A/N: 3000 words (not including author's note) dedicated to my very lovely fond, 1-800-CALUM thanks for keeping it real, homeslice.

Michael had hung around the grocery store in order to break in his new pack of smokes, he was in the process of idly picking minuscule lint balls off his shirt when the automatic doors slid open to reveal someone dressed in all black, Michael nearly wrote off whomever as goth without further inspection.

The bright font sprawled across the stranger's chest caught his attention though, it was actually pretty hard to find someone who listened to Sublime in a town like this.

"Sweet shirt," Michael called out before he could stop himself, he always appreciated band shirts even if he didn't listen to the band regularly.

The stranger turned around with a thanks already playing off his lips when Michael scowled, it was the damned cashier from earlier. He dropped his half burnt out cigarette into a puddle in distaste, he was about ready to get the hell out of there before the cashier could start mouthing off at him.

"You're not allowed to smoke out here," came the cashier's reply, in the very same monotone he'd used earlier. Michael couldn't remember the boy's name if he tried, he just remembered that it was spelled wrong on the name tag, it was probably something like Brandon. He didn't really look like a Brandon though.

"What do you care? You don't even like working here," Michael couldn't stop the displeasure from leaking into his tone, he really wasn't up for having a conversation with someone that had basically told him that he looked like shit.

The fact that the cashier didn't like his job was obvious, if he really wanted the job then he would act like it. Working at a pizza place wasn't ideal but the income was nice and Michael didn't mind the free pizza he got once in a while. The line up in front of the cashier's register was close to nonexistent and it was likely that he spent most of his time doing the shelving. Plus the cashier chose to bundle up his work outfit into a crumpled ball instead of folding it up neatly like Michael did.

The cashier rolled his eyes at that, silently agreeing in his own way. Michael shoved his hands into his pockets and decided to end the conversation there with hopes that he wouldn't have to see the boy's face much more.

Much to his displeasure, Michael was pulling out from the parking lot and the god forsaken cashier was in the little car behind him. It looked like a mom vehicle if Michael was being honest, it made him feel a little better too.

He spent the entire drive looking through his rear view mirror at the cashier who was basically tailing him. He was pretty certain the dude was following him home until the car pulled into a driveway across the street from Michael's house. And maybe he died a little inside when realizing the dirtbag lived so close by. Fuck.

He slammed his car door accidentally and attracted the attention of none other than the cashier who squinted over at him, he seemed to recognize Michael pretty quickly because without further thought he was practically jogging into his house away from Michael.

On the way into his house Michael stubbed his foot on a pretty big rock that was strategically placed for his inconvenience, he could have sworn that it hadn't been there when he left for school in the morning. There was a spout of laughter and Michael eventually spotted the little delinquent at the end of his driveway, the same kid that he'd nearly run over this morning sat on his little red and black tricycle.

"Hey!" Michael yelled, nearly tripping over the rock a second time as he limped toward the brat. The little boy's eyes widened and he started pedalling as fast as he could down the street. "And don't come back!"

It took three seconds for Michael to realize that he sounded like a grouchy old man yelling at kids to get off his lawn, he needed to sleep.

He heard some muted yelling at he closed his door, he checked the window to find what had to be the cashier's parents leaving in the same little silver car that the cashier drove, the cashier stood in the doorway waving goodbye to his parents.

Michael fell into bed intent on sleeping the rest of the day and most of the next away, he could feel himself descending into sleep when his phone went off. He wanted--needed the sleep but only three people really bothered to call him although it was more like two because his mother normally wasn't bothered in the slightest.

That left maybe one option because his friend usually texted him and preferred to call the home phone when settling in for a long conversation to catch up. That meant that the only plausible explanation would be a fellow employee from Pizza Paradise calling to drag him into work by his ankles because they couldn't be bothered to make it in. Normally Michael didn't mind, it meant twenty extra bucks coming in on his pay check. But today of all days, surely it meant things were spiralling into a decline and he honestly thought it could be worse but working late nights at a pizza place during the week was a low that Michael didn't feel like reaching.

He also knew that his newly acquired craving pizza was carving a massive hole into his stomach and even though he thoroughly enjoyed the forever soft blankets consuming him, he'd have to suffer through a four hour shift if he really wanted pizza. If he didn't answer the call then everyone would give him the stink eye when he actually did start working, it was unspoken loyalty that even Michael wouldn't think about testing.

"Hello?"

It didn't take long for some excuse to slip through the phone as to why whomever couldn't make it in, today's excuse happened to be a trip to the gynaecologist's which was enough to prevent Michael from questioning any farther.

