Calvin is almost like a painkiller at this point, and I would say I'm addicted. I like living without the pain that he helps me forget. I know there is still our impending doom somewhere out there, in here with him all the hatred and hurt of the world goes away, even if it's just for a quiet moment. 

I look at Calvin who is slumped over a book across from me and admire his figure. Strands of his dark brown hair disobey the product that sweeps his fringe to the side and hangs in his face. His soft eyes follow the page in a slow sweeping motion. It would be obvious to say that we easily get distracted by each other, if you can't find me staring at him, he's usually the one staring at me. Neither of us mind, it's just nice to know someone is there most of the time. 

Calvin looks up and sends me a look, questioning me. 

"You're so far away," I complain. 

"You're the one who sat there," he says, and I pout at him. He rolls his eyes and moves his arm so it's resting along the top of his beanbag, gesturing for me to come over and sit with him. 

"But I'm comfy here," I say teasingly, rejecting his offer. 

"Comfy, huh?" Calvin raises his eyebrow at me, "Well I'm not moving," he says as he turns his attention back to his book, smiling. 

The worst and best thing about this relationship is that we are both stubborn. Horribly stubborn. 

I decide if pouting is getting me nowhere, I'll sulk instead. I dramatically slump back into my beanbag, kicking my feet into the space between us. Calvin simply watches my desperate theatrics with a smile. 

"Alright," he says as he puts his book down. He leans forward and grabs my legs, pulling me completely off my beanbag, "Comfy now?" 

"Not anymore," I glared at him. 

"Good, now you can come over here," he says, practically radiating smart-ass vibes. 

I get up and move over to Calvin's beanbag and sit down with enough force to disturb his position, but he just laughs, still very proud of the trick he pulled. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and I nestle into his side. 

Calvin has been busy reading this book since the last time we met up. It's by the same author that wrote that gay romance novel. He's invested in almost any book that I suggest. Some he's looked over and not bothered to open, but others he would read five times in one night if he wanted to. And he's not just being polite about it, we actually have very similar interests. 

He rubs a hand along my arm, feeling the soft fabric of my Calvin Klein sweater, "You really like this sweater, don't you?" 

"Mhmm," I mumble into his shirt. I roll onto my back to stare at the roof. Calvin pulls his hand away from my arm to turn the page, then he goes back running his hand along the fabric. It's no surprise that the only expensive thing I own came from Calvin. 

"You know, I really wish I had enough money to get you something." I mention. 

"I don't need anything," Calvin says. 

"Well, I didn't need anything, but you still proceeded to give me things. You even insist on buying our drinks." 

He looks up from his book and seems to mull the idea over. I lay there, watching his gaze flick around the room as he thinks, then his eyes suddenly light up and he turns to me, "What's the time?" 

I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time, "Uh, almost 3:30 PM. Why's that?" 

"We could go shopping if you like. You could pick something out for me and I'll buy it. That way, you won't waste money on me, but I'll still technically have something from you," Calvin suggests. 

I stop to correct him, "First of all, it wouldn't be wasting money," then I continue, "And I'll feel bad if I use your money." 

He doesn't look pleased. "Oh please, my family is rich. They treat my bank account like their savings. I have plenty of money to go around." 

"I know... but still." 

He knows what I'm like so he goes into a full-fledged explanation. "My mother's side of the family owns an insurance firm that was passed on to my aunt. My mother works under that business as a senior actuary and my father works as a chief financial officer. Ultimately, my family is very rich, and my parents get their fair share of that." 

Even if I don't know the salaries of those jobs off the top of my head, I can tell it would be something I could never earn. And I know it would have to be a big salary, this guy got a Mercedes for a present. It's good to hear something about his family, I don't hear much about them. 

"Okay, okay," I say, "you make a good point, but-" Calvin moves his arm to cover my face and I get the message. When he has his mind on something it's like trying to fight the inevitable. He'll gladly alter plans to better suit me, but they will happen one way or another. "Are there even many good shops in the Middle?" I sigh. 

"I can recall a few." 

"Alright then," I say, agreeing to his proposal, "It's a date." 

That catches Calvin off guard and a light, red blush dances across his cheeks, but before I know it, he's beaming a smile at me and pulling me to my feet. 

We get into Calvin's Mercedes and drive through the Middle. I'm not sure if he knows exactly where he's going, but we have time so I don't mind. We end up at one of the bigger, more popular malls and make our way through the halls. There are people here and there, but it's not as crowded as I expected. It's easy to duck and weave between people where we have to. 

Calvin reaches for my hand and our fingers intertwine, "Do you know what you want to buy me?" 

I shrug, "Not yet." That's a lie, I do have an idea. I want it to be something he can wear all the time. A neat, little, physical reminder of what he means to me, but I'm not sure what that looks like yet. 

"Will I need to model any clothes for you?" 

I think about that maybe a little too much knowing I could easily bend that offer in my favour. It would be an interesting sight seeing Calvin in something like a dress or some tight fabric with a horrible pattern that you wouldn't even see on grandma's couch. He sees the look on my face and instant regret pours over his features. I go to say something funny, but a yawn stops me. 

Calvin, eager to save himself by changing the topic, raises an eyebrow at me, "Tired already?" I half-nod. "Well, I think I can fix that." 

He spies a nearby trolley and pulls me over to it. 

