gave the impression of serenity and calmness to his persona. But looking at the whole picture, with the black eyeliner rimming his fiery emerald green eyes, the totally vintage navy blue Metallica vest, the tight skinny jeans, and the scuffed beyond compare combat boots, he was anything but what the flower crown portrayed him to be.
But he’d embraced the ambiance of the festival, thought he’d channel his inner hippy, as Niall put it, ‘become one with his surroundings’. Even if his surroundings included the weed-smoking teenagers that shared his and Niall’s blanket, all of whom were wearing some form of boohoo style clothing. And besides, the crown looked great with his hair, and sue him if he thought it might make him look more approachable to a potential guy, (partially because Niall always told him his kick arse clothing may look very Punk Rock, but it didn’t really scream ‘long term relationship’, more just a ‘fiery one night stand’.)
However, how ever approachable he wanted to be, he didn’t want to not be himself. So he still had his trusty leather jacket, even if it was on the camping blanket next to him, and not wrapped around his pale arms. He reached for it, shrugged it on, and stood up to survey the field he was in.
After a small party with a few friends, three days ago, in celebration of the beginning of the long summer vacation, they’d all decided to start the holiday with something to remember. Something pinnacle, something they could hold onto, something to say ‘Oh do you remember that Summer that we…’. And being of the crowd who felt at home whenever there was the distant hum of music in the background, whether it was to their tastes or not, they decided on the earliest possible festival they could get to.
‘A simple way to spend time with people he knew, listening to music and generally having a good time’ was the way they had all said when trying to convince Michael to go to. Because the thing was, Michael wasn’t really a people person; he would probably have equally enjoyed spending the first week of summer pass by him letting his eyes go square from staring at his computer or TV screen too long. But Niall had insisted, and Michael reasoned that it wasn’t like his Xbox was going anywhere fast
The field was nothing special, about an acre of yellowing brown grass, normally just left as cultivation ground. Now it was littered with multi-coloured blankets and the occasional beer bottle or empty crisp packet. But it was the stage itself that made everything so impressive; how the organisers managed to heave the six enormous speakers into the middle of the barren field was unfathomable and the amount of steel poles and scaffolding needed to keep the large platform raised off the ground was ridiculous. It took up a whole corner of the field, a black mass of electronics, and the powerful stage lights kicking out an excessive amount of heat as they beat down on whatever musician or band had the chance to play under them.
Currently the huge space was void of any entertainer, and only a few darkly dressed helpers scurried across the stage to clean off the remains of an explosion from a confetti cannon from the previous set-a particularly noisy and bass-y sounding band. Unfortunately for Michael and to the disappointment of his friends they hadn’t captured their attention, meaning for most of the set Michael simply scrolled through his phone mindlessly.
The sound of the wind, shuffling the leaves of the trees that surrounded the field, filled his ears now, calming and soothing compared to the thumping sound of the band before. The breeze ruffling them smelled of summer-the slight hint of alcohol mixed with mown grass, sun cream, wild flowers and something slightly more sharp and sweet, something that wasn’t sparse in the corners or bars of the festival.
Stretching, feeling the popping of the muscles and bones in his tense back, sighing in content, Michael signalled- raising his empty clear plastic glass, and motioning to the other side of the field where the bar was- to the people collected around him and Niall that he was going to get a drink. He offered to get them a round, but was saved from having to splash out on excess luke-warm beer for half these people that he didn’t know when various sour smelling rollies and joints were raised in explanation. All contented with the smoke being held in their lungs, rather than the alcohol that would pass their livers, they were clasped between the fingers of members of his ‘friendship group’ who were in various degrees of high, ranging from slightly buzzed to completely spaced out.
Michael was all for getting in the spirit of things, and he wasn’t against having a smoke from time to time himself. But normally, when he smoked it was because we wanted an unmemorable night to be memorable, or because there was nothing better to do. Sure he wanted to relax, but he didn’t want to be artificially relaxed, when in reality he should probably be more aware of his surroundings seeing as he was surrounded by strangers and not just hot boxing his toilet with Niall or Zayn.
Inhaling the rather dubious looking smoke from a grubby piece of a plant rolled within dirty looking paper wasn’t how he preferred to do things. And seriously, they hadn’t bought all this with them; they’d bought it from shifty looking people hanging around near the port-o-loos, and for god’s sake this was a festival! Anything could be in them! So he much preferred sticking to the alcohol and the slight, more controlled feeling of it coursing through him.
