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1. October 2019
“Tell me about Paul.”
The words blurt out before Callum can stop himself. They drop like heavy stones into the warm, post-coital calm the pair of them have gathered around themselves, shattering the peace. Callum winces as the question falls harsh on his own ears, let alone Ben’s.
Ben doesn’t react, though he does shift his head an inch or two from where he’s using Callum’s stomach as a pillow, one arm flung lightly across Callum’s thighs.
Callum hadn’t intended to drop the heavy stuff into the conversation, hadn’t actually meant to interrupt their cosy silence at all. But Ben keeps so much of himself hidden, locked away where it can’t be seen, and it’s beginning to needle at Callum’s natural curiosity.
This is the first time they’ve been together here in the flat above the undertakers since this thing between them properly started just a week or two ago, and the question has been sitting heavy in Callum’s heart. He’s kicked Stuart back out of the big bedroom so that Ben wouldn’t have to spend the night surrounded by ghosts, but it hasn’t banished them from Callum’s own head.
He knows nothing about Paul, or next to nothing; he lived, he died, his grandparents own this funeral parlour. That’s it.
He doesn’t know that much more about Ben if Callum’s honest with himself. He knows the big stuff; alcoholic father, absent mother, dead boyfriend, adored daughter, the years in prison. And he knows the other stuff; the way Callum’s heart shifts when Ben fights back that shy smile he hides from everyone else, the way Ben looks at him like he’s the only person in the room, the way he can make Callum fall apart with nimble fingers and just a swipe of his tongue.
But everything else in between is still a blank slate. His favourite films. How he takes his tea. How he really feels about his mother’s disappearing act. How much of the sarcastic, wise-cracking Ben is really Ben and how much is the protective armour he wears.
And Paul. The spectre hanging over them, here in this flat, but one that Callum can’t picture, knows nothing about. Maybe it’s all in his own head. Ben hasn’t said a word on the subject. He walked into this flat where he hadn’t set foot since that housewarming party all those months ago with a smile on his face and a joke on his lips as though it was any flat in the world.
Callum begins to panic at Ben’s silence, the anxiety rising up from his gut until it lodges in his throat. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“You don’t need to...I didn’t mean to pry, sorry, you don’t need to answer. Ignore me, sorry...”
“Callum.” Ben’s voice is soft and amused, warm breath against naked skin. “Relax. It’s fine.”
Callum chuckles automatically, his heart still hammering. But it begins to slow down again as the moment stretches out, Ben still sprawled in the same lazy position, showing no inclination to untangle himself and run away from Callum’s terminal foot-in-mouth condition. Callum raises his hand and gently caresses Ben’s head, neck, shoulders; repeating the motion over and over, trying to convey through touch some of what he’s nowhere near to admitting out loud.
Eventually: “What do you want to know?” Ben sounds quiet, uncertain. But it’s a start, and Callum lets out a relieved sigh.
“Anything you want to tell me. You don’t have to or anything, I just...he was a big part of your life, right?”
“He was,” says Ben, so softly Callum has to strain to hear him.
“What was he like?” There’s silence from the head nestled against his torso and Callum starts to worry again. He stills his hand. “Forget it, I didn’t mean to...”
“No, it’s okay. He was...nice.”
It could have been a harsh assessment, ‘nice’ implying boring, dull, not much to say; but there’s a warmth in Ben’s voice that gives a different meaning to the word.
“Kind. Funny. He had a filthy sense of humour,” Ben adds with a chuckle that sounds fairly dirty in itself. “He cared about things, you know? Got passionate about stuff. Saw the best in people. Bit like you in that way.”
Ben finally raises his head at that, pushing himself up on his elbows with a smile on his lips and meeting Callum’s eyes for the first time since this conversation started.
“Really?” says Callum, matching smile for smile.
“Don’t get me wrong, you didn’t have much else in common, but...yeah. The way you always look for the best in people reminds me a bit of him.” Hauling himself up the bed until his head lands on the pillow next to Callum’s, Ben flops down onto his back to stare at the ceiling. His voice is quiet again as he adds, “But I guess I need that, don’t I?”
Callum wants to push back on that, push Ben to talk to him about whatever’s underlying that statement. But this thing between them is all too new and uncertain, not even earned the title of relationship yet. He’s not sure he has that right yet to ask those kinds of questions.
Instead he asks, “How long were you together?”
