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So it goes like this: Ben hates Callum, and equally, Callum hates Ben. But as the age old proverb goes, there’s a fine line between love and hate.
It’s the build up to Christmas, and like seemingly everywhere else in the world, The Queen Vic is full of decorations, the collection of them somehow growing right throughout the month of December. It’s borderline garish as well, subtlety not a word in the landlord and lady’s vocabulary. A large pine tree sits in the corner of the pub, towering above everyone and it’s practically overbearing the whole room. To call it a tree is slightly insulting though, because it’s more red tinsel and flickering lights of technicolour than the actual tree itself. Baubles perch on the ends of some branches, bold and brash and spinning around and around in slow circles. Some have fallen off, resting on the floor alongside the fallen pine needles and broken off shards of sparkly tinsel. The bust of Queen Victoria sits on the bar, pride of place as usual - except now she’s got a red and white Christmas hat on, with the bobbling pom pom of it hitting against her face. Above the bar, a common tradition of pub Christmases of the past. Mistletoe hangs down, directly above the bar, right where the staff meet the public. Every year, they remain there, practically forgotten throughout the month of December, until it’s finally time to take them down again come the turn of the new year.
Ben walks in with his usual scowl on his face. The collar of his coat pops up, covering his neck from the blustering wind outside, though it’s probably more of a fashion statement than it is protection. The door to the pub slams to a shut behind him, the baubles on the tree spinning around quicker now in the artificial breeze it creates. A few people turn to look at him, the pub somewhat busy for this time of day, but absolutely nothing comes of it. He steps towards the bar, somehow finding a small gap in amongst the crowd of people that swarm it, waiting for a drink. He leans his body weight against the woodwork and looks down to see which of the bar staff are free.
Callum’s standing there like a spare part after putting cash in the till and Ben would be lying if he said the smirk that appears across his lips wasn’t at the sigh of the Callum standing there in his tight jeans and red Christmas jumper.
There’s a nod of a head towards Ben, and Callum notices it and sighs, knowing that he has to go and take his order.
They avoid each other most of the time, aware of each other’s existence but blissfully ignoring it all the same. For some unknown reason, they just really dislike one another. Nobody really knows why, and to be perfectly honest neither Ben nor Callum seems to know why the other one hates them so much. Really, they’ve barely even spoken one or two words to each other, much less have a conversation.
Before Callum’s even managed to breathe a word out, Ben interrupts him, his fingers interlocking with one another as he rests his hands together on the bar in front of him. “Lager.” Ben says. Just that. No please, nor a thank you.
Callum shuts his eyes for just a second, metaphorically biting his tongue to refrain from making a snarky comment - though he’s not certain a clamp on his tongue could stop him from doing such a thing. It’s one drink, whilst the bar is busy. That’s all he needs to do. When he opens his eyes again, it’s like a whole new moment and he has a facade about him...that is, until he looks at Ben and finds him grinning at him, his eyes all dark and for some reason, it makes Callum’s nervous. He shakes it off, counting down the hours in his head until his shift is over, silently praying that Ben doesn’t stay here for the rest of his shift. “That’ll be three pound fifty.” He says, voice void of any emotion. Ben hands it over to him, a silent exchange between the two of them.
It’s when Ben turns and walks away, pint in his hand, that Callum speaks again. “You’re very welcome!” He shouts sarcastically, not caring one bit if people turn to look at them, watching their interaction.
Ben turns back to face Callum, the natural scowl is starting to form on his face, furrowing his eyebrows as his eyes glare darkly at Callum. The pint glass in his hand is beginning to slip, the condensation of it leaking onto his hand, threatening to slide out of his grasp and onto the floor. Instead of starting an argument, he simply ignores Callum and sits down on his own. It’s not unusual for him to sit alone though. It’s not as if Ben’s a loner, because he’s certainly not. He’s actually quite popular, though his popularity mainly lies with his family, the ever expanding family tree seemingly taking over the majority of Walford. Despite that though, he’s often found sitting alone in the Queen Vic, keeping himself to himself.
The pub remains busy, possibly gaining more and more customers as time ticks by and people finish work. It gets to the point where people are standing up through different rounds, completely unable to get seats at any tables. Christmas music blares over the speakers, the same songs and rotation, and as more drinks are flowing, the louder people start to get.
