Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
IAN
The man sitting in front of me looks like that rotten pine tree fell on him instead of on Maple Hall. Callum’s eyes are bloodshot and ringed with darkness, his eyebrows are pulled into a resigned frown, and his skin lacks its usual glow.
If he was anyone else, I’d say he looks awful, but Callum is Callum, so that would never be a true statement.
I snap out of my thoughts, thrusting the muffin and the flask of coffee into his hands, desperate to help somehow.
Callum stares at his food. “What’s this?”
“A better breakfast than untoasted toast,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
He takes a long sip of the coffee, not saying a word, and then bites into the muffin. The noise he makes is halfway between a moan and a whine—it’s quiet, but audible enough.
“This is so good,” he whispers. “Thank you.”
I give him a gentle clap on the shoulder. “No problem, man. I didn’t know how you take your coffee, so I just made you my usual latte. I take it you really didn’t sleep well?”
If he forgot the word for bread, I don’t necessarily need him to answer me.
“No.” He devours the rest of the muffin, and I kick myself for only bringing one. “At least I only have to put up with it for another night.”
“Hopefully they find some kind of decent living arrangement for you.” As soon as I finish that sentence, the students around me murmur in hushed tones, before rapidly getting louder.
A lot louder.
Some of them are shouting, and the few admin staff who were creeping around the gym perimeter make a break for the exit.
“We got an email,” he says, glancing at his phone.
“What does it say?”
He squints, his head dropping toward me a few times, and I instinctively stick my arm around his shoulders to give him support. “I’m too tired to read right now.” Callum’s voice is weaker than I’ve ever heard it, and he’s not a loud guy to begin with. “Can you help me out?”
Did he—
He asked me for help, and I won’t make a big deal out of it.
“Of course.” I take his phone and scroll back to the top of the email to read it.
And then I read it again.
Then I scan the main part a third time, in case my reading comprehension flew out the fucking window.
Nope, I’m seeing things right. The university’s so-called careful, meticulous planning apparently resulted in the most boneheaded solution that’s ever cursed my eyeballs: busing the one hundred and fifty affected students to and from hotels in St. Johnsbury.
Almost forty minutes away from campus.
In another state.
And the one hundred and fifty students will be three or four to a room.
“What does it say?” Callum’s voice snaps me back to the more pressing issue at hand: the fact that he’s about to be completely shafted by WMU.
I hand his phone back. “Uh, they’re sticking you in a hotel. In Vermont. With two roommates. Or up to three.”
Callum seems to wake up upon hearing that, and he groans. “Are you kidding me?” He scans the email before shutting his phone off. “That’s… I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Bullshit?” I supply.
“Yeah, that.” He doesn’t say anything else, choosing instead to bury his face in his hands and sigh, clenching a fist through his dark brown hair.
Yeah. This man is spent.
I hesitate for a moment, hovering awkwardly above him. He turned me down yesterday when I offered for him to live with me. But that was before he had an idea of how incompetent this school’s administration is, and how horrific his living prospects are.
I settle next to Callum on the creaky cot. “You know, my offer still stands. I live a lot closer to campus than Vermont. Say the word, and I’ll set my couch up for you.”
He takes his head out of his hands and blinks his red-streaked eyes at me. He opens his mouth, almost as if there are words physically on the tip of his tongue, but it still takes him a second to speak.
“That’s so generous of you, but I can’t. Thanks though.”
I don’t know if it’s stubbornness or something else. Callum is one tough cookie.
Cookies aren’t meant to be tough. Crispy, sure, but the center still needs to have some give.
Maybe I can bake him cookies and tempt him into a better living arrangement. I gave him the last of my most recent batch yesterday.
Fuck no. That’d be too much.
Wait, is he turning me down because I’m being too much?
Shit.
I fire off a text to Sabrina.
Is it a bad idea to invite Callum to live with me bc of the maple hall sitch
Sabrina Foster
No that’s super sweet
Unless you still like him and you’re using this as an excuse to creep
I’m ninety-nine percent sure I don’t have a crush on him, and the one percent that remains should be manageable given that it’s one-sided as hell.
Omg no I stopped liking him ages ago
Then why’d you have to ask me?
He keeps saying no to my offer
So I thought I might be giving off bad vibes
One sec
Callum taps me on the shoulder. “I’ve received instructions.” He hands his phone over.