“Now that is a complicated question without an easy answer,” says Ben, the humour back in his voice. “You think your coming out was messed up, babe, you ain’t heard nothing yet.”
He’s still lying on his back, eyes fixed firmly skyward, hands loosely linked across his chest. So Callum scoots closer, reaches out and takes one of those hands into his own, squeezing gently.
“So tell me.”
“It’s a long story. And...” Ben pauses again, the silence dragging out before he finally admits, “I don’t exactly come off looking like a hero.”
“Tell me,” Callum insists. He nestles his head into Ben’s shoulder, drops a kiss to his collarbone. “I want to know.”
“Okay. Well. You’ve got to understand, when I came out of prison the second time round, I was so determined to fix everything, to like...wipe away everything that had gone before, you know? And I mean everything...”
Callum closes his eyes as Ben starts to talk, letting the words wash over him. He has no fear of falling asleep, despite how late it is, because Ben’s opening up again, finally revealing just a little more of himself, and that’s something he could never get bored of hearing.
2. February 2020
“Do you want to talk about it?”
His voice automatically comes out as a whisper in the darkness. For one long moment Callum isn’t sure if Ben even heard him, perhaps still lost in his nightmare. But his breathing sounds almost back to normal and he’s stopped moving now, peaceful in the bed next to Callum.
“Go back to sleep, babe.” It’s a clear dismissal, but Callum chooses to ignore it.
“Was it about Keanu?” he persists. “You were talking in your sleep. Something about not wanting to go back to prison.”
There’s another long pause before Ben answers. But Callum waits, more sure in himself, in them these days. He knows Ben’s told him everything, finally; not just the full truth about what happened before Christmas but the guilt and the fear that’s haunted him ever since.
Callum knows it’s not the first nightmare about Keanu that Ben’s had, they’ve talked about that too, but it’s the first one he’s had since they got back together. Or at least the first time it’s been bad enough to wake Callum up, Ben shouting and flailing beside him, twisting under the duvet like he was trying to break free.
Callum knows, if he stops to think about it logically, that the worst is behind them. It must be. Keanu is dead, the police have stopped asking questions, Ben has finally opened up to him about everything he’s done. But that didn’t stop the absolute terror that gripped him when he woke up to the sound of Ben’s frenzied shouts, hearing the pain in his voice.
Eventually, a small voice floats out of the darkness.
“Heather.”
“Oh.” Callum doesn’t know how to respond to that.
“I dreamt...I was back in the flat. On that night.” Ben says it slowly, word by word, as though he’s fighting the urge to stop talking with every breath. Perhaps he is. It’s not a subject he’s ever spoken about to Callum before. “Me and Jay were there, and Dad bursting through the door...but...”
Ben lets out a shaky breath, almost a laugh.
“When I looked down, it was Keanu lying there, and baby Peggy screaming her head off in the next room, not George. Don’t need a shrink for that one, do I?”
The final sentence comes out in a much more Ben-like voice, dripping with familiar sarcasm, and Callum has not the faintest idea what to say.
“Ben...” He stops there, no other words springing to mind. What is he supposed to say? ‘It’s not your fault’? It would be a lie and a pointless one. ‘You’re not a killer’? He’s tried that one before. There’s no more chance of Ben believing it now than there was then.
Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he can see Ben is turned away from him, his body closed off. Callum reaches out a hand, wanting to touch him. Wanting to do something. But he pulls it back, suddenly unsure.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” Ben says, his voice flat. “Nothing new to say.”
“I don’t mean Keanu. You’ve never really told me about Heather. What happened.”
“Not really a lot new to say there either,” Ben says, and if Callum was a different person he’d maybe pay more attention to the warning note. “Google it if you’re nosy. It was all in the press at the time, you’ll find all the gory details.”
“I didn’t mean like that. I just meant...” Callum trails off. He still doesn’t know how to get Ben to open up to him when he gets like this. It’s all he ever wants. They’ve come so far in the last few weeks, surely they’re in a different place now? “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? About what happened with Heather, about prison, what it was like...anything.”
There’s silence again.
“Maybe there’s some things you’re better off not knowing,” says Ben, but his voice has changed. There’s a fragility to it now. He’s almost whispering, as though it costs him something to say it too loudly. “Maybe I don’t want you thinking of me like that.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Ben. I want to know.”
“Not tonight.” But Ben counters the harshness of the words by rolling over and reaching out, gently touching Callum’s face with his hand. “Let’s get some sleep.”
