Mayhem x Mischief


Sirens weren’t really that big a deal.

Okay, they were. They usually meant someone was hurt or dying, that somewhere someone was in pain.

But just as often they were some asshole paramedic going to lunch, or a false alarm that did nothing more than wake him up at seven thirty on a Saturday when he’d been sound asleep curled up against…Calvin sat up and blinked.

He was curled up in blankets. That was about it.


Throwing off the blankets and climbing out of bed, Calvin snatched up whatever clothes he could find first — his frog boxers, an old pair of Jason’s jeans, his own red t-shirt and after a moment of searching he found a matching pair of flip-flops that he couldn’t remember who actually owned.

Sirens. On campus. Even still half-asleep and pining for something caffeinated, Calvin knew what that meant. Jason had been mumbling all night about one of his experiments. Yawning, Calving snagged a black hoodie with something Star Wars on the back and half-stalked, half-stumbled across campus to the cluster of science buildings in the far north corner. When he finally woke up enough, he noticed the smoke — light gray, thin, nothing to worry about– trickling up into the air from the general vicinity of the chemistry labs.

And sure enough, there was Jason, rubbing his head and looking sheepish as he explained himself to three professors, two cops, two paramedics and a handful of other PhD students — probably why it had blown up. Contrary to what most people thought, Jason only blew things up on purpose. But Calvin bet he was letting everyone think it was mostly his fault, since they were used to him, and with Jason they would simply sigh, shake their heads, and ask him to steer clear for a few weeks.

No way would they suspend or expel a man that was every inch of the word brilliant — even in old, stained with what were probably deadly chemicals jeans and a ‘got geek?’ t-shirt. Jason brought the university tons of money with his computer and chemistry work, and he was still just a student technically. They’d let him wear whatever he wanted and give him things to blow up just so long as he kept balancing it with all those brilliant, money-making things.

Calvin waited off to the side, quietly relieved that beyond what had happened to his hair, Jason seemed fine. Calvin raked a hand through his own hair and then yawned again. He rifled through pockets, desperate for something to chew on. But he’d grabbed Jason’s jeans and hadn’t thought to grab anything before–his fingers closed around a familiar-feeling packet and he pulled out what proved to be tropical tuiti-fruiti chewing gum, and remembered when he’d bought it at the gas station and Jason had stolen it and they’d gotten into other things before he’d managed to steal it back. Popping a piece in his mouth, he waited impatiently for his boyfriend to be set free.

A half hour later everyone finally cleared out, and Calvin crossed the field and walked right into Jason’s waiting arms, sleepily accepting a kiss, ignoring the way the lingering students stared at them. “It’s a little early to be blowing stuff up. And Saturday. Double penalty.”

Jason laughed. “Sorry. Breakfast?”

“Coffee. Bed. Glad you’re okay. Nice hair.”

Laughing again, Jason looped an arm around Calvin’s shoulders and led them toward a diner down the road, launching into an animated explanation of the experiment that had gone awry, resulting in a small bang, lots of smoke, and Jason’s hair turning bubblegum pink.


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