He hopped into his car and took his sweet time making his way to work, he didn't usually work the deliveries because nobody wanted a heavily tattooed punk showing up at their door in a uniform that looked more like a referee shirt with Your Very Own Slice of Paradise sewing in cursive across the back of his shirt, the business slogan for the pizza joint. It was just cheesy enough, no pun intended, for Michael to enjoy that expression everyone got when they realized the amazing wordplay within, the kind that made someone groan out loud and physically look like they're in a great deal of pain. Michael loved it.

Out of utter exhaustion, he managed to forget his uniform at home, it wasn't that big of a deal because the manager was extremely laid back but he was the tallest person that worked there and the fact that he didn't feel like he'd need a spare shirt for emergencies made it difficult to work his newly acquired shift.

Troy let him borrow his spare although Michael wore a shirt that was two sizes bigger than Troy's, he was grateful despite how tight it was against his body. The manager ended up letting him wear his own pants because the kind of looked like the uniform, if the uniform involved skinny jeans. Lisa, the girl who worked the counter, let out a teasing whistle when he finally started working, things were moving pretty slow so Michael ended up making pizza for the better part of an hour until calls started to pick up and the late shift workers joined in on making pizza. Lisa texted him a couple addresses so he wouldn't have to remember them himself.

Things were going pretty well, he was nearing the end of his shift and Lisa was just about done too, she suggested going out for some drinks but Michael could feel the tiredness from earlier setting in and he ended up turning her down even though Lisa usually didn't invite him when she did drink.

Michael let out a sigh, the last house on his shift ended up being near where he lived and he felt rather relieved that he could just go maybe a block and be home. He'd give Troy his shirt back some other time, he was sure the lad would want it washed anyway.

Michael got onto his street and parked his car in his own driveway, easily deciding to walk now that there was suddenly a big pile up of cars around his house. It looked like the cashier was throwing some party while his parents were off somewhere, it was so typical that Michael was surprised he hasn't guessed this would happen earlier. His last address listed happened to be 55, which was good enough for Michael because his house happened to be 54. He checked his neighbouring houses, with no avail.

He realized rather begrudgingly that that left the cashier's house across the street, which made him wonder if he could get away with taking the pizza home and paying the manager the total himself. But the cashier seemed like the kind of douche bag that would complain, so Michael decided against it.

He wandered his way up the driveway, gaining a few shouts from the under aged drinkers. If he didn't get such big tips from the drunk teenagers throwing parties, he'd probably tip the police off because drunk people were pretty annoying to deal with on the job.

He knocked on the door as polite as he could, given that he pretty much had to bang his fist against the solid oak just to be heard over the music.

It took more than a few knocks to summon someone to the door, this particular boy was definitely not the cashier given the blond hair and huge muscles, probably varsity if Michael guessed right. The huge lad, more than likely taller than Michael, hollered in greeting before throwing his head back, turning around and spilling his red solo cup. "Pizza's here!"

Once the drunken teenagers settled down in their cheering, the varsity guy smiled, "I'll get Calum."

Callum, that's what the cashier's name was! He was considering Colten as a maybe but Callum definitely sounded right.

"Oi, Michael!" Someone yelled, easily gaining the boy's attention although it was unlikely that they were calling him, Michael was such a common name after all.

He turned around fully to find the source of the noise and nearly dropped his pizza, they were calling him! He was surprised to find the girl here, she wasn't exactly from this town but he guessed she caught wind of the party and decided to crash. Always a troublemaker, everyone in her in her family was, especially her older brother.

He waved, a smile pulling into his lips. He didn't get to see her very much since her brother, his best friend, moved away. And he guessed, it was even less likely to see her now that he had moved, too.

He was about to yell back, ask about little Benjamin, or Jackass as her brother would say. He wanted to ask about Sam too, because it seemed appropriate. A voice stopped him though, Lauren seemed to understand what was happening because she waved goodbye and disappeared with her sophomore friends around the corner of the house.

"Damn, do I want a slice of that." There was a very small slur in their voice and Michael was sure that whomever meant to whisper that or something rather than blather where Michael could clearly hear him, just loud enough to overcome the intense bass beat shaking through the house.

Michael turned and raised an eyebrow at the speaker, who didn't seem to register that Michael had turned around and was now staring indiscreetly at the crouch of his pants. Michael had to clear his throat loudly to finally gain the person's full attention.

Wait, did this guy just compliment is ass?

If the cashier wasn't wearing the Sublime shirt Michael probably wouldn't have recognized him. It had something to do with the black marker on the boy's face and the pylon jammed over his black hair. Poor Callum fell asleep during his own party . . . Michael had to try his hardest not to laugh.

Callum recognize Michael then, his mouth forming a small o as he tried to form thoughts in his scrambled mind. All that came out were a jumble of words that sounded a lot like Drug Dealer.

"Yeah, that's me." Michael scowled, hoping that he pizza he was taking so long to deliver was cold.