“Ben...”
“Just not right now, please.” In the dim light that indicates dawn is on its way, there’s the oddest expression on his face as though he could break into a smile or tears at any moment. “But...maybe one day, yeah? Promise.”
3. May 2021
“Ben?” He has to repeat the name before Ben turns to look at him, quiet on the other end of the sofa. “Talk to me. You okay?”
They’re finally alone, after all the chaos of the aborted wedding reception and the quieter, family chaos back at the house. Vi had ignored all hints about how maybe she should be thinking about getting home, announcing that after all the shocks and drama of the evening the only thing for it was a cup of tea at the Mitchell house and had promptly set off in that direction, trailed by a sheepish Stuart. They’d barely boiled the kettle when Lexi had run downstairs, woken up by the commotion, and had resisted all attempts to get her back to bed, insisting on recreating a vague approximation of the wedding vows for Lola’s benefit.
Part of Callum was loving it if he was honest with himself. It was the kind of warm, family chaos that he’d never really had growing up, though he’d caught glimpses of it whenever he’d visited the Carters. Even though tonight wasn’t exactly uncomplicated or carefree, with Phil missing, no word on how Kat was doing, and the looming threat of what, exactly, Phil might do when he returned; still, there was something warm and wholesome about the scene. All of them sat around drinking mugs of tea, massaging tired feet, watching an eight-year-old in Frozen pyjamas mime throwing confetti.
Ben, though, seemed quieter than usual; and as the noise and laughter continued, he’d got quieter and quieter still, until Callum threw a pleading look at Lola who’d taken the hint and bundled a protesting Lexi back upstairs to bed. They’d managed to get rid of Vi and Stuart not long after and now, finally, they were alone.
Completely alone for the first time in days, actually. Since the day Callum had stormed into the kitchen and told Ben he’d be waiting at the registry office for him come what may. With everything that had happened in between, they’re both being oddly quiet, almost shy as they sit at opposite ends of the sofa.
“Are you okay?” Callum repeats, not getting an answer the first time.
Ben gives him a tired smile. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“What do you mean?”
“That car came awfully close, Cal.”
“Ben, I told you before, I’m fine. I’m not going anywhere.”
In one of those abrupt changes of mood that Callum’s used to now but never totally prepared for, Ben suddenly grins. “Hmm. I’m just wondering whether you’re actually cursed when it comes to weddings. I thought my family was bad, but first the nutter with the gun and now the maniac with the car...”
“Yeah.” Callum lets out a long breath. “God, I hope Kat’s okay. You heard from your Dad at all?”
“Nope,” says Ben pointedly, popping the P. They’re both quiet for a minute, not looking at each other, thoughts probably running along the same lines. Ben proves it a moment later when he says, “Dad’ll come round.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. He has to.” Ben shifts on the sofa, moving himself closer to Callum. “You’re family now.” He picks up Callum’s left hand in both of his, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over the shiny silver of his wedding ring.
Callum knows he should probably leave it there, but he can’t help but push, needing to know. “And you and me...we’re okay?”
“Wow,” says Ben, clutching his heart in mock outrage. “Okay. All that effort I put into my wedding vows – off the cuff, you’ll notice, didn’t have my prepared ones or anything, and you weren’t even listening. I’m offended.”
“Ben...”
“Don’t worry. We’re fine.”
“We should probably talk though, about everything. I’m so, so sorry I kept it from you...”
“Cal, can we not? Clean slate. New start. First day of the rest of our lives and all the other cliches.” Ben waves an airy hand as he says it. There’s a smile on his face but it’s not quite meeting his eyes.
“And your dad?”
“Leave dad to me. Tell you what, if he don’t come back tonight, we’ll get up first thing and go to the hospital, see if he’s okay, all right?”
“What about our flight?”
“We’ll get a later one. Worth it if it stops you from stressing. Just...” Ben holds up one hand, palm out, with mischief in his eyes. “Maybe don’t ask where the money comes from, officer.”
Callum snorts with slightly shocked laughter. “I should have put that in my vows. ‘I promise never to ask where the money comes from.’”
It’s their usual banter, falling back into old familiar patterns, but something still feels off. Perhaps it’s just Phil lurking at the back of their minds, or perhaps it’s not being able to totally relax when they still don’t know if Kat’s okay. Perhaps Callum’s imagining the oddness altogether, exhausted and emotional after the longest of days.