The wind blew some smoke in his direction as Michael walked across the field in search of a drink. His nose crinkling whenever he identified the smoke as more than just the bitter smell of nicotine, and as something sweater, more sour, more impure. Plumes of smoke and giggles of laughter rose from the various body filled blankets that he passed, as he made his way to the speck in the distance that he could see was the bar. Only because the luminous green of the Porto Potties stood out against the brown of the thick tree trunks, almost turning luminescent was he able to identify it as an actual structure.
Entangled bodies, boohoo inspired outfits, metal through skin, ink traced limps, bright hair, the grasp of someone’s hand on a companion, a grasp on a bottle, on a joint, on a phone. These were the things that stuck out but then merged into one as Michael scanned the people who also had taken time to drive to the packed field in the middle of nowhere. Each body, personality and persona merged to form one undefined unidentifiable mix of them all- a festival goer, a collective group.
The bar was crowded. The makeshift, tiki-hut-styled, building had been erected in a much more slap dash manner to the stage. It was more rickety and makeshift. It didn’t really matter though, to Michael, or the copious amount of people that occupied every available bar seat, that was set precariously on the uneven ground. Yes, an actual bar at a festival. Slightly odd, but where ever cheaper than usual alcohol was concerned, did it really matter?
Spotting a recently vacated stool, he pounced on it. Effectively sliding into the seat and calling over a bar tender. Lots of different types of people were sat surrounding the bar: couple shot gunning to his right-something Michael’d always thought was a bit of a cop out to just taking the smoke straight- , a girl with bright blue hair sipping from an equally vibrant cocktail, two boys trying to sneakily hold hands under the table whilst trying to hide their heart eyes for each other, and to Michael’s left a tanned boy around his age. Now he caught Michael’s attention.
Breaking free from the mould of the average festival attender, with what looked like a straight whiskey, or some amber coloured liquor in his hand, he brought it to his lips and took a sip. The liquid passing past his rounded, slightly pink lips, sliding down his throat and when the boy swallowed, it caused a small, barely visible Adam’s apple to bob. His simple black skinny jeans, deep grey singlet and black, slightly sandy and muddy converse- made that way by the field- were nothing out of the ordinary. His deep brownish black hair was tucked underneath a backwards black snapback, the adjustable red strap at the back facing forwards, small tufts of blonde hair sticking through it.
Yet his seemingly innocent face was what made Michael look closer. Tanned brown skin without a flaw was pulled just right to form the perfect example of a baby face, a small button nose, two perfectly rounded cheek bones, and these adorable puffy cheeks. Bushy eyebrows rested relaxed above deep chocolate eyes, every now and then being obscured from Michael’s vision when the boy blinked, showing softer skin of his eyelids and the splatter of long thick eyelashes any girl would be jealous of. And all of it was contrasted by a sinfully crafted, angular and wickedly sharp jawline.
Feeling a powerful gaze on him the other boy looked up, scanning his vicinity for the source of the scolding look Michal was still giving him. Even though he hadn’t drank that much, Michael tricked his mind into thinking that his own bold actions were based on the alcohol alone- therefore rendering him unresponsive-, even though he knew they weren’t, and he was just transfixed by the scolding beautiful boy now facing him.
The bar tender place a drink down next to him, a simple beer still in its bottle with the cap off. Michael reached for it, the cold condensation wetting his palm. Brining the bottle to his mouth, he took a swig, still keeping eye contact with the boy, and then inclining the neck of the bottle towards the boy as a sign of greeting and acknowledgment. The tanned boy raised a dark, unnaturally perfect yet unshaped eyebrow at Michael before doing the same with his smaller glass.
"Calum” he spoke in a thick accent, picking out and emphasising different vowels than Michael did. His voice was still smooth, rich and deep, trailing off huskily at the end naturally, not because he was trying to add the gravel to his voice like many boys his age. The corners of his lips tilted upwards after he spoke, raising his other eyebrow in question at him, asking for his name in response.
“Michael” he said. Trying not to sound slightly giddy, which he failed t miserably but whether it was from the boy in front of him or the alcohol, he wasn’t sure. The boy’s, Calum’s, small smile turned into a smirk, and he repeated the name.
