Chapter Text
there's a rhythm in rush these days
where the lights don't move and the colors don't fade
leaves you empty with nothing but dreams
in a world gone shallow
in a world gone lean
“Is that the last of it, bruv?”
Stuart leans his palm against the wall at the top of the stairs, other hand braced as his hip. His bald head is shiny with sweat, shirt darkened under his arms with perspiration. Rainie has already given up and is flat on her back on the couch.
Callum chuckles to himself, claps Stuart’s shoulder. “That’s the last of it. Thanks, Stuart.”
“If the next time you want to move and it’s in the hottest bloody month of the year, I’m not volunteering,” Stuart complains. “August is off limits.”
Callum chuckles. “Thanks to you too, Rainie,” he calls in the lounge.
Rainie grunts and raises two thumbs up, Stuart waving his hand in exhausted dismissal, managing a smile. “All good. Just glad we got a room for you here. Our home’s your home now.”
Callum nods after a minute, hoping Stuart doesn’t take his hesitation personally. He tries to meet him with a smile in return, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
His older brother can be thick, but thankfully now’s not one of those times. “It’ll be okay,” Stuart says quietly, leaning in. “Bein’ in Walford can be a new start, a place for you to get back on your feet after everything that’s happened.”
Callum nods in agreement and when he doesn’t answer, Stuart presses on.
“Maybe meet a nice bloke at your new job? You never know, bruv,” he grins and Callum chuckles weakly, shaking his head.
“Last thing on my mind right now Stuart, literally the last thing.”
“I’m famished,” Callum hears Rainie call from the lounge, likely overhearing the uncomfortable turn their conversation had taken to trying to break the tension as she often did. “How about we get cleaned up and Callum can buy us that dinner he promised us for helping him move in?”
Grateful, Callum agrees. “Definitely. You get in the shower first Stuart, I’m surprised your stink hasn’t caused the dead downstairs to rise.”
With much grumbling, Stuart ambles into the bathroom. Callum passes Rainie on the way to his new bedroom, and he throws her a thankful nod. She winks back at him.
Closing the door behind him and leaning his back against it, Callum lets his eyes wander. A bed with no sheets, an empty bookcase, a dresser with drawers stacked on the floor, endless cardboard cartons. His entire life reduced to half a moving truck, and now all here within his sight. He suddenly doesn’t have the energy for any of it.
Callum takes a short lamp from under the windowsill and unwinds the cord from around its base, plugs it in next to his bed. Absent a bed frame or side tables, he opts to let it sit on the floor, tugging on the chain to turn it on. The corner of the bedroom is bathed in a soft yellow glow, a comforting feeling that Callum embraces as he fluffs his pillow and lays down on his mattress.
The lamp was on this side of the bed in his old flat, too. If Callum tunnelled his vision and blocked out everything else, he could almost pretend he was back there now. Pretend that things hadn’t changed, he hadn’t moved here mostly against his will, hadn’t left behind the last bits of his former life in an empty flat and a pair of keys on a tiled kitchen counter.
Callum closes his eyes and remembers, just for a moment, lets himself pretend things are back the way they used to be.
Mick and Linda Carter own the pub here, the Queen Victoria. They’re a lovely couple, loud and raucous in the friendliest of ways, and welcome Callum with a pair of big smiles when Stuart and Rainie introduce him.
“We’ll take proper care of you ‘ere, don’t you worry,” Mick promises him, slides a pint across the bar. “On the house. Welcome to Walford.”
Callum smiles at them, small but genuine, and takes the glass. “Cheers, Mick, Linda. Thanks.”
After dinner at the pub, Rainie complains to Stuart that it’s too early to go back home, she spent an hour getting ready, and she’s going to keep this night going, for fuck’s sake.
“Um —” Callum hears the possibility of even more time spent socialising when all his body and mind wants to do is crash face-first back onto that bare mattress, “I think I might just head home —”
“Absolutely not,” Stuart laughs, “If I’m stuck with this one drinkin’ and dancin’ all night then I need you for company.”
Rainie, not hearing any protest from Stuart, claps her hands and jumps up from her chair, dragging them out of the pub, Callum’s protests lost in her wake.
“You didn’t tell me the Prince Albert was a gay club, Stuart , ” Callum hisses over the loud din of disco music.
“Really, bruv? With a name like that, you couldn’t have worked it out in your big, fancy university degree-having brain?” He taps Callum’s skull with a thick finger for illustration.
