Chapter Text
“You sure seeing him’s a good idea, bruv?” Stuart asked, pensively biting his lip as he took the mistletoe down from the door frame.
“I’m just giving him his stuff back, Stu,” Callum responded, stuffing an ash-coloured dressing gown into a Bag-For-Life. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Just bin it!” Rainie yelled from across the flat, tangled in fairy lights and tinsel. “If he really wanted them back, he’d have picked it up himself.”
Callum shook his head. He knew Ben was avoiding the flat at all costs to spare himself the emotional pain. That and whatever Stuart would do to him. Callum ran his thumb over the dressing gown’s belt and took a deep breath before shoving it into the bag. Spending the last two weeks alone helped to clear his head, slightly. There was still a gaping hole in his chest after Callum’s heart was taken from him and crushed in front of his eyes. Callum jumped as a sprig of mistletoe landed in the bag.
“Earth to Callum,” Stuart hummed. “You gonna massage that dressing gown all day?”
“I could do with a massage,” chimed Rainie, somehow more tangled than before.
“I’ll just be a few minutes.” Callum sighed as he grabbed the bag and left. He’d been back in Walford for a day and already wanted to disappear again. The air was stale, marred by the events of Christmas day. Stuart had filled him in on what he knew about the Mitchell family tearing itself apart. In some ways Callum was glad he left Walford, free from the constant chaos of Albert Square, or so he thought. The thought of Ben plagued him every day, even in what little sleep he had, pulling him back. Callum tried drinking his problems away, but he soon learned that beer was not the answer to a broken heart, especially on Christmas day. He spiralled, drunkenly, into the new year. He downloaded a hook-up app, still unopened. The thought of sleeping with someone else made him wretch more than the sound of Rainie’s voice calling Stuart her ‘big, grizzly bear’.
Anguish was never far from Albert Square. It stung the bristles on Callum’s face as he walked past the Vic. Though not even a few minutes’ walk from his front door, the car lot may as well have been miles away. Callum’s gut and his brain were telling him to avoid Ben at all costs. It was only a few weeks ago they were united with his heart in saying Ben was everything he was looking for. Love, truer and purer than anything he’d ever felt before.
Callum was at the car lot’s dulled blue door before he realised. Which Ben was he getting today? Soft, sensitive, kind Ben, or sarcastic, witty, unforgiving Ben? He made his way through the door and was greeted by the stench of alcohol. Callum’s eyes darted around the room. A few cans were littered around the desk at the far end of the room, but not enough to make Callum’s nose twitch.
“Bugger off, Jay!”
This was not a Ben Callum had ever experienced. He had half a mind to follow Ben’s instructions and leave, but he couldn’t. Callum had a fire in his belly since the day he was arrested for assaulting Leo. Blind rage was never an emotion Callum expected to feel coursing through his body. He could feel it brewing again at the sight of Ben reclined in his chair, eyes shut.
Callum slammed the door shut. Ben snapped up, dropping a half-empty bottle of vodka onto the floor. So that’s the smell. Ben’s eyes, bloodshot and baggy, set themselves on Callum’s hazy silhouette after adjusting themselves to the light.
“Callum?” Ben croaked, head pounding. “What are you doing here?” A warmth crept around Ben’s body, his heart fluttered briefly. For a moment, there was no pain. Then Ben saw into Callum’s eyes: worn, ruthless, and tired. The sapphire glow he was used to had dimmed, instead glazed over with resentment. It was hypnotic.
Callum glared at Ben for what seemed like hours. Ben’s eyes faltered first. He rubbed them and groaned, trying to brush away his regret.
“I thought I’d give you some of your stuff back,” Callum said, gesturing towards the bag in is hand. “I don’t need it.”
Callum’s mind turned to those mornings Ben would wait for him after a morning run, greeted by the smell of coffee and a soft kiss. He could almost feel the soft fabric of Ben’s dressing gown between his fingers, pulling Ben in close for a kiss. A sharp waft of vodka ripped Callum out of his memory.
“Well I don’t want it,” Ben slurred and span in his chair around to face away from Callum.
“You’ve got nothing else to say?” Callum huffed, managing to suppress a sharp pang of anger. Ben spun around again and met Callum’s gaze. He hoped the alcohol would help him resist the influence of Callum’s eyes. So far so good.
“I’m still ‘running away from my feelings,’” Ben sighed. “Can’t you tell?” He reached for the bottle on the floor and took a long swig. Callum watched Ben’s face crumple as he dropped the bottle again.
“What happened to you, Ben?” Callum sighed. “Drinking yourself blind at 2pm because you can’t handle guilt?”
“It’s a bit more than guilt,” Ben retaliated. Callum wasn’t surprised, he knew there was a lot more going on than Ben was inclined to reveal.
Ben reached for the bottle again, but it had fallen out of reach. His outstretched fingers agonisingly close to his only solace. A thud snatched Ben’s attention away from his vodka. Callum stretched his fingers after dropping the bag to the floor. This time Callum’s eyes were piercing.
“You going to tell me about it?”
Ben huffed in response, shuddering at the thought of Callum knowing what Ben did. Surely it was better to push Callum away now than have him find out that Callum was complicit in murder? Somehow turning a cold shoulder wasn’t enough to keep Callum as far away from him as possible. He made a choice, and he intended to stick with it, as much as it killed him.