“Michael” he said, rolling the name off his tongue and seaming to like the way it sounded. It sounded different with his accent, bubblier and exciting, Michael liked it. (Apparently the butterflies in his stomach did as well, because they started to get even more excited within his stomach. He, and his bloody butterflies needed to chill.) “So what brings you here,” Calum paused, motioning around the festival with his amber filled glass to signify here was not just the bar stool next to him, “Michael?” Adding Michael’s name on the end of the sentence, he smirked again. (He really needed to stop smirking before Michael actually combusted.)
His pearly white teeth were barely visible through his pink dusted lips, and only looked whiter against his tanned skin. Michael smiled back, liking Calum’s confidence and the fact that he wasn’t stuttering and mumbling to his feet like most guys, that now-a-days decided to try- and fail -to chat him up in bars. And also the fact that he wasn’t just trying to grope him whilst he was off his face drunk. But wait. Was that what Calum was trying to do? Chat him up? God, Michael hoped so.
“Music,” Michael replied, cocking his head to the stage were still no artists were performing, “Beer” he said whilst raising the nearly empty bottle in his pale hand, “and Friends?” he asked cheekily, nodding his head towards Calum, almost asking him the question.
He chuckled quietly, draining the last few mouthfuls of his drink, and Michael really did try not to watch his throat bob as he did so, before Calum was extending a hand towards him. “ ’bout the same here, Friend” the last word dripping with sarcasm.
Michael rolled his eyes then looked questioning at his exposed hand, the palm slightly lighter than the rest of his tanned skin, with a few soft callouses. Musical instrument? “Just being friendly” Calum added cockily, still smirking, his squishy cheeks bunching up and making him look even more innocent despite his expression.
“Sure” Michael joked before placing his hand in Calum’s. Michael noticed how both of them had little tattoos on their hands, but Michael’s were infinitesimally paler than Calum’s’, and smaller he might add. Michael hopped off the bar stool, after tipping back the rest of his beer, much to the surprise of Calum, and then let Calum lead him across the field. Calum’s stride was slightly wider than Michael, so Michael felt like he had to walk twice as fast to not be dragged behind by the boy who was in fact the same height as him.
So when Calum stopped walking, it was inevitable that Michael would crash into his- admittedly wide, and did he mention muscular- back. Calum turned around, and he really needed to stop smirking because Michael was going to actually faint. “Steady there, princess.” The way the pet name rolled of Calum’s tongue, and the way his calloused hands clasped Michael’s shoulders to indeed steady him was intoxicating, more so than the alcohol he had consumed. Michael did wish he had left his leather jacket on the blanket so Calum was actually touching his pale skin. But he was already weak at the knees from being called Princess, so he didn’t think he’d even be able to cope with skin-on-skin contact. “Just thought I’d let you know your tiara’s falling.”
“’S not a tiara. ‘S a flower crown.” Michael mumbled into his shirt. What had gotten into him? He was punk rock! Not some mumbling teenage girl with a crush on a boy whose voice was one of the first to break. He had an eyebrow piercing for god’s sake!
“Alright Mikey,” dragging out the Y in a way that could seem patronising, “Your flower crown is a little of skewed. Here lemmie just…” And he reached up with the hand that wasn’t holding Michael’s; still, to fix the headpiece within his hair. Michael swore Calum let his hand linger in his hair for slightly longer then necessary, and he really did struggle not to push back into Calum’s hand. “There you go. All perfect for you, Princess.”
Michael blushed so hard that he thought his cheeks were about to catch fire. His checks were nearly as warm as the point of contact between their intertwined hands. They both walked closer to stage, where the blankets and groups of people were more densely packed.
Michael then spotted his friends, a few who weren’t completely out of it shooting him questioning looks at the good looking- understatement of the century -boy holding his hand. “They with you?” he asked, his voice not holding the same ease it had done before.
“Uh yeah” Michael replied, feeling their gazes, and it made Michael feel more uncomfortable that their gazes were on him rather than Calum.
“So you smoke then?” he asked, his deep brown eyes hardening.
“God no!” Michael retorted instantly, the thought that he found it such a turn off comforting and confirming that not everyone liked it.
“Oh,” he said the cheeky smile returning. “Well good.” Calum said. He then frowned, but his forehead smoothed again when he squeezed Michael’s hand and his grip loosened before it was gone. “Stay here, I’ve just got to go, uh, get something” he explained.