Callum’s walking around the outside of the bar now, collecting all of the empty glasses and bottles, delicately throwing them into the box. He doesn’t particularly care if they get smashed or not, because Ben’s eyes have been on him all night now and he’s getting more and more fed up the longer his shift goes on. He’s collecting glasses in twos and sometimes even three at a time and he’s genuinely fearful that they’ll run out of clean glasses by the time for last orders rolls around. Some people move out of his way as he walks past them, though he still has to manoeuvre his way around most of the time. Either way, everyone makes way for him eventually, when they see the overflowing box in his left hand and his right still picking up glasses. Everyone, that is, except Ben, who’s walking towards the toilets. Ben, who deliberately goes out of his way to move closer and closer to Callum, just to get their shoulders to barge into one another. Callum completely ignores him though, thinking better of starting something that would probably end up in a brawl, knowing the rumours of Ben. Only two hours left of his shift.
Ben eventually makes it back to his table, almost alone in his thoughts and that’s when Callum realises, if he was at all empathetic towards Ben Mitchell, he would think he looks almost sad, behind the stereotypical Mitchell mask he puts on. People are surrounding him now, maybe. His family, his friends. Yet he seems distant, like he’s not really following any of the conversations that surround him. He stands, holding his empty pint glass in his hands, streaks from the drink staining the inside of the glass. He puts it down on the bar, directly in front of Callum. “Same again.” He inquires, looking straight at Callum, and then back to the glass. Callum takes it, and refills it, passing it over to Ben without so much as a word.
Callum holds his hand out, waiting for the change to hit his hand. Ben takes the pint glass though, and lifts it to his mouth without paying. He raises his eyebrows, watching as Callum’s annoyance grows, bubbling away underneath the surface. He knows he’s got him then, hook, line and sinker. Ben pulls the glass away from his mouth, his face contorting and twisting in disgust. “That’s flat!” He exclaims, wiping at his mouth, though he’s really just trying to hide the smirk that’s threatening to form on his lips.
People look around at them, intrigued by the continuous back and forth between them all night, some customers still around from their first initial exchange. Callum rolls his eyes, shrugging his shoulders as he steps forward, leaning against his side of the bar with a knowing smirk. He grabs the glass from Bn’s hand and lifts it to his mouth, taking a gulp himself. “Tastes fine to me mate.” He responds, narrowing his eyes to Ben, practically glaring at him.
Low chuckles erupt from the people around them, turning away to fall easily back into their own conversations. That infuriates Ben though, because he definitely does not like people laughing at him. Anger seeps through his body and the only thing he can think to do to get it all out is to lean over the bar and grab at Callum’s shirt, pulling them closer together. There’s a snarl on his face and he can hear the entire pub explode in jeers and cheers at the prospect of a fight. “If I say it’s flat.” Ben says venomously. “It’s flat.
He just about manages to get his words out, when shrill, loud whistles burst out from all different directions and suddenly neither of them really know what’s going on, except for the fact that the whole pub now seems to be staring at them. There’s a moment where there’s a silence of anticipation and trepidation and then an unrecognisable voice comes from the other side of the room, a loud “Go on then, kiss!” booms over them and suddenly everything just makes sense.
Ben looks up and sees the mistletoe hanging directly above them, and when he looks down at Callum again, his hold on Callum’s shirt loosens just a little bit, though it still remains as a bundle in his fist. He looks at Callum, and the tension between them is palpable. A grin grows on Callum’s face, knowing in his heart of hearts that there’s no chance of Ben even thinking about going there.
Except. He does.
And it knocks Callum for six.
Ben kisses Callum as if his life depends on it, all heat and passion and it’s fueled by hatred and annoyance and for some unknown reason - it’s the best kiss of Callum’s life. The scent of Ben’s aftershave is intoxicating and the touch of Ben’s lips against Callum’s is everything and more. Callum falls back, his feet firmly rooted to the ground in shock and he’s got a tingly sensation in his stomach, one that matches the tingling numbness of his lips. His eyes are still shut, trying to control his thoughts, and when he eventually manages to open them again, Ben’s nowhere to be seen. His cheeks are bright red and most people have reignited their own conversations, completely ignoring what’s just happened. It’s weird. Life goes on for everyone else, yet Callum just keeps replaying the kiss around and around in his mind, the feel of Ben’s lips still so prominent on his own.