Callum could see Ben bating his breath, biting the inside of his lip, the faltering of his eyes. Clearly three weeks away had not helped forgetting Ben’s mannerisms and quirks, and clearly Ben’s inebriated state was just as helpful at hiding them. They both opened their mouths to speak at the same time and stopped themselves. Callum wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, but his heart was aching and needed some kind of release. Callum hadn’t felt this kind of conflict since that night in the park. His first time, their first time. It was the first time Callum had truly felt alive and with someone who just understood. Callum could see it in Ben’s eyes. The fire, the empathy, the love—all fighting to break free from whatever secret kept Ben from uttering three simple words.
I love you.
Ben’s head throbbed, causing him to wince. That broke the eye contact long enough for him to desperately muster some resolve. He looked back up, careful not to meet Callum’s gaze.
“I don’t think I will,” he managed to say after a pause. Ben noticed Callum's clenched his fists, the grinding of his teeth, the sudden sharp breaths. They subsided as suddenly as they appeared. He’d only seen this side of Callum once before, but this time he was the drunk one.
“Why can’t you just admit the truth, Ben?” Callum snapped.
“What truth? You think running away for three weeks is going to magically help you get over me? Me? I’m bad news, Callum. You best be off embalming corpses or something, I’ve got work to do.” Ben tried reaching for the bottle again before Callum’s voice yanked him back into a place he was desperately trying to avoid.
“I was clearing my head, Ben!”
“Let me give you some advice,” Ben sighed.
“Pack it in, Ben,” Callum interrupted. “I’m not going to take advice from someone who’s idea of coping is drowning their sorrows in cheap booze.”
“I’ll have you know this was twenty quid,” said Ben as he almost fell from his chair reaching the bottle.
Callum whimpered, tears forming in his eyes. He swallowed what was left of his pride and wiped his eyes before turning to the door.
“See you ‘round, I guess,” murmured a dejected Callum, firing one last look at Ben who was still eyeing his vodka.
“Please don’t.”
The door slammed shut.
Ben waited a few minutes before letting a solitary sob escape his lips. He looked at the bag in the middle of the room and noticed the sprig of mistletoe sitting on top of his dressing gown. A symbol synonymous with Christmas and love, something Ben would rather forget. Blood rushed to his head, hands quaking, breathing heavy. He wanted nothing more than to be encased in one of Callum’s soft, warm hugs. He wanted to tell Callum everything—what he did to Keanu, that he just wanted to keep Callum safe, that he loves him with every fibre of his being. He took a final swig at the bottle before launching it at the bag, tipping it over and removing the mistletoe from his field of view. The fewer reminders of Christmas, the better.
--
Callum marched through the flat door red-faced.
“That was fast,” Stuart cheered, beaming at his brother.
“Not much to say for himself, then?” Rainie added just before Callum stormed past her into his room, slamming the door with enough force to knock her back a couple of steps.
“Bruv!” Stuart reached for the door as Callum locked it from the other side. Stuart clenched his fists and turned away from the door. “I’m gonna kill him!”
“No you’re not!” Rainie yelled as she jumped onto Stuart, using a strand of tinsel to rein him in like a horse. Stuart buckled and stopped his rampage. Rainie’s unorthodox methods of calming him down always seemed to do the trick. “You’ve punched him enough times now, don’t you think?”
Stuart replied with a grunt. She was right. He’d spent at least half of last year despising Ben for what he thought was meddling in Callum’s life. Even when Callum came out to their dad and kissed Ben in front of everyone, even when Callum came back from a date with the biggest grin, even when he saw them cuddled up on the sofa watching The Greatest Showman, Stuart could never shake the nagging feeling that Ben was no good. He was terrible at this supportive older brother stuff. He tried, of course, but there was a reason Callum would seek out his ex-fiancé over him for breakup advice. That didn’t stop Stuart doing his best to comfort Callum, and he knew Callum appreciated the warm hugs and attempts at conversation. That was enough he supposed, but he needed to get better.
“I hate seeing him like this,” he grumbled, turning to face Rainie. She replied with a soft peck and wrapped her arms around Stuart’s waist. “I knew Ben would break his heart like this.”
“Me too, babe,” Rainie said as she rested her head on his chest. They stood cuddling for a while, comfortable in each other’s arms. Rainie’s head snapped up and her eyes met Stuart’s. He could feel the cogs turning in her mind. A Rainie idea could only mean mischief, though this seemed different.
“Why don’t we help him move on?” she said with a grin and reached for Stuart’s phone in his back pocket. “Have you got any nice photos of him?” she asked. Rainie escaped Stuart’s arms and hovered towards the sofa. What was she up to?
“What are you on about, babe?” Stuart asked, plopping himself on the sofa next to her.
“This.” Rainie shoved Stuart’s phone into his face and forced his head into the wall. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the surprise.
“Grindr?!” Stuart snapped and reached for his phone, but Rainie yanked it out of his reach and shushed him.
“It’s a surprise!” she hummed and began setting up the profile.
“But it’s my phone!” Stuart’s protest fell on deaf ears. Rainie had no reaction, still furiously typing away. He nestled his head on her shoulder and pouted in frustration.
“How much does Callum weigh?”
Stuart sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon.