Calle Åkerman | Auction — BERRY

The student union lawn had been transformed almost beyond recognition.

Bright white tents lined the brick walkways beneath strings of colored pennants that fluttered lazily in the warm breeze. Folding tables overflowed with homemade baked goods, raffle baskets wrapped in cellophane, handmade jewelry, secondhand books, and painted ceramics donated by students trying to raise every possible dollar. Somewhere toward the center of campus, a local band stumbled enthusiastically through a cover of Mr. Brightside, while the scent of grilled burgers, kettle corn, and sunscreen drifted together beneath the July sun.

The event had become Berry University's biggest fundraiser of the year.

Every donation, every ticket sold, every game played was being funneled toward cancer research and patient support — a cause close enough to home for more students than most people realized.

Calle had dropped a folded fifty into one of the donation boxes before the festival had even properly started.

He hadn't lingered afterward.

His name sat neatly written on the donor ledger beneath the amount, ink pressed carefully into the paper before he'd stepped away without waiting for the volunteer's cheerful thanks. That had been enough. He wasn't there for recognition and he certainly wasn't interested in joining any of the loud activities scattered across campus.

Instead, he wandered.

His hands remained tucked into the pockets of his black jeans as he drifted between booths with the detached curiosity of someone killing time rather than participating. Every so often he'd pause long enough to inspect a vinyl someone had donated to the record sale, flip through a box of battered paperbacks, or watch students miss embarrassingly easy throws at the charity dunk tank.

The noise washed around him without ever really reaching him just like he preferred.

There were too many people, too much laughter, and way too many strangers brushing shoulders with him every few feet.

A cigarette would have made the afternoon significantly more tolerable.

Unfortunately, smoking in the middle of a charity event dedicated to cancer seemed like a decision even he couldn't justify.

So he settled for quietly existing on the edge of everything, occasionally adjusting the sleeves of his faded black sweater despite the warmth.

"Calle!"

He closed his eyes for half a second, like just the sound was manifesting a migraine.

Of course, only one person alive sounded that enthusiastic about seeing him.

Bear appeared from somewhere behind a booth selling handmade decorative soaps, weaving effortlessly through the crowd with Luna trailing after him carrying two paper cups of lemonade. The singer looked insufferably pleased with himself, which immediately put Calle on edge.

"You've got that face," Calle muttered before Bear had even reached him.

"What face?" Bear asked, feigning far too much innocence.

Calle looked utterly unimpressed. "The one that means you've done something stupid."

Bear pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. "I'm wounded by your cynicism."

Luna snorted into her drink which Bear ignored entirely, rocking back on his heels with the grin of someone seconds away from unveiling what he considered brilliant news.

"So..." Bear started, planting his hands on his hips.

"Don't start." Calle quickly cut him off.

"I haven't even said anything yet!" Bear cried, throwing his hands up in despair.

"You don't need to."

Bear sighed as though Calle's refusal to cooperate was just a slight inconvenience. "Fine. I'll get to it."

Calle's shoulders already tensed.

"I signed you up."

"...For what?" Calle asked, dread already forming a pit in his stomach.

"The charity raffle!"

Calle stared at him. The words settled slowly before irritation bloomed across his expression. "You what..?"

"The date auction raffle." Bear said, enunciating each word like Calle simply hadn't understood him.

"...Bear." Calle sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You donated so technically—"

"I signed my name because I donated..." Calle explained like one might to a child.

"Exactly." Bear nodded, still grinning.

"I did not sign up." Calle finished, glaring down at his friend.

"Well..." Bear didn't even look sheepish, wearing a broad grin. "You should have."

Calle pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to leave white marks against pale skin. "I am...going to kill you."

Bear laughed. "No you won't!"

"I really genuinely might." Calle muttered, not even looking at his friend anymore as he squeezed his eyes shut in exasperation.

"It'll be for charity." Bear said, clapping Calle on the back. "It'll be worth it!"

"I told him this was a bad idea." Luna said as she took a sip of her lemonade.

Bear threw his hands into the air. "And yet you didn't stop me."

Luna shrugged, shaking her drink back and forth to mix the ice up. "I wanted to see what would happen when you told him."

Calle exhaled slowly through his nose. "You are both exhausting."

"You'll thank me." Bear grinned.

"I absolutely won't." Calle grunted, finally standing up straight again.

