(no subject)

[evercreep]

Who: Calvin Evercreech & Micah St. Clair
When: Wednesday, October 15ish, 2014. Afternoon.
Where: The Atrium
What: Micah has an idea to help Calvin deal with his ex. No, not that ex. The other one.
Warnings: None.

Dear Sam,

Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not disappointed to return to Gooseberry. In fact

No. Try again.

Sam,

Contrary to popular opinion (or perhaps just yours?), I’m not disappointed to return to Gooseberry. It’s true that I’m no longer seeing Cole, but that has little bearing on

Calvin’s pen stops on the parchment. He’s no longer certain where he was going with this statement. It feels so forced to insist that being single has no impact on his happiness. It’s hollow to claim Cole meant nothing and everything is fine now. He doesn’t miss Sam at all, he’ll tell anyone who asks, just like he doesn’t miss Cole. On more than one occasion, he’s daydreamed about using a Time Turner to go back and stop himself from acting on that awful, impulsive spark of attraction.

He sighs and leans on his hand, staring at his pathetic progress. Pages of unwritten letters are scattered across the table in the atrium, with only one not in Calvin’s tight, careful script. The out of place letter’s handwriting is loose and boyish, and addresses him as ‘Cal’. The writer jokes about his breakup, offers condolences about him not being back in Slytherin, and implies Calvin is missed but never says it outright. Early last year, this letter would have broken Calvin’s heart. Tonight, it just feels like an obstacle.

It’s always fifty-fifty as to whether Micah announces his presence with singsong loudness, or he attempts an objective documentarian’s eye and doesn’t immediately overload his camcorder’s speakers with his own voice. Fortunately for Calvin, it’s the former today.

“Calvin Evercreeeeeech,” Micah calls out, and snaps a photo just as soon as the other boy looks up. Micah’s grin is unapologetic as he steps closer to Calvin’s table. “Man, it’s like way too late in the day to be working on homework? These are party hours, my fine fishy friend—” He trails off as he realizes that the scattered papers are letters, not Hermeticism exercises. “Whoa whoa whoa whoa, wait. Dear Sam?”

The thrill of Micah’s appearance is killed swiftly when he points out the unfortunate truth of what Calvin’s been working on. Maybe if he hadn’t been occupied trying to perfect his scowl for the camera (even as his heart skipped a shameful beat), he could have hidden the evidence in time. As things stand, he’s left gathering up as many failed drafts as he can, wondering if that photograph captured something in Calvin’s face that he didn’t want Micah to see.

“I’m respondin’ to correspondences from back home,” he explains so-very-reasonably, as though he’s not writing to his questionable ex. “Which includes Sam, alright?”

“Soooo was the story of how Goyle magically became less of a tool over the summer something you just… left out?” Micah asks, not expecting an answer. His attention’s on the letters Calvin’s trying to collect, and his gaze hooks onto one sheet without Calvin’s sharp handwriting. With quick Seeker’s reflexes, Micah swipes the letter off the table. Dear Cal, it begins, and only gets worse from there.

Micah doesn’t know what to do about the warm familiarity in these words, hinting at a deep history that only Sam and Calvin share, so he schools his expression to neutrality. “For a friend, he’s pretty gleeful you’re single now, huh?”

“He’s just throwin’ a tantrum. I told him I was comin’ back, and instead here I am in America. Suppose his one consolation is—” Calvin swallows hard. Sam had disliked Cole, but Calvin suspects Sam would dislike anyone Calvin was interested in. When Calvin admitted they were over, Sam had barely tried to sound sad for him. It was an awful sort of flattery that Sam had been so clearly excited to have Calvin back at Hogwarts, single and no longer the small, weak thing he remembered from third year. Some part of Calvin was ready to be the moth to Sam’s flame all over again, or vice versa. It had never been clear which was which between them.

“He never liked Cole much.” Calvin reaches out to snatch the letter back from Micah. He hopes it tears. “He had some choice words about my tastes.”

“Whateveeeer! Cole is awesome, and a guy like that would have way worse tastes. I mean—” Micah flashes a grin, and resists just enough that Sam’s letter definitely tears in Calvin’s hand. “Present company excluded, of course.”

Although Calvin’s in the process of tidying up, Micah doesn’t hesitate to squeeze onto the couch beside him, which he knows will a) completely distract Calvin from writing, and also b) force him to spend time humouring Micah instead of running off to do whatever oh-so-important things Calvin’s supposed to be doing.

“I guess I shouldn’t be mean to him,” he muses, settling his camera in his lap. “I’d be sending you super passive-aggressive letters too if you weren’t here with us.”

