In retrospect, Luke probably should have reacted more. Jumped up and down or gasped or raised his hands to the sky in praise, but he didn't. He just stared at Calum in an unblinking gaze, his entire body numb. His heart was frozen. He couldn't feel anything.

It was like someone had dumped ice water on his head, except instead of it washing away and pooling at at his feet, it froze as soon as it touched his skin, encasing him in an icy tomb that shielded him from anything external. Nothing could get to him. The words buzzed right through his ear and out the other as though they didn't mean a thing.

Calum repeated, "I think I'm your Calum. I-- It's the only logical explanation, and I'm remembering things differently, and I look at both of you differently, and I just--"

Michael interrupted him, turning to Luke. "Luke. Say something. What do you think? Could it be true?"

Luke said it before: he didn't believe in the supernatural. And if this really was Calum, then it would have to be something supernatural. He tightened his jaw as he stared at Calum. Black, curly hair in a mess on his head, soft brown skin. Long, curled eyelashes and full, pouty lips. There were bags underneath his eyes, and a certain slump to his posture that made it clear he hadn't slept in a while. That things were whirling around in his head and he couldn't shut it off in time to get some rest. Luke was familiar with all of it. He thought he was unfamiliar with this particular Calum, but now everything had been turned upside down.

It was so easy to imagine that this boy sitting in front of him was his Calum. It looked just like him. It acted just like him. It talked just like him. Everything about this Calum was him. Luke remembered pressing his lips against his, feeling the smoothness of his skin, the softness of his touch. Their hearts pumped as one, intertwined with spiraled veins and arteries that pushed the same blood. And Luke saw all that in the boy in front of him.

But Luke was ice. He forced himself not to think about it.

"Luke, dude," Michael said, and snapped his fingers irritably in front of his face. "Snap out of it."

Luke set his jaw and looked at Calum. Calum looked pleadingly back at him. "Tell me something only Calum would know," Luke said. "Prove it to me that you're him."

Calum looked uncomfortable. "I don't-- I don't think I have anything to prove it, I just feel--"

"What was the memory, then?" Luke interrupted. "Tell me what the memory was, and I'll believe you."

Calum looked away from Luke suddenly. His eyes are dark and guarded, extremely unlike him."I told you. Grocery shopping."

Luke said, softer this time, "No, it wasn't." For a moment, the entire world fell away. The walls broke down, crumbling into ashes at their feet. Michael slipped away and it was just the two of them there, brown eyes meeting blue, silk against sandpaper, two beating hearts in unison. Something slipped from Calum's face and in it, Luke saw the truth even before Calum spoke the words.

"It was you and me," said Calum. "In my kitchen. We were washing dishes, and we got in a brief disagreement about Ashton and his dad. And then we were throwing soap and water at each other, and then we--" He broke off. He wouldn't meet Luke's eyes. "We-- uh."

"Kissed." Luke finished it for him. Calum looked up and they locked gazes, and in that moment Luke knew. Nobody else would have known that story, nobody. That was early in their relationship. Too early for anyone to have known about. "We kissed. It was the first time we did anything like that."

Calum didn't say anything, but Luke could practically hear his heart racing. Then Calum let out a small breath and said, quietly, "Yes."

Luke could remember that day clear in his mind. He couldn't help but kiss Calum then, his body fitting perfectly against his, soap dripping from his hair and running down his arms and legs. Calum's back was pressed against the island, Luke's hands on his waist, only the sound of their lungs filling with air.

Luke took a deep breath. "I want to believe it's you, Calum--" He paused to collect himself. His voice was shaking. "But you have to understand how hard that is to do."

"I know," said Calum quietly, almost guiltily. His eyes lowered to the floor. He kicked halfheartedly at a blanket that was abandoned on the floor. Luke watched him, feeling the ice around his heart melt ever, ever so slowly.

"Well, I for one believe him."

Both Luke and Calum snapped their heads up to look at Michael, who was still in the same stance he was before. For some reason, both boys had forgotten he was standing there. Michael's expression was hidden slightly, emotions packed away underneath his features, but his eyes were determined and confident. His jaw was set, and he looked at Luke right in the eye.

"I believe him," Michael repeated. "I've never heard of that memory before, but you clearly did. Nobody else would have known that but you and Calum. It makes sense, Luke. Think about it."

Luke didn't want to think about it. He wanted to hide away in his room under a mountain of blankets and he wanted to listen to the white noise of the television. He didn't want to think about his dead boyfriend who might not actually quite be dead.

Before Luke could say anything, Michael's phone rang. "Shit," said Michael, and he fumbled for his phone out of the tight pocket of his jeans. Once he finally freed the device, he squinted at the phone. Almost immediately, his face fell blank. "Shit," he said again. "It's my dad."