The uncertainty in Calum’s tone had Michael even more confused, but this time he let it pass. To taken aback when the tanned boy reached down towards his face, swiping a stray piece of hair up and away from his face and then tucking it under the flower crown. He lent closer, twiddling one of the drooping daisies in his hand. His warm breath tickled Michael’s cheek and neck, it didn’t reack of alcohol like Michael had expected it to and the colour in his cheeks flushed again.
He opened his mouth, “See you in a minute, friend” he murmured, coming closer as he said friend and causing his lower lip to catch on the line of Michael jaw before he stepped back. And with that he was turning on his heel and walking off closer to the stage without so much as turn to wait for a reaction. Confused, feeling flushed and with his jaw slightly tingling, Michael walked slowly back to his friends. The smell of the smoke enveloped him, but instead of complaining he just focused on not exploding underneath the heated gazes of the others on the blanket he had plopped himself down on.
“Whatever” he provided as an explanation, raising his hand in a nonchalant way. Knowing Michael wouldn’t enlighten them on the boy he’d just spent the best part of forty minutes with, they turned back to their earlier conversations. He sat on the edge of the blanket, keeping his head high to stop his flower crown from falling. And it bought another blush to hi cheeks as he remember the feeling in his stomach when Calum had called him Princess. No one had ever called him that before, and… So this was weird. A whole other level of weird. Like, an extremely hot guy had been talking to him-did it really count as flirting? Well the hair thing did but anyway…, and then he had walked with him to then just leave him. He’d said he would be back, right?
Thoughts were ripped from his mind as there was a flash of stage lights and the roll of a drum beat getting faster and faster and louder and louder. Flashes of lights and then two other figures skipped onto the stage, joining the long haired, and bandana wearing drummer. An almost too pretty looking, blue eyed one with a huge quiff and ridiculously long legs. (Both the drummer and the blonde haired boy looked vaguely familiar and Michael could have sworn he’d seen them both before.)
And then another with tanned skin, wearing a grey singlet, black jeans, a snapback, with blackish brown hair with blonde streaks poking through the middle- Calum. He was playing a bass guitar, effortlessly strumming out a more than difficult bass line as he smirked down into the strings. He knew Michael were staring, open mouthed at him as he played.
He knew Michael was completely entranced yet he chose to ignore him for half the set. Well ignore was a bit too harsh, more like sneaked glances at him from the stage and purposely play his set closest to the side of the stand area Michael was in. After a few songs, which Michael had to admit were catchy and quite good, there was a break. The other two boys had had a section where they could speak and now it was Calum’s turn. Slinging the bass so it was now positioned on his cocked hip, he approached a mike that the blonde boy had left open.
“Hi” he said rather breathlessly. “I’m Calum and I play the bass in the band” his voice was even raspier from the verses and harmonies he had been singing. “So who’s here with their friends today?” he shouted in a stereotypical shout-out voice. A few woops and cheers sounded from the various groups crowding the stage. “Well I’ve made a new friend today!” he grinned, mischief glinting in his eyes. there were a few cat-calls from the slightly more intoxicated people in the croud that had gathered.
The whole time his eyes had stayed on Michael, trapping him motionless. His friends nudged him and some of them were even jeering. A ferocious blush had started to spread down his neck this time, from where it had initially started on his cheeks. “But I’m quite sad about that.” he smirked.
There were some aww’s from a group of girls at the front of the stage. The blonde boy had congregated around the drum kit, and both of them were laughing at their friend, making stupid expressions and imitating a heart breaking with their hands. “And why’s that?” a particularly tipsy blonde girl shouted from the front.
“Well he’s got this bad ass style,” he said, throwing a wink Michael’s way. “Yet I can’t help but call him Princess ‘cause of that little tiara. And when I did, he has this adorable little blush th-“ He was cut off by a rather realistic retching noise from the blonde guitarist and the long haired drummer shouting “But?!” and then the roll of the drums.
A particularly poppy, upbeat song started playing. The words echoing across the field. Back in high school we used to take it slow, And even though neither of them were in high school anymore, well Michael didn’t think Calum was by the way he could shred of his bass, and the song was about a girl with ‘red lipstick on and high heel stilettoes’, Michael could tell by the eye contact that Calum held the song was about him. About him being out of Calum’s league, and honest to god if there hadn’t have been a barrier between the floor and the stage then Michael would have jumped the boy there and then.