As if reading his mind, Ben squeezes his hands one more time before saying, “Right, don’t know about you, but it’s been a very long day and I am more than ready for bed.”
Ah. Okay. Callum knew this moment would come eventually, but as always, he’s never quite sure how to raise the subject. “Ben, I know it’s our wedding night but...with everything...”
Ben looks at him in confusion, then starts to laugh. “Cal, you are the sexiest man of my acquaintance, and I promise I will always, always fancy you, but I’ve never felt less like having sex in my life. We’ve got two weeks in Majorca for all that. I just want some sleep.”
“Me too. I, uh, ain’t really slept, last few nights,” he admits softly.
“I’m not surprised, I remember the sofa at your brother’s. Like trying to sleep on the back of a camel, all them lumps and bumps. And you probably had to listen to Stuart and Rainie’s weird sex games all night and all...”
“Ben,” says Callum firmly, squeezing his hand until Ben stops and looks at him. “You know why I couldn’t sleep.”
Ben rubs his forehead with one hand, a shy smile on his face. “Yeah. Me either. So, sex may be off the table right now but I wouldn’t say no to a cuddle?”
Callum beams with relief and opens his arms in invitation. He presses kisses to the side of Ben’s head as Ben settles himself against him, curled into his side like a cat seeking warmth.
Ben reaches up and flicks the tie still hanging open around Callum’s neck.
“Love the look, by the way. Very Rat Pack.”
“Very what?” says Callum, genuinely confused.
“Did I ever tell you,” says Ben, ignoring the question and yawning widely, “I used to have a bit of a thing for Frank Sinatra? Don’t look at me like that, not when he was old and jowly and singing about New York, I mean when he was young and fit and went in for the whole loose collar, undone tie thing. It’s hot.” He twists the end of Callum’s tie around his fist and smirks up at him, and even though Callum has not the tiniest scrap of energy left in him to even think about having sex tonight, heat still sparks in his lower belly and he shifts on the sofa.
“Two years and I’m still learning new things about you.” He says it with a smile, but Ben’s reaction is odd, blinking and looking away as if uncertain. Callum quickly rushes to add, “It’s a good thing.”
“Yeah.” Ben’s voice is hoarse, whether from tiredness or emotion Callum isn’t sure. “No more secrets, yeah?”
“No more secrets.”
4. December 2021
“Tell me something,” says Callum lazily, sprawled across the bed and watching Ben enter the room from the corner of his eye. “Would you really have gone through with it?”
It’s probably not the moment to ask, which is most likely why Ben doesn’t answer beyond a ‘hmm?’, a confused frown on his face as he leans over the bed to hand Callum his glass of water.
This is the part that nobody would believe if Callum felt any inclination at all to ever talk to other people about their sex life; the way his spiky, prickly, hot-headed husband always takes care of him afterwards, always the first to clean them both up and to fetch drinks or food. Always gentle and careful making sure Callum’s safe and happy and well cared for, while Callum himself is still usually a useless, boneless puddle of bliss.
Callum scoots over, sitting up and letting Ben snuggle in beside him in the single bed, his own glass of water in hand. The fabric of Ben’s T-shirt sticks against his sweat-soaked skin. Ben had thrown some clothes on to fetch their drinks, well aware of Stuart’s feelings about bumping into mostly-naked men on his way to take a piss in the middle of the night.
And isn’t that something else an outsider would probably never believe. Ben could happily throw five insults at Stuart or Rainie before breakfast, but would also rearrange his own life to suit them without comment or complaint.
“That guy tonight, in the bar,” Callum clarifies once they’re settled. “The, uh, threesome. Would you have gone through with it?” He can feel himself blushing as he stumbles over the word, heat flooding his cheeks at the memory of the conversation in the Albert.
“Ah, him,” says Ben, his voice neutral, not giving anything away. “If that’s what you’d wanted.”
“But it weren’t what you wanted.” It’s somewhere halfway between a statement and a question, uncertainty beginning to creep back in.
Ben snorts quietly into his glass, clearly taking a drink as a delaying tactic before balancing the glass on the bedside table and twisting round to look Callum in the eye. His lips twitch into a half smile before he speaks.
“I am a selfish prick, and I want you all to myself, always. But if you wanted to...explore a bit, try something new...I don’t want to be the person holding you back.”
“‘Holding me back?’” Callum repeats in genuine confusion. “Ben...you’re my husband. I chose you. I told you that, right back at the beginning – do you remember? When you tried to push me away and told me to go sow some oats or something. I ain’t like that. I ain’t looking anywhere else, ever. I thought you knew that.”