“Stuart, I’m just not ready to —”
“Besides, you got somethin’ against this lot?” Stuart teases, moving aside the paper umbrella in his glass to take a big swig of the neon green drink. “Not like you to be so judgmental.”
Callum rolls his eyes and takes the beer Rainie passes him. “They’ve got the best drinks and the best music,” she says, leaning her elbows against the bar and eyeing the dancing crowd in front of her, mostly half-naked men. “And the best view.”
Stuart narrows his eyes at her and between them, Callum sighs into his palm.
It doesn’t matter though, because a Donna Summer track comes on the speakers and Rainie grips his hand, dragging him onto the dance floor. With a slosh of beer over his knuckles, Callum acts quick enough to grab Stuart’s arm in turn.
“If I’m going, you’re going,” Callum shouts over the music at Stuart.
He wouldn’t admit it publicly, but Callum has a good time. The dance music is loud and the house lights are low, strobes of pink and white and blue painting the dance floor in time with Donna’s voice — I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, she sings along to a synthy track of keyboards and drums and it’s nice to forget everything for a while.
Stuart’s disappeared by the fourth or fifth song but Rainie’s still there, half his size and twice as much energy, smiling at every guy that spins her around as they squeeze past her. She cheers when a six-foot guy in a cowboy hat and not much else puts a string of fake Hawaiian flowers around her neck.
“Callum, look! I got lei ’d!”
She’s grinning ear to ear and jumping along to the beat and he bursts out laughing. It bubbles up from his chest and he can’t help it.
Rainie looks pleased and he takes her hand and spins her around. It’s on her third revolution that she shoulders into someone, the guy lifting his drink to save it from going all down his front. Rainie clutches her lei.
“Sorry!” Callum and Rainie call at the same time to the guy, who just laughs and holds his free hand up.
“I’m all right,” he shouts over the music. “ I will survive, ” he winks, hand to his heart, singing along with the line in the song playing. He catches Callum’s eye with a glint and smiles.
It’s stupid to say that at that moment the music fades, that the lights go down, that everybody in the room disappears into nothing when Callum looks back. He’d deny it if anybody asked him. He’d take this secret to his grave.
“Stopping to say hello to me, Ben?” Rainie asks pointedly when Ben stands in their space a few seconds too long.
“Rainie,” Ben says pleasantly to her, unaffected by her tone and turning back to Callum. “I don’t know you, though. Ben Mitchell.”
His voice is nearly drowned by the music, but Callum hears him and takes the offered handshake. “Callum Highway.”
“What’s that?” Ben asks. He pulls Callum’s arm closer, tugs him down until they share the same space, Callum’s mouth near Ben’s ear.
“Callum,” he repeats. He feels bass in his chest, drums against his temples. The soft grip of Ben’s hand still in his, the other at his elbow. “Callum Highway.”
Ben pulls back, lets Callum’s hand fall between them. “Pleasure.”
The guy shuffles between Callum and Rainie, eyes locked up into Callum’s and unblinking. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile, and as he passes, Callum feels the drag of knuckles against his hip.
Callum doesn’t notice he’s stopped moving to the music, beer clutched in his fist as he watches Ben Mitchell’s back walk away from him. When he finally turns around, lifts his eyes to Rainie’s, she’s got a knowing look on her face.
“ No ,” she shouts over the music.
“ No ,” Stuart reiterates, back at the bar nursing another neon green martini. “Absolutely not.”
“You both are making a big deal out of nothing,” Callum says, taking another pull from his beer. “Besides, I know it’s probably going to come as a shock to you, but I’m actually a grown man that can make his own decisions. I even went to the army all by myself.”
Stuart pulls a fake shocked face, hand on his chest clutching where a string of pearls might lay and everything. When he drops it, he’s got a stern look on his face.
“You just got here. Don’t be getting mixed up with a Mitchell on your first night.”
“I don’t often agree with him, but he’s right,” Rainie chimes in. “Ben was gone for a long time, he ain’t even been back that long neither, and already he’s managed —”
He’s heard enough. Callum’s nice as they come but they’ve been picking all night and he’s worn out. He downs the last of the beer in his bottle and slams it on the bar behind him as his temper reaches a boiling point.
“You’re right Stuart, I just got here. I have a new job, a new place to live, a new life. Before everything that happened, I was somewhere else, happier and living my own life and now, I haven’t been here more than twenty-four hours and already you’re trying to control me. Why don’t you just stay out of it.”
It’s not a request. Stuart and Rainie wear a pair of shocked expressions at Callum’s outburst, but he barely notices. He gathers up his coat and tugs it on as he walks away, Bruv! and Callum, wait! behind him drowned out by frustratingly loud disco music.