Calvin puts the letter aside. If he didn’t feel obligated to respond to it, he’d ball it up right then and there. Tear it in half. Burn it. He’d make Micah watch him destroy it as they sat side-by-side, a flame erupting from the tip of Calvin’s wand as it reduced Sam’s correspondence to ashes. Calvin sighs as he lets that fantasy go.

“I enjoyed the letters you sent to me,” Calvin admits as casually as possible. He’s a respectable distance away from Micah, but guiltily wishes he weren’t. Their elbows brush, and Calvin diligently stares at the surface of the table. “You and Sam have almost nothin’ in common.”

“Don’t say that!” Micah protests, in mock-indignation. “I’m a hot Quidditch jock too now. And—okay, maybe not that tall yet, but I think I’ve worked up some pretty impressive muscles here.” He flexes an arm, but with Micah’s typical loose-fitting long-sleeved tee and half-dozen leather bracelets that slide down as he raises his arm, it looks less than impressive. He was already small and trim last year, and an improved workout schedule has only made him leaner rather than bulkier.

Unlike Calvin, who can’t hide his muscles no matter how casually he dresses. Micah fingers tap the shell of his camera, but he doesn’t raise it again for a picture. “Does it bug you? The way he is about you? I mean…” Micah trails off without elaborating.

Before responding, Calvin reaches over and tugs a bracelet on Micah’s arm back into place, one that didn’t fall back to his wrist when he stopped posing. His face remains schooled and impassive, and for a moment he only sighs when Micah asks the question not many people dare to. It’s uncomfortable. Calvin doesn’t blame them, and in fact he’s often appreciative of their discretion. There are few worse topics than Samuel Goyle.

“Some.” Calvin stops, momentarily hopeful he can leave it at that, but he feels the frustration bubbling up already. “It’s like he doesn’t believe a thing I say if it’s not somethin’ he already wanted to hear. If he’s still got these barmy ideas in his head by the time Gooseberry plays Hogwarts, he’s goin’ to try somethin’.”

“‘Try somethin’?’” Micah echoes in unconscious imitation of Calvin’s accent. “Ugh, is there anything worse than a man who doesn’t listen? All these boys who just won’t take no for an answer, or feel entitled to your attention just because they think you’re cute? Wooow, talk about a red flag!”

The smirk he adds to this is shameless, but disappears quickly as he takes in Calvin’s expression. Micah’s not afraid of Sam Goyle. Micah’s not afraid of most things, up to and including the things he should be afraid of. But he hates the way Calvin talks about his oldest friend and ex like he’s something unavoidable. Someone who is entitled to a piece of Calvin’s attention, no matter how little he deserves it.

Micah unconsciously fiddles with one of the bracelets on his wrist—the same one Calvin touched, just seconds ago. “You could probably take him in a fight,” he suggests after a moment, not seriously.

“I’m no fighter,” Calvin scoffs, but Micah’s comments draw a thin smile from him anyway. In his imagination, Sam is always taller and stronger than him. It’s strange to imagine otherwise, even when Calvin keeps growing. In many ways he desperately wishes he’d stop getting any bigger, even when he looks in the mirror and sees a figure like the blokes he’d always swooned over. Sometimes he looks at photographs of himself when he was shorter and slimmer than even Micah, and feels… something, and it’s not all good. He’s taller than all his brothers now, even Dimi. Meeting his father’s eyes is effortless.

“It’s just annoyin’,” he insists. “I don’t want t‘go backwards.”

Micah exhales. “Then you should,” he begins without thinking, then pauses to think about what he actually means to say, and then resumes, “you should tell him you’re not available. Not even for second you’re available. Because you’re kissing cute boys in the Grotto and you’ve already got, like, fifty dates lined up! Okay, that’s too much. Six? Six dates?”

He pulls his journal out of his backpack to check the list of classmates he keeps for—well, making kiss bingo cards, honestly, but Calvin doesn’t need to know that. There’s a pencilled “X” next to name of anyone who’s currently in a relationship, although notably Bash and Lucas have hearts in red permanent marker, because no one is breaking them up.

“You could tell him you’ve been smooching up with…” Micah runs down the list. “Captain Castillo, Lachlan, that cute new guy in the senior Coppertale cabin, and oooh like basically everyone in the junior Coppertales too, like Ira, Cash, Todd, Sp— Uh, Spencer—”

“No.” Calvin cuts Micah off. Who even is Ira? And no, no, things with Cash are complicated. Todd? That was a mistake. Spencer? So-called ‘bro code’ forbade consideration. Meanwhile, the idea that any handsome seniors could even look at Calvin twice was preposterous. But he can’t share those thoughts with Micah. Calvin’s not fishing for compliments, especially not any from him.