“I did. I do. I just... I saw your face, babe, when we were talking about body counts and that, and when we ran into that old hook up of mine and you got...I dunno, all wistful, like you’d missed out...and then that guy who gave you his number...”
“I explained about that!” says Callum, indignant and frustrated.
“I know,” Ben says. To his credit, he sounds as if he means it, his soft smile widening. “I just...I got scared, okay? I love that I’m the only bloke you’ve ever been with, I do.” He reaches out, taking one of Callum’s hands in his. Callum takes it with relief, interlacing their fingers together.
“You’ve no idea how special that feels,” Ben goes on in a softer voice. “But I’ll probably always be a bit scared, babe. I can’t help it. There’ll always be that voice at the back of my head saying that one day you’ll look around and see what else is out there and wonder why you shackled yourself to me. I am trying though,” he adds with a familiar, very Ben-like grin.
“Mm.” Callum tries to keep a straight face and doesn’t care at all if he’s failing. “Very trying.”
“Oh, really?” says Ben, in full delighted teasing mode now. “Let’s talk about you for a minute, shall we? Going over to that poor guy tonight with your big blue eyes, inviting him to have a drink with us, letting him think his luck’s in, then coming over all Mary Whitehouse with the vapours at the very thought. There’s a word for people like you, Cal, and it ain’t a nice one.”
Callum pulls his hands away so he can throw them into the air, Ben openly laughing now. “I was just trying to be friendly! It’s nice to meet new people, it doesn’t always mean you want to have sex with them!”
“Oh babe.” Ben’s eyes are soft as he smiles up at his long-suffering husband, lips still twitching. “I really love that you think that. Okay, pro tip for you – you want to meet people, can I suggest a queer book club or a football team or something? Because a hot, single bloke sitting on his own in a gay bar, approached by someone who looks like you, is only ever going to have one thing on his mind. Trust me.”
“There are queer football teams?” says Callum in surprise, picking up on perhaps the wrong part of this speech.
“I dunno, probably? Just cos I ain’t the joining in sort doesn’t mean you can’t be, there must be something like that out there.”
Ben turns himself around again, taking hold of Callum’s arms and pulling them this way and that until they’re arranged around him to his satisfaction, the pair of them spooned together in the narrow bed. Then he starts to laugh; not his teasing chuckle from earlier, but a full, shoulder-shaking, belly laugh.
“I’m sorry, I’m just thinking about all the hundreds of poor blokes – poor girls too for that matter – who’ve probably given you the eye over the years, and you honestly thought they were just being friendly. Poor sods.”
“Yes, all right,” says Callum, rolling his eyes even though Ben can’t see him. “Lucky for you, eh?”
There’s a pause before Ben answers, warm and soft. “Yeah. Luckiest bloke in the world.”
5. April 2022
“Just tell me where you were!”
Ben pauses from where he’s pouring himself a glass of water in the kitchen. His gait was a little unsteady entering the flat and he’s moving in the slow, careful way of the drunk, but his voice is clear enough when he finally speaks.
“Sorry, mother, wasn’t aware I was on a curfew.”
“Don’t do that,” snaps Callum, the worry of the last few hours and the relief when Ben finally came home turning into anger, flashing up red-hot out of nowhere and consuming all his thoughts. He gets off the airbed – not without a bit of difficulty, his legs tangled in the duvet – and stands up so he can confront Ben directly in the dark flat, hissing his words in an attempt not to wake any of the other residents.
“I was worried about you, Ben! I didn’t know where you were and you weren’t answering my texts. Do you remember what you said, a few weeks ago? About how every time you text me and don’t get a reply, you worry that something’s happened to me?”
That gets a response, Ben’s head snapping up before he narrows his eyes, head tilted to one side. “That’s you finally agreeing it’s not safe out there for us, is it?”
It takes a moment for realisation to dawn. Then Callum laughs, the sound bitter and grating on his own ears. “Is that what this is about? Why you’re avoiding me, not talking to me? I thought we were past this!”
“We are!” snaps back Ben. Then it’s as if all the air goes out of him and he’s suddenly smaller, younger, deflated.
“We are,” he repeats quietly. He fixes a smile on his face, though it’s not exactly convincing. “It’s all good. Everything’s fine, I just...fancied a drink and lost track of time. Anyway, I thought you were hanging out with Stuart tonight, a bit of brother time.”