When he pushes into the night air and rounds the corner, he doesn’t expect to hear his own name, clear as a bell and nearly knocking him over.
“Callum! Leaving already?”
Ben’s leaned against the club’s side wall, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. If Callum hadn’t looked up, he’d have run him over.
Callum zips up his coat and runs a hand frustratingly through his hair. After a pause, he answers. “Yeah, I’m… Long night.”
Ben waits a beat, locks his phone, slipping it into his pocket. “Walk?” he suggests, jerking his thumb down the road.
Ben’s chatty as they walk, always dialed somewhere between snarky sarcasm and fervent flirting. Callum hasn’t flirted with anybody in a year and a half, but he wasn’t born yesterday.
“You’re Stuart’s brother? Fucking hell, I see who got the good looks in the family.”
Callum chuckles, but Ben says it good-naturedly and he’s on to the next thing within seconds. Their conversation flows easy and effortless, like they’ve known each other for years, but Callum still feels the crackle of anticipation and newness. He feels it in the way Ben smiles with one corner of his mouth, glancing over at Callum as he talks and they walk in tandem. He feels it in the way Ben grabs his arm, pointing at a dog galloping across the road to its owner before the dog knocks his owner over and they have a shared laugh, sound echoing off the pavement. Ben leaves his hand a little too long at Callum’s elbow, lets his fingers brush past the bent joint there again, and Callum thinks of the club and knuckles at his hip.
They pass a chip shop and the smell of frying potatoes and battered cod tauntingly wafts into Callum’s nose. His stomach suddenly growls loud and painful, and Ben stops in the middle of his sentence to stare.
“Not eaten in days, apparently?” he asks. Callum points over Ben’s shoulder at the chip shop, bright white lights from the inside reflecting off the garish red tables and bright yellow chairs. Ben makes a half-growl half-cheer, grabbing Callum’s wrist and pulling him through the door.
They decide on three orders of cod and chips to split between them, and have a very heated argument about the pros and cons of curry sauce versus aioli. Callum brings up a ketchup/mayo combo he swears by and Ben looks at him like he’s suggested dipping his chips in human blood.
“We’ll take one of each of the sauces, too,” Callum amends their order, the cashier not answering as she types it into the till.
“We need to test them all,” Ben says, shrugging at the cashier like it’s obvious, who looks equal parts bored and annoyed. Callum starts to hand over his card to pay for half, woefully thinking of the state of his bank account having not yet started his job, but Ben shakes him off.
“You get the next one,” he says. And Callum feels it again, the crackle.
When their food comes out, steaming and smelling incredibly like the best combination of salt and hot oil, Callum and Ben take it outside to sit at an empty bench in the darkened square. It’s an unusually warm night, people still milling about on the road but it’s empty here in the park. They each sit at an end of the bench, feast laid out between them on flattened paper bags and sauces in open take away containers dotting the spread. They dig in without fanfare, too hungry to be polite.
“Ketchup and mayo mixed together,” Ben tuts disgustedly from around a mouthful of cod, watching Callum dip a handful of chips in his concoction. “This would never work out between us.”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” Callum says, raising an eyebrow.
“Ah, someone who likes to experiment. I’ll keep that in mind,” Ben retorts.
Callum chokes out a laugh before he can think the better of it, sees Ben grin into another bite of his fish.
Ben throws their wrappings away in a bin when they’ve absolutely decimated every last morsel, and makes a satisfying groan as he settles back down on the bench next to Callum. Arms up around the back and stretching, he sighs.
“That was delicious,” he says simply. Callum nods in agreement, settling against the back of the bench in parallel. The sounds of the square - distant laughing and far-away singing from jovial passerbys - permeate the surrounding trees slightly but don’t crack the bubble Ben and Callum have made for themselves. Out of the corner of his eye, Callum sees Ben reach into his coat pocket and produce a sizable flask. Callum turns to look and raises his eyebrows.
Ben just shrugs. “Never know if the barkeeps are going to be heavy-handed or stingy at the Albert, so I try to always bring my own.”
He knocks back a swig and offers it to Callum, who considers it a moment before shrugging and taking it. He mimics Ben’s gesture, letting the sharp liquid slide down his throat and light his insides on fire.
“Fuck’s sake,” Callum murmurs, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. Ben just grins and swipes the cool metal out of his hands.
A tone from Callum’s pocket breaks their companionable silence, and he wipes off his greasy fingers with a napkin to check his phone.