The song came to a close, a final ground shaking strum of a guitar belonging to the blonde haired boy. He was the one laughing the most at his friend. Skipping around the stage and acting as if he was a girl by flipping his non-existent hair and pouting his lips.
“Hey mystery guy!” he shouted down a mike, looking into the general direction of the crowd. Thank god he didn’t know it was him, Michael thought, because he could tell just by the guitarists demeanour that he would cook up some evil joke to play on both him and Calum. Calum was still looking at him from the opposite side on the stage, his feet twitching nervously.
“Want to change your-“ He made air quotes whilst letting his guitar hang from his neck, “’friendship status?’” he smirked widely.
The drummer started doing that obnoxious drum roll music and shouted equally as loudly down his own microphone “Do you want to be this dipshit’s girlfriend?” he giggled out whilst pointing at a practically furious Calum. Michael could actually see his fist clenching around the neck of the guitar as he tried to not walk over and punch his fellow band mates.
“Yes.” Someone said. Someone. Him. It was Michael who had said it. The people on the surrounding mats turned to face him, gawping. “Yes!” He repeated again louder. Wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, people started clapping, pointing at him and shouting “He’s here!” and “He said yes!”. Calum’s eyes widened in surprise, and a beaming smile spread across his face. Before he knew what was happening Calum threw his guitar down on top of an amp and scrambled off the stage through a back exit.
A rather out of breath Calum came pelting of the stage towards him. His snapback clutched in his hand from where it had fallen off, his hair now visible and slight tousled and curly. He reached Michael within seconds, but immediately stopped before him. Twisting his hat in his hands, a blush on his chubby cheeks and his confidence left back at the bar. “Really?” he said. His lower lip pulled between his teeth as soon as he had spoken. Since Calum had left the stage, Michal had stood up and stepped off the camping blanket.
“Jesus Cal.” Michael breathed out before taking the final steps towards him, grabbing the front of his grey tank-top and bringing his bulky frame up against his thinner one. Chests flush together and Calum’s head bent down in bashfulness, their hot breath mingled with his.
“Yes?” he whispered against Michael’s lips, in desperate need of confirmation. “Yes.” He whispered before all air was obstructed from being inhaled as Calum pressed his lips down on Michael.
Calum’s mouth was hot and warm and his lips were slightly bruised from his nervous biting before. The slight sweat on his upper lip caused the kiss to taste of salt, but his lips were perfect on Michael and the kiss was nothing but sweat. The sensation of puffy lips between Michael’s was mind numbing. And it was only then, as Calum’s hand went from his waist to the small of Michael back, dragging him impossibly closer; Michael heard the whooping, cheering and clapping from all the people who had just watched the moment. He placed his hands flat on Calum’s chest, where his hands had previously gripped his shirt to tug him forward, and pushed slightly. Breaking their lips and then pressed both of their foreheads together.
“I better go.” Calum murmured, his lips brushing along Michael’s as he spoke.
“Hmmm.” Michael echoed.
Still feeling the buzz of his body heat rushing through him, Calum pecked his lips once more. Earning aww’s from the people around them both. “See you later, boyfriend” he spoke louder, earning a chuckle from Michael as he cupped his pale cheek, and squeezed.
Calum started to walk away from him back towards the stage, towards his cackling friends but stopped, turned and jogged back to the other boy. With his cap still in hand, he reached up and placed it on Michael’s head, effectively squishing the flower crown-not that either of them cared because he was wearing Calum’s hat, and if that didn’t scream ownership than Michael didn’t know what did. Another retching sound came from the stage as drummer pretended to throw up this time. “My Princess.” Calum said before sprinting back to the stage with equally rosy cheeks from the attention from the rest of the audience.
Still feeling the sting of his lips on his own, Michael brought his hands up to his lips and pressed two fingers against them. Sealing his lips together and still being able to feel Calum there. Michael didn’t remember sitting back on the blanket with his ecstatic friends, or how the drummer had giggled ridiculously and extremely femininely whilst batting his eyelashes at Calum, into the microphone attached to his drum kit, but Michael did remember how after his set Calum had found him. He remembered how Calum had come up behind him, wrapped his arms around his waist to spin him around, before picking him up and kissing him under the brim of his hat which Michael didn’t take off for the whole night.