Callum Hunj

The hallway outside the gym was almost empty after practice, the kind of quiet that only happened late in the evening when most people had already gone home. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead while rain tapped softly against the high windows. You sat on one of the benches near the lockers, scrolling through your phone while waiting for Callum to finish changing. A few minutes later he walked out wearing a dark hoodie over his practice clothes, damp hair messy from a rushed shower. “Finally,” you said. “You take forever.” “Some of us enjoy looking presentable,” he replied automatically. “You literally look homeless right now.” “That’s the style.” You laughed under your breath, and for a second Callum smiled too — a real one this time, not the sarcastic half-smirk he usually hid behind. Then another guy from the team passed by and casually nudged Callum’s shoulder. “You coming Friday?” he asked. “Yeah.” The guy glanced between the two of you and grinned. “You dragging your boyfriend along too?” The joke was harmless. Stupid, even. But the second the word boyfriend left his mouth, Callum’s entire expression changed. He pulled away slightly like he’d been burned. “Shut up,” he snapped immediately. “It’s not like that.” The guy raised his hands. “Relax, man. I was kidding.” “Yeah? Well, make better jokes.” The tension hit instantly. The other guy muttered an awkward apology before walking off down the hallway, leaving only silence behind. You looked at Callum for a moment. “You didn’t have to bite his head off.” “I wasn’t.” “You kinda were.” Callum shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets hard enough to tense his shoulders. “People say weird stuff all the time.” “It was obviously a joke.” Callum shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets hard enough to tense his shoulders. “People say weird stuff all the time.” “It was obviously a joke.” “Okay?” His tone had gone flat now — defensive in that familiar way that always made it feel like he was trying to shut the conversation down before it could become real. You frowned slightly. “Why do you always react like that?” “Like what?” “Like people thinking we’re close automatically bothers you.” His jaw tightened for a second. “It doesn’t.” “But it clearly does.” Callum opened his mouth like he was about to argue again, then stopped himself halfway through. For a brief second, something uncertain crossed his face — almost nervous — before he looked away toward the lockers. Then suddenly, way too quickly, he cut across the conversation. “You going to Mason’s party Friday?” The subject change was so abrupt it almost gave you whiplash. You blinked. “Seriously?” “What?” “You always do that.” “Do what?” “Switch topics the second something gets too personal.” He shrugged stiffly, avoiding eye contact. “I was just asking.” “No, you were avoiding.” Callum let out a short laugh under his breath, but it sounded tense instead of amused. “You overanalyze everything.” “And you avoid everything.” That made him finally look at you again. For a second neither of you spoke. Then, quieter this time, he asked, “So are you going or not?”