“What am I goin’ to say when they cross paths with Sam and deny ever havin’ touched me?” This is a sensible objection. However, Micah’s consulting something in his journal and spitting out names, which begs another deeply incredulous, vague mortified question. “...Do you keep a list of single boys?”

“I don’t discriminate by gender,” Micah answers cheerfully, turning his journal to show Calvin a complete list of seniors and juniors, plus a smattering of sophomore names. A tiny blue kiss print has been stamped next to several of the names, the meaning obvious. If Micah is even slightly ashamed of a list of all the people he has and might one day kiss, he doesn’t show it.

If Calvin looks for his name among the Ribbonfins, he might notice a little blue kiss print beside it. Micah sees that, and snaps his journal closed. “Okay, so, we just have to find someone who’s willing to lie to Sammy’s face about getting a steamy makeout with you.” Micah’s face suddenly lights up. “Ohoho, I know of someone who has plenty of experience lying about smooching you.”

Calvin’s eyes stay on that little blue kiss next to his name. Context clues make it evident what it means, and he’s taken right back to that foolish, impulsive moment last year. He’d grabbed Micah’s face in his hands, and pressed a kiss to his dirty cheek. At the time, he’d be convinced that he’d never see Micah again. He hadn’t been considering consequences at all. Calvin had kissed him because he’d wanted to, and suddenly feared he’d regret not doing it. And yet, looking at these pages, he’s one of many. The least exciting name on the list, buried under dozens of other, more interesting candidates. Some kissed, others not.

But then Micah closes the journal, and Calvin’s eyes dart back to his face. Calvin’s smile feels like crumpled paper.

“It’s not all lies,” he corrects, but not even Calvin wants to linger on that too long. “You’d really do that, though? What if you’re seein’ someone by then?”

“Whatever!” Micah picks up his journal and waves it around for emphasis. “I am definitely not dating any time soon. And even if I do, I stick to the mantra of ‘bros before—’ Okay, no, that’s hella sexist and also pretty heteronormative, but like obviously point is, any hottie who gets with me has got to know that my friends come first, right?” He thinks about Spencer, and that look he’d get when Micah was talking to his friends too much. It wasn’t that simple, he knows that. But it sounds less selfish to say, I put my friends first.

Micah grins at Calvin, doing his Azurcrest best to project trust me, trust me. “I’ll just tell them I had a prior commitment to pretend to be dating you so you can make your ex skedaddle. I mean it’s like, what, one day? No big. Plus, probably by then you’ll have a real boyfriend and then Goyle will be super mega jealous that you’re just mowing through all these cute American boys.”

Calvin rolls his eyes, but feels himself being won over by Micah’s charms and confidence. It wouldn’t be overly difficult to convince Sam he’s started dating Micah. While he’d certainly been skeptical last year that Calvin and Micah had actually wandered off to do anything amorous, it would be a natural transition to an actual romance. I’ve come to see Micah differently, Calvin might write. We’re closer than we’ve ever been. I can’t see myself with anyone else.

Calvin taps his fingers on the table thoughtfully, then sighs. “You know I can’t resist being vengeful and petty.”

Micah’s face brightens, as it always does when someone agrees to one of his ideas. “I mean, would you really call it pettiness if it’s just making him realize that he was never good enough for you and has occupied, at most, ten seconds of your attention this year?”

He scoots closer on the couch so his body is pressed next to Calvin’s, and he turns his camera to point at their faces. “Let’s pepper this story with some evidence. That’ll really make the smoke steam out of his weird, lopsided ears.”

Calvin nervously slips an arm around Micah’s shoulders, although really, there’s no need to be shy. This is a ruse. A lie. Calvin just needs to focus on that and not on how much he enjoys being close to Micah now. He doesn’t need to torment himself on silly thoughts like how the height difference between them makes it very easy to pull Micah in a extra close. His hand rests on Micah’s arm, then creeps up closer to his neck. Sam knows what it looks like when Calvin doesn’t want to be touched or is just posing for someone else’s benefit. Or does he? They’ve barely seen one another for going on three years now. Eventually they’ll stop talking altogether, and Calvin won’t have anything to remember him by.

“He never got to take a photo with me,” Calvin muses, and smiles into the camera.

“Then we’re sending him two photos,” Micah says gleefully, and presses his cheek to Calvin’s, grinning as he presses the shutter button.