Callum scratched at the round pair of glasses that were drawn on his face as he looked around dumbly. He looked kind of lost now.

Michael snapped his fingers in front of Calum's face twice in quick succession, "I'm here with your pizza, it'll come up to exactly two hundred dollars."

Calum looked at the stack of pizza boxes in one of Michael's hands before rummaging through his pockets. Michael examined the artwork on Callum's face while he searched for what Michael assumed would be his wallet.

Naturally for any high school party--or college for that matter--there was a crudely drawn image of the male genitalia, glasses, a full Mario moustache and what looked to be cat whiskers across his face and a lopsided mock anchor tattoo crawling up the right side of his neck. Michael almost felt bad for the grocery store cashier, the boy didn't even know he'd been a victim of a drunken sharpie attack. Even with the pounding music and loud teenagers Callum looked like he'd been sleeping pretty hard, his hair was sticking up all around the pylon and Michael couldn't tell if it was marker smudges or if Callum really had bags under his eyes.

"No wallet." Callum frowned, looking down at the black pants he had on as if the wallet would suddenly reappear in it's allocated pocket. The lad was drunk, Michael couldn't blame him for misplacing his wallet but someone did have to pay for the pizza.

Callum kind of shrugged at Michael before quickly looking down at the material that clung to his legs with rather wide eyes, "These aren't even my pants!"

"Damn, get some." Michael laughed before he could help himself, the thought of someone falling asleep and having someone trade skinny jeans with them was hilarious, the fact that they were that tight made it impossibly funnier.

Instead of pulling out a wallet, Callum managed to fish a tattered piece of paper. He read it over, eyebrows furrowing as he went.

A frown tugged on his lips and he was about to put the scrap piece of paper back into his borrowed jeans when Michael snatched from between his fingers. Now, Michael knows that the action was rude and he didn't even like the lad all that much but he really couldn't help himself.

Michael cackled once he deciphered the messy sprawl, he reread it out loud as if Callum needed to hear it, "Dear Calum, suck my dick. Signed, friend. P.S. thanks for the pants."

So that was how you spelled Calum. One 'L' instead of two. Michael stored that fact for later, although it was hard to figure out whether he would ever need that information.

Calum snatched it back, visibly irritated that Michael had the nerve to take steal something off him. "Looks like we've got a bit of a problem."

"No, actually. It kind of looks like you've got a problem." Michael snickered, eyes trailing down Calum's front.

Calum's eyes widened a fraction, immediately looking down at his crotch.

"It looks like you're losing circulation in your legs." Michael restated, laughing at the scarlet blush blossoming under the boy's cat whiskers.

It took a bit of squabbling between the two boys to come to the conclusion that they would need to enlist a couple drunk party goers to pay for the pizzas, Michael counted up the cash tiredly and stuffed it into his pocket. He was ready to go home and sleep.

Calum smiled at Michael surprisingly and thanked him for the pizza. Maybe he wasn't that bad after all. Calum continued to smile as he started to close the door. His long fingers scraped across the surface of his skin and picked off a small amount of black market from the uh, shaft on his forehead and Michael stifled a laugh.

"Oh and uh, you've got something on your face by the way." Michael said with the first full blown smile on his face in a long time.

Calum was a little shocked at the smile, so much so that his brain didn't fully register what words were rolling off the other boy's tongue. Distracted by something small and practically meaningless. Calum watched the pizza guy bite his lip to keep from laughing only to flash an even brighter smile before finally turning around.

Your Very Own Slice of Paradise was the last thing Calum saw when he eventually snapped out of it and closed the door. He felt slightly disoriented when the door slid shut and he released the doorknob, as if his insides were filled with helium, floating up further into his ribcage and making him light headed.

Calum had nearly walked by a mirror without glancing at it until he remembered what Michael's last words were. He paused, slowly rotating so his body took up most of the large decorative mirror.

For fuck's sake.

He viewed the black lines spilling across his dark skin for the first time and felt a little mortified that the pizza Guy's first real conversation with him happened while he looked like that.

Michael locked the door to his house and headed for his pillowy haven that was calling to him even before he made it inside. He couldn't stop himself from cackling again, this had to be the first time anyone had ever ordered a pizza with a massive, veiny monstrosity drawn right across their forehead.

A/N: So for the last one thousand word stretch, I was really hammering away when I decided I needed some music and then I ended up looking at brass bands on YouTube for what had to be two hours and then I saw a Dan's new video about anime, which made me want to continue watching the anime I started the other day--but the important thing was that I didn't--Now I have two songs by brass bands and a punk-ish cover of Gasoline by Halsey (it's by American Avenue if you're wondering/looking for something new to listen to) on my phone buT I UPDATED SO LETS ALL CLAP FOR ME