“My brother,” Callum mumbles absently. He turns his phone over and sets it on the bench.
Ben rolls his eyes. “Ignore him. Drink up.”
He passes the flask to Callum again who takes another pull, face contorting in disgust when he swallows. “That’s poison ,” he croaks, Ben laughing loud at the sky.
“All the best whiskey is,” Ben remarks, taking it back. Callum turns over his phone again and types out a quick text.
I'm fine, just need some air. I’ll be back at the flat later, don’t wait up.
He locks it and flips the switch to silent, tucking it in the side pocket of his jacket. Ben catches his eye so Callum holds his hand out to get the flask passed back to him.
“That’s my boy!” Ben shouts, clapping him on the shoulder and using the excuse of handing over the drink to slide closer. Callum rolls his eyes and takes another drink. They sit together without comment for a few minutes, sipping at the metal flask in silence until it’s finished.
“You’re quite broody, you know?” Ben remarks, screwing the cap back on and sliding it into his pocket. He leans back a little, gets a better look at Callum and squints one eye shut. “You have that tall, dark, handsome thing going for you.”
“If you tell me I should smile more or something stupid like that, I swear to god I’ll punch you right off this bench.” Callum turns his head, inches from Ben’s face now.
“Whoa, whoa,” Ben holds up his hands in surrender, backs off again. “Funnily enough, tall, dark, and handsome happen to be my three favorite personality traits.” He counts them off on his fingers and then jabs one into Callum’s chest. “Guess you’re in luck, Callum Highway.”
Callum feels the corner of his mouth twitch, staring at Ben’s eyes. They twinkle mischievously under starlight, navy blue and framed by long eyelashes and deep laugh lines. Callum thinks of taking Ben’s hand, pulling it closer, kissing the starlight laid across his lips over and over again until he’s consumed by it.
The thought comes on so suddenly and so visceral that it makes him look away and huff a shuttered breath, a gust of air aimed down at the pavement between his shoes.
Ben notices. He pauses for a long time, takes a look at his watch. “Should we head back?”
Callum nods, unable to meet Ben’s eyes, forces a quick smile on his face and hopes it does the trick to smooth over the awkwardness. He snags his phone off the bench and puts it in his pocket as he stands.
They hadn’t walked far, so they make it back into town quickly. Callum is too mortified to say much of anything, embarrassed he’d not only let himself have that reaction but that he’d let himself have those feelings again. He’d come here promising he wouldn’t let anything get in the way of his starting over.
It’d be a long eighteen months, and he needed to move on.
“Listen, Callum,” Ben starts, and Callum had zoned out so much into his own head he hadn’t even realised they’d made it back to town. They stood in front of a house Callum hadn’t seen before and Ben had his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. Ben’s eyes find Callum’s and he nods his head towards the house. “No pressure but, would you want to come up?”
It happens quickly: Callum thinks of Chris. They’d been back from the army a few weeks and started texting, it’d taken Callum days to work up the nerve. Maybe what they’d had was just in the army, just for the two of them in the middle of the night outside of barracks when no one else was around. Impatient, frantic presses of lips and desert-dry hands exploring miles of sun-kissed skin with nothing but wilderness and a million stars to see them.
But things restarted like no time had passed at all. They met up for coffee in the afternoon and spent hours in a streetside cafe, talking about everything and nothing and so much they couldn’t have said under the watchful eyes of their commanders and troop-mates. Coffee turned into early dinner, drinks at two different pubs. Callum was intoxicated on it all, the ease of conversation, the heady freedom, the way Chris looked laughing, the way his cheeks pinked when Callum spoke, the way his voice got soft talking about his mum and his sister and how good it was to be back with them.
Callum remembers the end of that first night, outside Chris’ flat. Chris on a step and Callum on the pavement and how like that, their height difference was negligible as they saw eye to eye. He remembers Chris’ voice soft again, looking up into dark brown eyes and feeling his heart pound against his ribs, and do you want to come up? tentative in the margin between them. Callum had nodded, taken Chris’ proffered hand and followed him up the steps.
He hurts now, most of the time, most everywhere. His head, his heart, his body. Fatigue pulls him in all directions and some days it’s hard to find the light, hard to crawl out of. Callum doesn’t know how this will end, or if it ever will.
But Callum looks into Ben’s eyes, kind and rounded and patient and doesn’t think Stuart or Rainie knew what they were talking about when they told him to avoid Ben.
He can’t smile yet, but he nods and takes Ben’s hand. “Sure.”