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I can do this, thinks Ben as he joins the group. Bobby’s proud face, pale in the darkness, Stacey handing him a drink, Martin grinning at him like they’re old friends instead of old enemies.
Treating Ben like he’s one of them, part of this community, a real person.
(Fake it ‘til you make it)
Callum’s hand reaches out for his, face all joyful excitement, fingers cold where they curl around Ben’s and squeeze. The other hand, holding his beer, is bare, naked without the band of silver. Perhaps he thinks Ben hasn’t noticed. Perhaps he’s forgotten to put it back on.
Perhaps he’ll never put it back on.
It doesn’t matter. It’s Ben’s fault anyway.
(You and Callum fell out? What have you done this time?)
The music is too loud, Kim’s cackle piercing his ears. Faces looming up suddenly in the darkness, making him jump, bright flashes of colour in the corners of his eyes. Sharp thoughts in his head, shifting and screaming to be heard.
(Don’t let him go)
Callum grabs his hand, pulls him behind the Albert to kiss him deep and slow next to the bins. Rough brickwork scrapes at Ben’s back, pulls at his hoodie, keeps him tethered in place while he gasps for breath.
“I love you.” Callum’s hands are cupping his face, warm sunshine for Ben to bask in. The night is cold but Callum is always warm. Ben reaches out and grasps, turning his face to the sun.
He should say it back. He should always say it back.
(I opened up to you, Ben! You love me too, don’t ya?)
“I’m sorry,” Ben says instead. “About Stuart.”
A cloud, then, to blot out the sunlight, a few drops of rain shimmering in the blue. But it passes quickly, it always does.
(Most mornings I open my eyes and I just wanna scream until bedtime)
“We’ll find him.” Callum’s voice is strong, secure, and Ben wonders again where it comes from. “But you’re...you’re with me on this now, right?”
Ben nods. No words, but still a promise.
He’s good at promises. He promised Stacey he would fix her van. He promised Phil he would murder for him. He promised Stella he could keep secrets.
He promised Callum ‘til death do us part, once.
(You scared, Benny boy? You gonna wet yourself again, little deaf boy? Freak)
They fall up the stairs into the parlour flat together long past midnight, laughing, giggling, touching like this is new all over again.
(Fake it ‘til you make it)
Ben stops at the top of the stairs, Callum’s warm mouth on his neck. “Rainie...”
“Hmm?” Callum breaks away, voice slurred. “Oh...she’ll be dead to the world.”
Callum’s a happy drunk, always, full of love and loud with it. Ben’s always been a silent drunk. Alcohol numbs the senses, turns the volume down, smooths the jagged edges of Ben’s thoughts.
“Don’t worry. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”
Ben nods. Of course.
(Fake it ‘til you make it. Don’t let him go)
I can do this, Ben thinks as they fall into the bedroom, shushing each other with the exaggerated caution of the drunk.
I know how to do this, Ben thinks as he uses teeth and tongue and every trick he has to bring Callum to the brink beneath him, face flushed and eyes looking at him full of love as they roll together in an old, familiar dance.
I should know how to do this, Ben thinks as Callum pulls him close, skin to skin, placing damp, open-mouthed kisses in his hair.
“You can be such an idiot sometimes,” slurs Callum happily, sated and sleepy, one large hand stroking up and down Ben’s spine as they curl around each other. The other hand is still naked. Ben wonders if he threw the ring away. “But I love you anyway.”
Idiot. Ben can’t argue with that.
(Idiot. Sissy. Freak.)
He clutches at Callum like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. He wishes he could see the shore through the fog in his head.
(You going to cry, little Benny boy? You going to cry for your dead mum?)
Fake it ‘til you make it though. He can do that.
I can do this, he thinks, staring at the bedroom door through the gloom, Callum’s gentle snores tickling the hair on the top of his head.
I can do this.