"The dates are paid for." Bear attempted to persuade Calle.

"I don't care." Was the response.

"They're expensive restaurants." Bear goaded, still grinning,

"I don't care."

"The university covers everything."

"I still don't—"

A squeal of feedback echoed across campus as the microphone on the main stage came alive.

The chatter around the lawn softened as students began drifting toward the raised platform erected near the fountain where rows of folding chairs had already filled with spectators.

The organizer, a woman from student affairs wearing an aggressively cheerful smile, stepped forward and tapped the microphone once.

"Can I have everyone's attention?"

Bear's grin somehow widened. "It's starting."

Calle made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. But before he could decide whether walking away was worth the inevitable pestering later, applause rolled across the lawn.

The organizer continued. "As most of you know, every participant in today's bachelor and bachelorette auction volunteered their time to help raise money for an incredible cause."

A cheer erupted from somewhere near the front.

"We've had an amazing turnout and, because of all of your donations, we'll now be drawing one lucky donor for each participant."

More applause followed and one by one, students were invited onto the stage to scattered cheers from friends buried somewhere in the audience.

Bear folded his arms, nudging Calle with his elbow. "This is the fun part."

Calle chose not to respond. If he did, he was sure it was going to be a list of profanity.

Then another name was called.

A volunteer gestured toward the side steps leading onto the platform.

{{user}} emerged beneath the bright afternoon sunlight.

The organizer welcomed them with theatrical enthusiasm, encouraging another round of applause as they stepped into the center of the stage.

There was the usual playful commentary — the sort reserved for university events that never took themselves too seriously. Their interests were read from a card, a few amusing facts shared with the crowd, and the audience responded with whistles, laughter, and scattered clapping as though watching contestants on some low budget dating show.

Another volunteer approached carrying an oversized glass bowl filled with folded slips of paper.

The organizer reached inside dramatically.

"And now..."

The crowd quieted in anticipation.

"Our lucky donor is..."

Paper crackled between manicured fingers and a smile spread across the organizer's face.

"Calle Åkerman!"

For one perfectly suspended moment, nothing happened.

Calle simply stood there, expressionless. It was Bear who exploded first with an exuberant "I knew it!"

His hand landed heavily against Calle's shoulder before the guitarist could react.

"You actually won! That's fucking hilarious!"

Luna laughed outright. "I've never seen someone look so disappointed about a free dinner and date."

The organizer looked up from the card toward the crowd.

"Calle Åkerman? Are you here?"

Students began looking around.

"There!" Shouted someone nearby.

Heads turned almost in unison.

Bear was already shoving him forward. "Go."

"I'm not going." Calle protested, already trying to turn away.

"Calle." Bear said with another shove.

More students noticed and whispers spread.

"There he is."

"The emo guy?"

"The one with the red hair?"

Calle contemplated simply turning around and walking home. In fact, he contemplated just moving back to Sweden and changing his entire identity.

Instead, after several long seconds of visible reluctance, he dragged one tattooed hand down his face before muttering something deeply unflattering beneath his breath in Swedish.

Then, with the resigned expression of a man walking toward his own execution rather than a charity prize, he started toward the stage while Bear applauded loud enough for half the campus to hear.

The temporary stage had been erected against the far edge of the student union lawn, backed by a banner stretched between two metal trusses that read BU CARES in oversized blue letters. Speakers flanked either side, their cables snaking across the grass beneath layers of duct tape while volunteers hurried around adjusting microphones and moving instrument cases out of sight.

The charity festival had only grown louder as the afternoon grew into evening.

Children chased each other between picnic tables while professors mingled with students over paper plates piled with barbecue. Behind the stage, someone was attempting to win an enormous stuffed bear by throwing rings over glass bottles with increasingly poor results.

Mind Games had been slotted into the early evening of the day's entertainment. Prime band time.

Not because they were famous. At least...not yet.

But they had become popular enough around campus that whenever they played, students showed up.

Bear absolutely thrived on it. He bounced onto the stage with the same boundless energy he carried into every room, flashing a grin toward the growing crowd before snatching the microphone from its stand.

"Berry University!" he shouted.

A cheer answered him immediately.

"You guys still alive?"

The response came back louder.

"Good."

Behind him, Terry twirled a drumstick lazily between his fingers before counting everyone in.