It’s a clear attempt to change the subject and deflect from whatever’s really going on, but the anger’s ebbing out of Callum already, leaving a bit of shame in its wake. Now that he thinks about it he probably was overreacting a bit, they’d made no plans to spend the evening together.
“I was,” says Callum. “He went to bed four hours ago, Ben. You know he’s knackered from the chemo. I could have really done with talking to you about it all, you know?” His voice cracks on the last few words, all the strain and stress of worrying about Stuart threatening to overwhelm him again. He doesn’t need the added stress of worrying about Ben as well; but something’s still not right, hasn’t been since the attack in January, and he has absolutely no idea what to do about it to get Ben back to his normal self.
Ben rubs a hand over his face, looking guilty. There’s something odd about the familiar gesture though and it takes a moment for Callum to realise he used the wrong hand. His right arm is tucked awkwardly against his side as though he’s been injured, and Callum forgets what they were talking about, zeroing in on it.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“What?” says Ben as if confused, then looks down at his own arm. “Oh...no, it’s fine. I tripped over earlier, must have landed on it funny. It’ll wear off.”
“Are you sure? Do you want me to take a look--”
“No, really, it’s fine.” Ben walks towards him, left hand held out, his face worried. “I’m so sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you. I knew you were out with Stuart tonight and I didn’t really fancy an evening in with Vi making digs and Roland screaming every five minutes so I went into town for a drink. I just didn’t realise how late it was getting, honest.”
No one could have resisted those sad eyes, and Callum had already forgotten about his anger a good five minutes ago. He pulls Ben towards him for a hug instead, wrapping his arms around his husband who relaxes into him with a sigh.
“I’m sorry. I overreacted. And you’re right. It’s getting too crowded in here. We really need to start looking for flats again, properly this time.”
“Agreed,” Ben says on an exhale, nuzzling his head into Callum’s shoulder.
“That’s why I’ve been doing all this overtime, we’ll need the extra for a deposit. But I feel like we’ve hardly seen each other recently, so I’ll dial it back a bit, yeah? We need some quality time.”
Ben pulls back so he can look at Callum, a smile finally back on his face. “I’m never gonna argue with that.”
“But...are you sure there’s nothing you’re not telling me?” says Callum, and the smile instantly vanishes, Ben shutting down again. “You’ve been so out of sorts lately. Please talk to me,” he pleads, and for one long heart thudding moment he thinks Ben might.
But no revelation comes. Instead, the smile reappears – or something resembling it, anyway – and Ben presses a quick kiss to his lips before stepping out of his embrace. “I promise, there’s nothing to tell.”
He starts to walk towards the bathroom and Callum calls after him, “It’s our wedding anniversary next month. Maybe we should plan something, eh? Give us something to look forward to.”
Ben stops in the middle of the room before turning on his heel and flashing that unnatural smile again.
“Why not?”
6. October 2022
“Do you want me to tell you about it?” says Ben.
He’s already in bed when Callum returns from the bathroom, his voice small and his eyes cast downwards, looking impossibly young and vulnerable in one of Callum’s t-shirts. It swamps him of course, hanging loose on his frame, and Callum’s heart stops at the sight of it.
Ben could have gone home of course, either to sleep or just to pick up some clothes from his mum’s house and come back to the flat, but for some reason neither of them had suggested it. They’ve not really left each other’s side for a moment since their rather dramatic reunion outside the front door earlier today. Well, not until just now anyway. When Callum had handed Ben a t-shirt and shorts to sleep in, and Ben had taken them and gone to get changed in the bathroom.
It had hurt. A stunningly painful crash back down to earth after the euphoria of the last few hours. Callum had been overwhelmed with joy at finally getting to touch Ben again, to hug and kiss him, to have Ben actually there in the moment with him once again after too many months apart. Ben had seemed one hundred percent on the same page, tears flowing just as freely, returning every hug with equal intensity.
And yet. He’d gone to the bathroom to change.
It had been a sobering reminder that they might be back together, but they weren’t back to the people they were before. Callum had promised himself over and over that if Ben had ever returned to him – and he’d never given up hope of it – that he wouldn’t push him when it came to intimacy, that he’d go as slow as Ben needed, never rushing him into trying to get back to how they used to be. But it’s one thing to believe it in theory, another to see the reality of Ben, of all people, feeling the need to hide his body from his own husband.