Laura Pierre
Stop being polite and go live with Ian
Pls
Or at least live with me and Sabrina but trust me, Ian’s place is way nicer
Just don’t live in Vermont
Not that Vermont is bad but WMU ISN’T IN VERMONT
The two of us share a quick chuckle.
“The council has decided for you,” I say, and Callum shrugs.
“I’ll be quiet, and I’ll stay out of the way.”
I scoff. “The fuck you will. You’re getting the living room to yourself.” I hardly even react to him recoiling because I’m already plotting out how I’m gonna rearrange the furniture.
“Don’t let me take over your house.” his voice somehow gets even quieter, and I sling a friendly arm around his warm shoulders to reassure him.
“Again, I’m offering, dude. Besides, do you know how lonely living alone can be? You’d be doing me a favor, too.”
That gets a weak huff out of Callum, and he gives me a smile that manages to be tiny yet warm at the same time. “I really appreciate it, Ian. Thank you so much.”
I return his tiny smile with a huge one of my own. “Don’t even mention it.” Rising to my feet, I place a hand on his elbow. “Come on, let’s get you moved in.”
He shakes his head. “Not now. I have class.”
What in the—
This guy survived a night in this dumpy fluorescent hell, and he’s still concerned about going to class?
“Dude, you need to sleep, not go to class.”
His arm tenses, and I don’t know if he’s about to hug me or punch me in the face.
He does neither. “I’m fine, but thanks. It’s only one class, so I’ll live.”
“Okay. And that email said you can clear your room today. I can help with that if you’d like.”
“I won’t need it. I don’t have much, but thank you.”
“Sounds good,” I say. “I’ll swing by in a few hours to pick you up?”
Callum nods. “Sure. I’ll text you.”
Everything in me is telling me to give him a hug, but knowing him, he’d probably try to pay me for it, so I don’t, settling for a clap to his shoulder instead. “Awesome. I’ll head out and set my place up.”
I give him a fist bump before leaving, shivering as I make the short, frigid walk back to my place.
“I’m not being too much, am I?” I wonder out loud to myself. I don’t think of an easy reply to my own speculation, so I decide to weigh both sides.
He’s my friend. I get along well with him. He’s in need, and I'd do this for any of my friends.
On the flip side, I’ve known him for a month, and he’s the very definition of walking, talking temptation. I’ve been able to keep my head on mostly straight, but this is different. He’s gonna be living with me, maybe for months.
I let out a deep sigh as I climb the steps to my apartment. Yes, Callum is attractive, but above everything else, he’s my friend. I can keep myself in check, and I’m gonna give him the privacy he’ll want and need.
That’s how I find myself rotating a bookshelf to make a barrier between the dining area and the couch. If I leave the hallway closet door open, the living room is completely blocked off.
I drag the coffee table into the middle of the room and then unfold the couch. I got a fold-out so that friends could crash if needed, and I’m feeling pretty vindicated by that decision right now.
That’s a mini-workout by itself, so I take a quick shower before putting the final touches on the makeshift bedroom—sheets, pillow, blankets, and a spare phone charger.
No sooner than I’ve finished, Callum texts me to say that he’s finished packing.
I guess he wasn’t kidding about not having a lot of stuff.
Callum has one backpack and a plastic container provided by admin.
That’s it.
I’m standing on the sidewalk outside his barricaded dorm, trying not to think about how this man survives.
Yes, I know my consumption habits verge on maximalism, but the container isn’t big enough to hold more than a week’s worth of clothes.
I wouldn’t be surprised if it rattles when he starts walking.
It doesn’t, but then again, his clothes could be padding things.
“Here, let me load the car. Make yourself comfortable,” I say after a few seconds, gesturing to the passenger door.
He doesn’t object, handing me the container and settling into the passenger seat. He must be exhausted.
Yup, I’m right—he’s already snoozing when I get in next to him. I flip on electric mode so it’s quiet on the short drive back to my place.
Or is it our place now?
It’s our place. Fuck, living alone can suck ass sometimes.
Hardly anyone else is on the road, so it’s smooth sailing. Callum stays dead to the world, at least until my backup camera beeps at me for parking too close to the wall.
He stirs, blinking those willpower-melting eyes. “Did I fall asleep?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry.”
Wait. Did he—
He said shit. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him swear before.
I will not make a big deal about it.
“Don’t apologize. Let’s get you moved in.” I walk around to the passenger door and open it for Callum before he has a chance to unbuckle himself, and I extend a hand to help his lethargic ass out.
His hands are so warm. Like that voice of his—
No. Bad Ian.