He’s still thinking about it an hour or so later when he’s walking home, the street lamps lighting up his way, frost building in the darkness. Swirls of his breath are visible in front of him and his hands are numb from the cold. Snowflakes fall around him, creating a white sheet on the floor that his feet break up, creating an aimless pattern in the settling snow. He doesn’t think about his steps, just letting his feet guide his way, because his head is just full of Ben. Callum can’t stop thinking about Ben, Ben and his silly little smirk, Ben and his deep blue eyes that somehow changes from light to dark like the flick of a switch, Ben and how he kisses so perfectly, so mind blowingly.
He notices something when he gets closer to home though, someone sitting on Callum’s doorstep, face hidden in the darkness. It scares him for a moment, a chill falling down his spine, until he cautiously gets closer and realises who it actually is.
“Ben?” He calls out carefully, trying not to disturb him.
Callum steps towards his house, standing barely metres away from Ben now. Ben looks up, and there’s a shy smile on his face, one that Callum’s certain he’s never seen before. He stands up, softly groaning at the crack of his knees and then steps to the side, allowing Callum to move closer to the door to unlock it. There’s a momentary pause when the lock on the door clicks open, Callum opening the door just the tiniest bit. It’s almost enough to make Ben walk away without another word spoken, but then Callum breaks the silence. “Coming in?” He asks quietly.
Ben nods softly and steps inside after Callum.
“It’s freezing out there.” Callum says, taking his coat off and putting it on the coat stand in his hallway. “Do you want a hot chocolate? Or a tea? I think I’ve got some teabags somewhere.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Ben inquires, hooking his hands into his pockets as a way of trying to combat the awkwardness he’s feeling inside.
Callum chuckles and flicks the kettle on, even without an answer from Ben because he wants a hot chocolate himself. “Because I don’t hate you. I never have done. You just like to make my life completely difficult, but I’ve learnt to deal with that.” He explains, and for some reason, it feels nice to finally get this out in the open. They’re finally having a conversation, after so long of ignoring each other, after so long of never communicating. “Why are you here Ben? I thought it was you that hated me?”
There’s silence between them for a moment as Ben sighs and takes in Callum’s words, playing them over and over in his mind as he tries to think of what to say. How can he admit he doesn’t hate Callum, but in fact he feels the complete opposite? In the end, he just decides to shrug by way of trying to explain. “Don’t know.” He says. “There’s just something about you, that makes me want to get to know you more. I don’t hate you Callum.”
Ben looks all shy when he finishes speaking. He doesn’t know where to stand or where to put his hands. Callum smiles, understanding Ben’s words to him, because he feels that exact way too. He feels the pull towards Ben, like a magnetic force is bringing them together. Callum walks forward, slowly, and Ben moves too, in time with Callum. His back reaches the wall, and suddenly there’s nowhere else to move. Callum’s cornering him, and Ben’s not at all mad about it. Callum towers above him, and Ben can’t help but watch him with intrigue and lust, all thoughts of trying to breathe normally long forgotten. There’s a blush on his cheeks, a redness that’s creeping up to the tips of his ears, gradually getting more and more flame like until his ears are bright red. Ben notices the freckles that litter his cheeks, right across the bridge of his nose, and his eyes - God, his eyes - they’ve got flecks of green mixing in so swimmingly with the blue, all bright and perfect and his long and fluttery eyelashes just add to it.
Callum grins, and hooks his index finger under Ben’s chin, lifting his head up so that they’re both perfectly aligned together. He leans down and kisses him, soft and gentle and it really is perfect. Ben’s hands fly out of his pockets, letting his fingers grab at Callum’s waist, holding their bodies together, warmth against warmth. They kiss for longer this time, comfortable without the eyes of a million strangers watching them. Ben’s lips tingle at the pressure, but that leaves him begging for more. He pulls away for just a second, though they don’t entirely part, with their top lips still touching and their breaths hitting against one another. “Maybe it’ll be a good Christmas after all.” Ben comments, twirling Callum’s shirt around his fingers, finally touching Callum’s skin.
“Shut up.” Callum says, but there’s no heat to it at all, just complete and utter joy, and they soon go back to kissing.