"Your dad?" Luke echoed. Michael's parents were like the parents in Charlie Brown. They were never in the picture, hardly ever called, never checked in, probably were hardly aware they even had a kid at all. They were off being rich and doing rich things in different countries. Luke knew they both had important government jobs, but that's as far as Luke's knowledge went. By the looks of Michael's face, he didn't seem too happy about them calling.

"Why are they calling?" asked Luke. Michael shook his head, just barely.

"I don't know," he said. His finger hovered over the green button. "Anyway, Luke, talk this out. I think you should believe him. I really do. Now, uh-- I'm just going to take this outside. Okay?"

Michael lifted the phone to his ear a second before the ringing would have cut off. Luke heard him say warily, "Hello?" before the door slammed shut behind him.

Then it was just Luke and Calum.

Just Luke.

And just Calum.

They avoided each other's eyes. Calum seemed extremely awkward with the knowledge that before he had died, he and Luke were a thing. And Luke was extremely awkward with the knowledge that Calum might, just maybe, somehow, in some crazy universe, be his deceased boyfriend.

Needless to say, there was tension in the air.

Calum cleared his throat. "Can I, uh-- see your room?"

Luke asked, "Why do you want to see my room?"

"Just curious." Calum shrugged. "You can tell a lot about a person based on their room."

So Luke led Calum to his room at the end of the hall. He opened the door, pushing a heap of dirty clothes along with it, and left it wide open so that Calum could step in. Luke wondered what he saw. An unmade bed, crumpled sheets and and pillowcases, messy floor full of clothes and paper, books stacking the walls of his room all the way up to the ceiling, because shelves were too organized and too perfect. A Green Day poster advertising the "Dookie" album. A giant Rolling Stones tongue plastered on the wall. A fishtank casting a dull light across the room, except it was void of any fish.

Calum got this shy, half-smile thing on his face. "It suits you."

Luke sat down on the bed, because suddenly he felt the need to rest, to take a moment to breathe. He braced his hands on his knees, staring down at the carpet. A few hesitant moments later, the bed shifted underneath a new weight. Calum perched on the edge of the bed with a wide space between them. Luke looked at him and Calum looked back.

Calum broke the eye contact very quickly. "So, uh, what's this?" He looked at a guitar that laid on its back on the floor. He started to reach for it carefully.

Luke looked at the guitar. "Oh. Um, it's Ashton's, actually. He left it here a while ago. I guess he just forgot about it."

Calum bent and wrapped his hands around the neck of the guitar. Almost immediately, he dropped it and a distorted, loud sound of strings filled the air. "Jesus."

"What happened?" Luke asked. He moved closer to Calum intently. "Did you see something?"

Calum looked flushed, his lungs taking in a deep breath of oxygen. "I-- Yes. I think it's another memory."

Luke stared at him, heart pounding. "Pick it up, then."

---

The memory was short and less concrete than the one with him and Luke, before, in his kitchen. When Calum picked up the guitar, he just saw quick flashes, quick bits of dialogue. It was an argument, and Calum was back in Ashton's room. He was crouched in Ashton's closet, peeking through the crack in the door, seeing Ashton look apologetically at him and saying, "Just for a moment. Just until my dad leaves, please."

Then he saw Ashton's dad come in, evidently drunk, and start yelling at Ashton. Calum remembered feeling annoyed that he had to hide, and slightly confused as to why him being there was such a big deal. And then he heard a slap as Ashton's dad's hand hit his son's face.

Calum had almost stood up, but Ashton blocked the door as though he knew Calum was outraged. His dad was still yelling, punching Ashton's jaw and spitting in his face. He saw Ashton's dad light a cigarette, taking a sharp draw before speaking directly into Ashton's face, the boy wincing at the smoke against his skin.

Then Calum's memory skipped and he saw Ashton's dad leaving, Ashton's rigid body completely still until his dad was gone. Then he yanked open the doors and Calum pushed his way out.

"Ashton," Calum said breathily. There was blood on his face. His left eye looked red. Calum fought for words to say. "Ashton, why didn't you tell me?"

"It's nothing," Ashton said simply, and he grabbed a washcloth from his dresser and started wiping the blood from his face. Calum watched him silently for a moment before grabbing the cloth from his hands.

"Calum--"

"At least let me help clean you up." Calum wet the washcloth in the faucet of Ashton's bathroom and then carefully ran it over the cut on Ashton's cheek. Ashton looked helpless.

When Calum was done, Ashton caught his wrist. "Please don't say anything."

"To who? Luke and Michael?"

"Michael and Luke already know. They found out earlier on. Just, please, don't tell anyone else," Ashton said. He looked at Calum pleadingly. "Okay? It's between the four of us. Our secret."

"Ashton..."

"Our secret," Ashton repeated. "Please."

Calum felt sick, but he nodded slowly. Ashton looked relieved. "What if I spoke to your dad, Ashton? Sometimes all they need is someone to put them in their place, someone who isn't family--"

"No, Calum. No," Ashton said firmly. Calum huffed.

