Page 64 of Paint Our Song

Miles should head back to the others, but from where they are, he sees a new angle of the falls that he’s never seen before. From here, the sunlight hits the water and the rocks perfectly, and reflects off the falls. Lights dance on the rocks, and Miles is enamored by how pretty it is, wondering why he’s never stood from here before. He could’ve had an entirely different painting.

“This is a nice spot,” Miles says.

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Miles reaches out to prod him again. He should push him into the water, but then he was so close to successfully drowning Chase for that. He’s about to say his name again, tell him that he should eat, when he’s distracted once more by that tattoo of the lily right above the joint of his hip. The lines are sharp and the ink is black, and a very small part of it is hidden beneath his waistband. His stare drifts across his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, and Miles wants to reach out and touch him.

Fuck. He really, really wants to touch Calvin. He had been so close, too. It’s going to kill him forever, and Miles is probably never going to stop yearning for it. Calvin’s probably going to bethatperson for him, the one who’s going to keep him up at night years down the line, and he’s always going to wonder if he could’ve done this any differently.

Shifting his arms, Calvin’s gaze meets Miles, and he narrows his eyes. Calvin murmurs, “What are you looking at?”

And since Miles really does have no sense of self-preservation, he studies his face for a long moment and says, “You. Always.”

His expression softens. “Miles—”

“Cal! Miles!” Gil calls.

Snapping out of it, Miles turns his head. Gil is halfway to them from the picnic blankets.

“C’mon, stop messing around,” he says, gesturing for them.

Miles grins wide, apologizes, and stands. Finally sitting up, Calvin stays still for a few seconds with a puzzled expression, and Miles runs off before more stupid things come out of his mouth.

“Careful!” Gil says, as Miles strides over the wet rocks and goesright past him.

He plops down on the picnic blanket, grabs a sandwich, and devours it with the most intense blush he’s ever had in his life. Chase gives him an odd look but fortunately says nothing. Gil returns to the blanket soon after, staring at Miles, and he feels too seen.

When Calvin finally gets there, he doesn’t eat; he just lies down and resumes the same position he had before—on his back, arms over his eyes, one knee slightly bent. If he moved even a little bit, his shoulder would brush Miles’s thigh.

“Are you still angry because I pushed you in?” Chase asks, poking Calvin’s ankle. “Your mood was a lot better earlier. Well, not exactly. Why are you so much grouchier today?”

Gil’s eyes flicker over to Miles, and Miles looks down, taking another bite of his sandwich.

Calvin says, “I’m tired because I got up early to jog, then you dragged me out here.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Chase cackles.

He only sits up again when Chase insists on getting a group photo. Grumbling something incoherent, Calvin squeezes in with them.

“I don’t need to be in it,” Miles says when Gil beckons for him to join.

“Nonsense,” Gil says. He reaches for Miles’s wrist and yanks him. Blushing, he joins the photo.

“I can’t believe I’m hanging out with Cloverlily,” Miles mumbles.

Chase yells, “I can’t believe I’m with a big-shot artist!”

“I’m not—”

“I’ll send it to you all,” Chase interrupts. Even before Miles understands what’s going, he’s added to a group chat with the rest of them. The group name reads “Mission Save Hannah’s Inn”.

Gil frowns. “This is a really tactless name.”

“Is it?”

“It’s fine,” Miles assures.

His phone’s buzzing a lot. Miles hasn’t had the chance to read through the dozens of notifications he’s getting, and he knows it’s because of all the stories the band’s tagging him in. He might also be getting a ton of new followers. He wonders if this is what the band goes through on the daily—a constant buzzing of notifications.