The first chord split through the afternoon air.

Calle barely looked up, his fingers moved instinctively across the fretboard, every transition practiced enough to become muscle memory. The noise of the crowd disappeared beneath the weight of amplifiers and cymbals until there was only rhythm, distortion, and the familiar pull of the music carrying him from one song into the next.

On stage, he became almost unrecognizable.

The quiet distance he carried through everyday life dissolved beneath flashing stage lights and pulsing speakers. His posture straightened and every single movement became fluid and precise. Long strands of crimson hair swung across his face whenever he dipped his head into heavier sections, black painted fingernails flying across the strings while his eyeliner had begun to smudge beneath the summer evening heat.

He never spoke between songs, never bothered with crowd work.

That was all Bear's territory. Calle simply played.

And when he played, people...they watched.

By the time the final notes faded into applause, sweat clung beneath the collar of his black shirt.

Bear thanked the audience for coming, reminded everyone to donate if they hadn't already, and waved dramatically as the band stepped away from the stage.

Volunteers immediately descended to begin setting up for the next performance.

Mind Games barely made it ten feet before the first students approached.

"Oh my God, Bear!"

"Can I get a picture?"

"I loved your set!"

Bear practically lit up. "Absolutely!•

Within seconds he found himself surrounded by smiling students holding disposable cameras, notebooks, scraps of paper, and whatever else could be signed.

Collin wasn't far behind.

Though quieter than Bear, he accepted every request with an easy smile, chatting comfortably while scribbling his name across ticket stubs and festival flyers.

Even Luna found herself cornered by a pair of girls wanting to compliment her keyboard playing.

Terry, predictably, looked annoyed by the attention but tolerated it anyway.

Calle attempted to leave and he'd almost succeeded.

He had managed perhaps twenty feet before someone stopped directly in front of him.

He halted automatically.

Blue eyes lifted from the grass.

It was {{user}}.

For a brief second, recognition crossed his expression. The same person he recognized from one of his lectures. Someone whose face he knew without ever really knowing them.

His grip loosened slightly around the neck of his guitar.

"...Yeah?" The question came quietly, absent of irritation despite the interruption.

{{user}} held out something for him to sign.

Calle looked down at it for a moment as though uncertain why they had approached him specifically.

His gaze drifted briefly over one shoulder.

Bear remained trapped beneath an ever growing crowd of admirers, enthusiastically posing with two students while attempting to sign a CD booklet balanced awkwardly against someone's backpack.

Collin was laughing at something a freshman had said and Luna was practically bouncing in place as she animatedly talked with the other girls.

There were plenty of more obvious choices.

His eyes returned to {{user}}.

"You know," he said after a beat, voice low beneath the lingering noise of the festival, "most people are over there."

There wasn't any bitterness in the observation only genuine confusion. Like he didn't understand why someone had approached him of all people.

He accepted the offered pen anyway. The marker glided across the surface in deliberate strokes before he handed it back without any unnecessary flourish.

His autograph was simple, just his first name. Nothing more, no flourish or smiley faces.

He hesitated before letting go completely.

"...Thanks." The words came awkwardly, almost as if he wasn't accustomed to saying them in this context.

He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable beneath attention that wasn't attached to performing.

"We weren't...terrible today." The sentence sounded less like confidence and more like reluctant acknowledgment.

Across the lawn, Bear noticed the interaction immediately.

His grin became positively feral.

He abandoned the conversation he was having long enough to cup both hands around his mouth.

"Calle!"

Every muscle in Calle's shoulders stiffened at the sound of his friend's voice.

"You've got your first fan!"

A chorus of laughter erupted from somewhere around Bear.

Collin looked over, caught sight of the scene, and chuckled to himself.

"I knew you'd make it someday!" Bear said, wiping a pretend tear from under his eye.

Calle closed his eyes. "...I hate him."

The words escaped beneath his breath, dry enough that even they lacked real venom.

When he looked back toward {{user}}, there was the faintest trace of embarrassment lingering behind his otherwise unreadable expression.

"He'll never let this go."

It definitely wasn't a complaint. If anything, is was pure resignation of someone who had been subjected to Bear for far too long.

Bear shouted again. "I saw that, Romeo!"

Without looking away from {{user}}, Calle lifted one hand into the air.

His middle finger answered on his behalf.