Chapter Text
There’s things about being a Cupid that most people don’t understand. How it’s more than just shooting a few strategically aimed arrows, pulling at the tightly wound string and letting the love-tipped objects land where they’re supposed to.
Sure, they get instructions from above. Names written down in nicely curled letters, indicating their targets, the people destined to fall in love with each other. But that’s about it - other than name and location of their whereabouts, the cupids themselves are left with nothing. Some of his co-workers tend to be on the lazy side, which annoys him to no end. They figure out the next possible meeting place, arrange a certain happenstance and just… shoot.
It doesn’t bear thinking how times that lack of care can end badly. Callum’s seen the result of it at times, seen the heartbreak in its wake. People being struck that ain’t supposed to, or arrows bouncing off the side. Unrequited love. Horrid affairs that break up a family, yet leave everyone sad, alone and dying just a little on the inside. It makes him physically sick to his stomach.
It’s one of the reasons he actually takes great pride in his work. Callum’s the sort of Cupid who’s not just in love with the idea of love, but who finds himself actually falling in love along with the intended recipients. He loves every little thing about it, about them,… about their stories. Wants to set them up just right. So taking great preparation, he spends his time observing them for a long time before planning their Grand Meeting. Or their Grand Moment, in case they’ve met before. He thinks it’s amazing, how some people can be blind to what’s in front of them, years and years and decades on end… and then there’s that one Moment, where they look at each other, seeing something they hadn’t before. Callum’s usually there to witness it.
And yeah, sometimes his bosses can nag him about taking too long with it, but he’s a perfectionist.
(“It’s not actually that hard,” Gabriel had told him once, annoyance pulling at the corners of his mouth, making it even tighter than usual. “We are very aware you used to have top marks in your archery classes, Halfway, I don’t see why you’re…tithering on like this.” Aziraphale, on the other hand, had sent him a kind look at that, soft and understanding. “There’s a reason you can’t rush perfection, Gabriel. Even you can’t deny this cupid brings about some of the best matches we’ve seen in centuries”. He’d winked at Callum after, before picking up his perfectly brewed cup of tea and nibbling on a biscuit. “These jammy dodgers are absolutely delightful, aren’t they?”.)
-
The first time Callum sees Ben Mitchell, he’s on his latest assignment, round the East End of London. At first glance, Albert Square seems much like any other place he’s visited so far — there’s the usual pub stood at one corner, and market stalls weaving in and out of sight. People mulling about, spending their days and shopping for things, taking shelter from the harsh weather. Not for the first time, Callum wishes he could control it - people always seem so much happier soaking up the rays of sunshine as opposed to feeling drops of rain against their skin. Callum can’t feel either, so he don’t mind it either way. But as a general rule, he supposes when the people are happy, that’s when he is too.
He follows one of his intended targets into the safety of the pub, smiling as she tries to take cover under her leopard printed jacket, holding it up like it’ll make a difference against the downpour. Heading inside, she shakes her head a little to clear it, pushing the wet strands of hair away from her skin. She’s a pretty girl, he supposes, though he never really looks at them that way. Folding back his wings to fit through the door after her, he’s once again happy about being invisible. Being in a room like this, on a crowded night, makes him anxious, sometimes.
Scanning the place to find the best possible vantage point, he settles on an empty chair at one end of the bar. From here, he can lean against the wooden counter, turning his face towards the gathering of girls - and get to see what makes her tick. It’s only the beginning of their girls’ night out … and he might be here a while.
But then Callum catches a glimpse of a dark grey-checkered coat, hands curled tightly around a glass, and a man’s face that make him stop in his tracks. He looks weary and angry and hurt; the cut on his lip a painful reminder of something unpleasant. For some unknown reason, Callum finds himself wanting to reach out and touch. Soothe. Make it better if he can.
It’s nothing compared to when the stranger turns to him, soft blue eyes shooting daggers connecting to his own. “Right. How about you stop starin’ and let me finish my drink in peace, yeah?”
Callum looks around dazedly, trying to pinpoint where the man’s attention is at. It can’t be him, obviously. But there seems to be no one else; and he just keeps looking straight at Callum, his eyebrow now raised in a challenge. It makes a little crease appear right above his nose. Callum doesn’t know why, but this seems important to him. Something to remember.
“I… er -” Callum stumbles out. “Sorry, are you actually -”
“… talking to you.” The man utters, slowly, like he thinks Callum might be a complete idiot. His fingers tighten even more, poised for a fight. “We going to have a problem?”
“Oi,” the landlord says, pointing a stern finger in the man’s direction. “No fighting in my bar, Ben Mitchell. You leave the nice punter alone or you and I’ll be the ones having an issue.” He turns to Callum at that, sending him a polite smile. “Don’t you worry about him, his bark’s worse than his bite. What can I get ya?”
He doesn’t understand any of this. Really, he doesn’t. 8 years he’s been at this job and not once, not once, has any person ever been able to catch sight of him. There was this old lady, who asked him to pass the salt, but she was blind as anything, so he figures that didn’t count anyway.
Being compromised like this, he should pack up and call it a day — observing the girl will look weird if people actually see him doing it — but somehow, he doesn’t want to leave this place yet. There’s a little hum around his chest area, like there’s something warm calling to him, and it makes him want to stay.