"What are you-" My question is cut off when he suddenly picks me up by my waist, holding me against his chest, "Hey!" 

"Quit squirming, I'm trying to help," He says through a smile. 

Calvin manoeuvres me into the trolley and sits me down. I fit neatly inside the trolley, which really is no surprise given how small I am. 

"I mean this could work," I say agreeing to Calvin's stupid plan. 

And for a while, it did work. Calvin evaded the crowds and pushed us down some quieter halls and shops. He would push me down aisles while he stood on the back of the trolley, jumping off and taking control again if we were going to crash. I'd cruise smoothly around as Calvin casually pulled random items off the shelf and threw them into the trolley, hoping they would hit me. 

It was all fun and games, but soon after Calvin decided it would be fun to spin me around, we noticed a security guard watching us and decided we should probably leave the scene we'd created. Even if it is just some mall cop, I can't have any person of authority getting involved. Especially if they need our classes in order to write some sort of consequence. 

Although the chase that we pretended to have was fun. Imagining that the cop was right behind us, Calvin sprinted down the aisle and out the back entrance of the shop. We speeded down a quiet hallway, he even managed to drift a shopping trolley around a corner with minimal crashing. Then pretended to crash us, pulling me from the trolley, taking my hand and stealing away until we were one with the crowd. It was hard not to keep a straight face whenever we saw a cop after that. 

We wandered through a few shops, avoiding where the security guard lurked, and continued the search. This part of the mall seemed to have nicer and more expensive shops which made my decision harder. I don't like spending money, especially someone else's money. 

"Do I have to spend your money?" I sulk. 

He shrugs, "Do you have money to spend?" 

I pull my phone out and peel the silicone case back to check my stash of emergency money. There's no more than $10 dollars collectively. Just two sad $5 notes. 

"Okay, no, but I don't feel comfortable spending your money." 

"Oliver," He grabs me by the shoulders, "My parents are rich bastards, you could spend all of my money, even if it's just to annoy them. I'm going to spend it if you don't, so you may as well." 

"That doesn't help." 

"Well then, would you like a threshold that you can spend?'' 

"That's more helpful. Yes." 

"Okay, so the maximum is $300." I roll my eyes and he changes his answer, taking his hands from my shoulder, "Logically speaking, that sweater would've cost around $130 to $150, because apparently brand labels can get away with that. So, even though I wouldn't care if you spent more, the maximum price for you to spend is $200. Does that make you feel better?" 

I'm still caught up with how expensive my sweater actually is to comprehend his offer. Then I noticed he said $200. "Where did the other $50 come from?" I say, interrogating him. 

"That's the gift of my kindness," he says smugly and I push him away from me. 

"Fine, we have a deal, I won't spend over $150." 

He strays back to my side. "No, that wasn't the deal." 

"I'm fully aware of that." 

"You're stubborn." 

I smile, "I know." 

I've always felt guilty spending money. I mean it's kind of dumb when a seventeen-year-old who isn't financially dependent and doesn't have to worry about costs and expenses still gets upset about money. That's not my fault though, it kind of rubbed off on me from my parents, Dad specifically. We've never had a lot of money to go around, and even when we do, it gets spent on stupid things. It means I'm not allowed to ask for subscriptions for anything except Spotify because it's an unnecessary cost, according to my mother. She's one to talk, with her alcohol addiction and all. 

Calvin steers me into a shop, which I take as a good sign. The more shops he leads me to, the better of an idea I'll have about what he likes. I have a general idea that he likes clothes and fashion and prefers things that are sleek and modern or trendy. His Instagram homepage was probably the best insight, with all the photos and brands he likes popping up when he lets me scroll through it. 

Calvin gives me a bit of space to look around, moving over to a rack of clothes. I notice something, something that I know he is going to hate me for, but I can't help myself. I turn to him and smile mischievously. 

"What did you find?" Calvin asks. 

My smile grows bigger, "Oh, it's nothing." 

He comes around the rack of clothes he was looking through, watching me cautiously. As soon as he's close enough, he immediately notices what I'm acting so smug about. Calvin Klein underwear. 

He looks at me disappointedly, "Whatever you're thinking Oliver, the answer is no." 

I step closer to him, rising up on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "About you modelling clothes for me..." 

Colour rapidly spreads across Calvin's face and he shoves me away, "OLIVER!" I bend over as uncontrollable laughter spills from me. "I'm leaving you here," he says from behind his hand. 

"Oh come on, It's even your brand!" I manage to say, but he just rolls his eyes. "I won't make you wear women's underwear." 

He laughs, "I didn't even think that was an option." 

"I won't lie, I thought about it." 

Calvin gives me a look that says "we both know that won't work" and I just shrug, still as smug as ever. It's fun watching him fluster. 

I choke off my fit of laughter as he steps closer to me. He delicately picks up the closest pair of women's underwear, which just happens to be a G-string. "Why don't you try it on first?" he whispers mischievously. 

I can't help but turn a bright pink. Nothing that I'm thinking right now is decent enough to explain. The worst thing is I know I wouldn't be opposed to it, but it's still embarrassing, especially when the request comes from Calvin himself. I pull my sweater up and cover my face, trying to suppress the embarrassment. 

"I hate you." My words are muffled by the fabric. 

"No you don't," he says, planting a gentle kiss on my head. He offers me his hand, but I reject it, still sensing his mischievous air. He steals it anyway.