He'd hid his tears from Ben on his return to the room, and had rushed off to the bathroom to change his own clothes and to have a small weep. Then he’d dried his eyes, pulled himself together and given himself a stern talking to before returning to the bedroom.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Callum asks now, dumping his own bundle of clothes vaguely in the direction of the laundry basket to be dealt with in the morning.
Ben doesn’t answer directly, choosing instead to pick at the duvet, eyes still averted. It’s a far cry from his demeanour earlier in the evening; both the smiles and laughter and hugs and tears of their reunion, and his serious expression while they’d talked about Lola’s diagnosis and stepping up for Lexi.
“You must have questions,” he says instead, still not looking at Callum. “About...about Lewis, what happened. This summer. The drugs, the parties, the--” He stops himself, swallowing hard. “All of it.”
Callum moves to sit on the foot of the bed, keeping his distance and trying to keep his face as calm and reassuring as possible. “No? Not really. If you want to talk about it, Ben, we can. I’m here, I’ll listen. But...I know everything I need to know. And I’m sorry.” His voice cracks on the last words, as hard as he was trying to hide any emotion.
This seems to surprise Ben, his head jerking up with a frown. “What are you sorry for?”
“For...” Callum pauses, considering his next words carefully. “For what I said in the Vic the other night, about you not talking to me. I didn’t...that wasn’t fair. You don’t have to tell me anything, Ben, it’s up to you. And I’m so, so sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me.”
It’s not everything he wants to say. He wants to keep talking, to tell Ben about how he’s replayed every conversation they’ve had in the last few months in his head, how he’s sick with horror at remembering the times he thinks Ben was trying to tell him the truth and how he’d pushed him away with harsh words, lost in his own hurt and grief. He wants to talk to Ben about his own part in the relationship breakdown that had pushed Ben towards Lewis in the first place, the mistakes he thinks he made, how much he wishes he could go back and handle everything differently.
But Ben doesn’t need to hear it. Not right now. So Callum stays silent, watching Ben’s face.
He looks confused, as though he doesn’t know what Callum means.
“You ain’t done nothing to apologise for. I mean, you were right, weren’t you? This last year...I’ve kept stuff from you. If I hadn’t...” He trails off, his meaning obvious.
Callum bites his tongue, wanting to argue but stopping himself. He’s not even sure how to put most of what he wants to say into words anyway. Instead, he settles for:
“It don’t matter. None of that matters now. We don’t have to talk about any of it right now, or not ever if you don’t want to. Do you want to?” he asks again, quiet but sure of himself.
Ben shakes his head. “Not really. Not tonight. He’s in here, you know?” he says, pointing to the side of his head. “Lewis. I don’t want him in here” – he waggles a finger back and forth to indicate the space between the two of them on the bed – “as well.”
“Why don’t we just...sit? Just be together. Nothing else.”
Ben exhales slowly, his eyes suspiciously bright, and manages a smile. “I’d like that.”
They get themselves ready for sleep in silence, Callum sliding gently under the covers on the other side of the bed away from Ben, leaving as much distance between them as he can. Ben plumps his pillows and unclips his sound processor from the side of his head, laying it carefully down on the bedside table. The sight of it does something funny to Callum’s heart. He’d furnished this flat while sunk in a black pit of despair; but he’d still bought a pair of matching bedside tables for this bed. Hand on heart, he honestly couldn’t say whether he’d bought them in the hope that it would be Ben sharing this bed with him one day again or not.
“Could I...?” says Ben into the air between them, and it takes a moment for Callum to realise what he’s asking.
He nods, throat too tight to speak, and holds out an arm in silent invitation. A moment later, they’ve met in the middle of the bed, Ben curled against Callum’s torso with arms wrapped around each other and Ben’s head nestled into that space between neck and shoulder where he’s always fit so perfectly.
They lie there in quiet, comfortable silence, one minute stretching into the next, feeling the warmth of each other’s bodies again, skin gently brushing against skin, heartrates slowing down. Feeling at peace for the first time in months.
“I’m not...” whispers Ben. “I’m not ready for...not yet. But I will be.”
Callum shushes him, dropping kisses into his hair in reassurance, gently running a hand down his back in a soothing gesture.
“I missed this,” Ben murmurs, so quiet Callum’s not totally sure he didn’t imagine it.
Me too, he thinks. He kisses Ben’s forehead again; a silent promise that this time things will be different.