“I’ll just have a coke,” he says. “Thanks.”
It takes him half a second to realize he has no actual money to pay for it - his grateful smile turning watery and brittle. But then, the second the thought forms in his mind, he feels something land in his pocket. Callum pulls it out to find a well-stocked wallet, small origami flower tucked between the folds. One of the petals says “read me”, so Callum gently opens it to find a message in the handwriting he knows so well. The one that always spells out his names beautifully, artfully, with care. Come see me when you’re done, please, Callum.
He stows away his worry ‘bout repercussions for another time, ears perking up when conversation around him starts again.
“Stop sulking, will ya?” The landlord says, speaking over the rhythmic background sounds of the towel swirling through newly cleaned glass. Swish squeak. Swish squeak. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you deserved that.”
The man - Ben - huffs at him. “Oh, cheers Mick. Nice of you to immediately assume my guilt.”
Callum dares another glance at him. He wants to look closer, but he’s afraid to move.
“Yeah, well…” Mick says. “Let’s face it, we all know what you’re like, eh?”
Ben remains silent at the reproach, but the quiet is broken soon enough.
“What are you like?”
The words fly out of Callum’s mouth before he’s even consciously spoken them. Both heads twist around to look at him once more. Ben’s still wearing that heavy set frown, but Mick is looking quite amused, actually.
Ben rumbles at him. “Don’t see how that’s any of your business, mate.”
It isn’t. Callum knows it isn’t. His instructions are clear: find the girl; set her up with her intended; leave them to their happy ever after. But he.. he wants to find out why Ben’s nice-looking shoulders seem to be carrying around the weight of the world. He wants to hold Ben's gaze and squeeze his fingers. He feels his own twitch at the thought.
Callum’s being ridiculous. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Mick beats him to the punch, answering his question.
“Let’s just say that…trouble has a way of finding Ben Mitchell.” He grins. “Or the other way ‘round, possibly.” Seeing Ben’s about to interfere with some snide comment, he continues, “Anyway, what about you er -”
“Callum.”
“…Callum.” He nods. “You just passing through?”
“Er -” His eyes seek out Ben’s, but he seems stubbornly focussed on anything else. Don’t matter anyway. “Not sure yet.” He needs to come back for his charges, anyway… but there’s no telling whether this particular glitch will reoccur when he does.
“Well,” Mick says, “Don’t let this one scare you off, ey.” He puts a hand on top of Callum’s and it’s solid but it’s - cold. “You are welcome in my pub anytime.” He winks, going on to serve some of the other punters.
Callum returns to his drink, sneaking sideway glances at Ben every once in a while. He doesn’t seem to notice - he looks folded back in on himself; lonely. Callum sighs quietly, careful so Ben Mitchell won’t hear. He’d probably kick his arse if he even knew half of what Callum was thinking.
Standing up slowly, he throws some money near his empty glass and walks over. His belly’s full of nervous jitters; but he doesn’t know if he’ll get another chance to do this, so… so he lets his hand reach for Ben, placing it against his arm that seems mostly unbruised from whatever dangerous encounter he’s had.
“Look,” he says. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean anything by it.” He bites his lip, unsure, not missing the way Ben seems to track that particular movement with interest. “Are you okay?”
Ben blinks at him, slowly. The way his eyes have glossed over a little makes Callum think they’re hiding something; maybe it’s because of the alcohol, or just some hidden emotion he don’t want to share with the rest of the world.
Ben shrugs. “I’ll be alright.”
“Okay.” Callum’s not sure he’s satisfied with the answer, but accepts it for what it is. A brush-off. A goodbye.
He should move. The weird thing is, though, he mostly wants to move closer. Horrifyingly, he doesn’t want to just heal Ben’s busted lip, he wants to kiss it better. His hand is still on Ben’s arm and bridging the gap wouldn’t take much. He knows what to do, he’s seen a lot of his matches go at it. Some tenderly, others with a raging hunger that doesn’t seem to settle no matter how many times their lips slide across each other’s.
Who knows, Callum may have even kissed someone before, in another life.
He’s brought back to the present by Ben’s amused chuckle. “Callum.” By the sounds of it, it’s not the first time he’s called. Ben glances down pointedly, laughing at the way Callum’s cheeks flush with color.
“Oh, right, sorry.” Callum mumbles. “I’ll just - ” He withdraws his hand and makes to exit the bar. As he walks out, he feels heavy raindrops fall. Turning his face up to the sky, he basks in the feeling.
-
When he gets back, he immediately makes his way to Aziraphale’s office, as requested. It’s one of his favorite places to be, honestly. Most of the angels have decorated their rooms sparingly (Gabriel’s is stark white and clean as a whistle), but not Aziraphale. Oh no. Aziraphale’s room is filled with dark brown shelves full of ancient tomes and paperback novels, a potted plant in one corner. Callum very much suspects he spends a lot of time walking around it, taking in the smells and talking to himself for lack of more interested partner. It breathes warmth and cosiness. Speaks of a good soul.
“Well, Callum,” he starts, a smile so wide it seems to want to extend beyond his physical form. “That was quite an adventure.” Without even asking, he pours them Callum’s favorite tea, pushing the flowered cup nearer to where he sits.
“You know,” he continues, eyes shining with happiness. “I always knew it was your heart that made you special.”