"Ashton--"

"He'd kill you, Calum. He'd kill you," Ashton said, his voice dropping to something even below a whisper. Calum had to strain to even hear him.

Then the memory went dark.

Calum woke up with a start, with Luke shaking his shoulder. He blinked, looking around the surroundings of Luke's room, getting his bearings. The guitar dropped from his hands and made a loud CLANG on the ground. Luke pulled back his hand.

"Sorry," Luke said quickly. "You were, like, staring really creepily in front of you. And you weren't blinking."

Calum sat up slowly, crossing his arms. He thought about the memory, mind swirling. Luke immediately noticed.

"What was it, Cal?" Luke asked, leaning in. "Was it... was it us?"

Calum looked at Luke. "No, it was Ashton. It was when I found out his dad beat him. I was hiding in his closet."

"Shit," said Luke. He pulled back, eyebrows knit together. "What happened?"

Calum shook his head. "Nothing, really. I just-- I watched him and then I helped clean him up. I was trying to convince him to let me go to his dad, but-- no luck."

Luke let out a breath. "You were always much more adamant about the whole Ashton thing. You wanted to take action."

He'd kill you, Calum. Calum replayed the words over and over in his head. His skin went cold. Goosebumps prickled over his arms. He thought hard. It couldn't possibly...

"Calum, I'm--" Luke stopped. Calum broke out of his thought and looked at him. He looked hesitant. "I'm sorry about how I've acted towards you recently. I know you don't deserve any of that, and-- yeah. I'm sorry."

Calum blinked. "It's fine, Luke."

Luke swallowed. "It's not. I'm being an asshole. You can say it."

Calum shrugged, laughing a little. "Okay, fine. You're being an asshole."

Luke laughed then, and Calum found himself proud for having caused that sound. Luke smiled and sighed. "I guess we should probably check on Mi--"

"Wait," Calum said, and caught Luke's wrist as he moved to stand. Luke froze, and then lowered himself back down. "Just-- can you--"

"What?" Luke asked, eyebrows scrunched together. Calum hadn't let go of his arm yet.

"Let me try this one thing," Calum said softly. Then, before Luke could protest, he leaned and and pressed his lips to Luke's.

It was exactly like the memory, except with less water and less soap. Luke was still as a statue for the first second, and then his entire body relaxed and his pale hands lifted to grip Calum's hips.

What started out soft and hesitant turned into something much more desperate and needy.

It was all skin and tongue, Luke's hands lifting Calum's shirt and pressing his palms against the hot skin underneath. Teeth bit gently on lips, Calum felt Luke's breath on his cheek as he pressed his mouth against Calum's neck. His entire body was on fire. Something inside his gut felt like it was on the bridge of an explosion. He needed contact, he wanted touch, he wanted more, more, more--

Calum fell onto the bed, Luke hovering over him without breaking apart the kiss. It was intense, so rough it could be bruising. Luke stopped only to tug Calum's shirt over his head, pressing his hands onto his flat, hard chest. Luke dug his hands into Calum's hips, so prominent, so solid and there, that Luke felt his own breath shudder. The memory of Luke mourning Calum was so fresh in his mind, the despair of never getting to kiss his lips, to touch his skin, to hear his voice ever again. And here he is.

Calum couldn't stop thinking that this was right, that yes, that was both the first time and the thousandth time he had felt Luke's lips against his. He pressed his hands into Luke's blonde hair, felt Luke's tongue against his.

Luke slowly pulled away and rested his forehead against his. Calum blinked slowly. "You better be him. You better be him, Calum. I don't think I can handle it if this is all some sort of joke."

"It's not a joke, Luke, I promise," Calum said softly, breathing deeply.

Then the door swung open.

"Oh, Jesus, fuck," Michael swore from the doorway. "What the hell, guys? You can't keep it in your pants for three seconds?"

Calum fumbled for his shirt, ears and cheeks burning. He managed to pull it over his head and then pulled it down, heart still pounding. Luke didn't bother with putting on a shirt, just sitting shirtless, with an expression on his face that Calum didn't think he had ever seen before. He couldn't even place an emotion to it.

Luke crossed his arms over his bare chest. Calum tried not to stare. And failed. "Sorry, Mike."

"Yeah," said Michael dryly. There was a pause. "Anyway. I was going to ask if you wanted to go over what we know about Ashton. You know, try and get him out."

Calum stood up and tried to run his fingers through his messy hair. "Yeah. Actually, I think I might know something that might help."

---
A/N: i want christmas (i want christmas) i want christmas (i want christmas)

Any harry potter fans out there?? Tell me what your house is

I'm slytherin so if anyone else is lmk!! I love all the houses though so #nojudge

Thanks for reading. Please vote and comment!! Love you to the moon. Byee