Chapter Text
During the time of light and colour, on one of those occasions their bodies lay sated and naked next to each other, he asked Ben a question.
Their legs were tangled, and their bodies so close that they didn’t know where the other ended and they began. They just lay there for hours as the soft glow danced through the open curtains. They were one in body, in heart, in mind and in soul. Callum would do this sometimes. Look at Ben as though he was the only person in the world that captured his interest. As though the words that fell from Ben’s lips were the only ones that mattered in that existence.
That’s when Ben felt whole, more than any other time in his life. He was with his missing half, and when they were together in every way imaginable, like those moments, he understood what it was like to feel complete and he knew Callum did too. He made sure Ben knew. He made Ben believe.
“Are you happy?” Callum had asked. Ben had considered the question, rubbing the back of his nails gently down the man’s thigh, pressing kisses softly to his shoulder, as Callum smiled contently at him, the blush in his cheeks still tinging blossom pink from their movements together. He felt so warm, the ice of the air around them disappearing and soaking up their shared heat, as though they could colour the world.
Ben never had been in the past. Never had been happy, even those times he didn’t know it. This feeling he had racing through him though, that had all started months ago and never yet faded. All because of one choice.
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The air was mild as he rolled down the window slightly, not warm enough for the convertible roof to come off, but stifling enough to need the light breeze that gently stroked in through the gap in the glass.
London always seemed to call Ben back, no matter how far he ran away. He was in his early thirties now and he still kept coming back like a homing pigeon. The lushness of the countryside started to scatter from view, the trees and fields becoming sparser and soon the only greenery in view was the pea green front bonnet of Ben’s car.
As the bright turned into the grey and the colour into tea stained brown, Ben wondered why he was even here. There wasn’t joy in his heart as he headed towards the city. Not just because of what happened the last time he was here two years ago. He’d grown from that, picked himself up and got on with his life. Never showing his pain. He was never allowed to show his pain.
It was like a call though, a bluebird song in the dawn that got him back on the path here. It seemed to get louder the closer he got. A secret siren beckoning him. He just didn’t know why. Perhaps things would be different; this time, this place, maybe he could find what he was looking for deep down. The fairytale that other people seemed to get. If they can, why couldn’t he?
Or perhaps this time would be like all the rest, like every other place he ran, and his whole soul would be pushed and bounced and hit like a pinball, ricocheting up and down constantly, waiting for the next hit, or to fall down a dark hole into an abyss.
As Ben reached the junction, he squinted up at the signs ahead. The letters of Walford seemed to hit his body like lead. They appeared jagged and harsh. It was supposed to be home.
Home. He didn’t know what that word meant. All he had ever known was four walls littered with items. Things that don’t mean anything. Love that fades, distances and silences. A house isn’t a home just because you call it that. He wasn’t sure what a home was, but he knew he never had one.
Ben’s body wasn’t being pulled that way though. He felt like the car was suddenly magnetised, and he took the second turning instead. The whispering call got louder and as he looked up at the sign reading ‘Canning Town’, it just felt like the right choice in his gut, the tension leaving his body. Maybe Canning Town could bring all his dreams to life.
The plan wasn’t to stay long. He knew he’d end up back in Walford eventually, he always ended back where he started. But maybe he could find somewhere to have a drink, to delay the inevitable loneliness and rejection that came from that place he always made his way back to. That was his lot in life though. He wondered how wicked he must have been to live a life where nothing grows, where you cry alone. Where you’re left on your own. That was his fate though. He’d just stop here for a while. Just for an hour or two. What was the worst that could happen?
Turning into the next street he passed the barrage of people, and he could have just got out, sat on some steps by the pavement and watched for hours. Wondering who they were, where they were going and what their story was. There was comfort watching the specks walk by, the mechanical system of pedestrians and traffic, robotic and mundane in it’s predictability. The real beauty was in the individual. Their hopes, their dreams, their wants. Did they get them, or did they step back into the march of the expected path that was thrown in front of them?
The car drove by an estate, old council property by the looks of it, but sold off to buyers probably now. The exterior was bathed in stone grey, not wanting to stand out, to just blend into the scenery, the same as any other building that was near. They were all exact replicas, all dressed in a uniform and conforming to the societal norms and conventions. There were no little cottages around here, no little buildings that stood out and dared to be different. Everything was the same. Everything followed the same path.
Ben found a space right near to a pub. It looked like it hadn’t had a lick of paint for years, and he didn’t think the dilapidated look was meant to seem vintage. It didn’t have a big exterior, hidden within a parade of shops and just an old sign above the door that was barely hanging on. Still, as long as they sold drink and crisps, that’s all he needed.
He’d nearly come around this way almost a decade ago, he thought as the name of the pub flashed in his head. He remembered now; some landlord’s car had broken down near The Arches. They got to chatting and the man said to drop in some time, that he might put a bit of business his way. That was years and years ago. He’d toyed with going, wanted to, but had gone to clear up his dad’s latest mess or something else had come up which he felt obliged to do out of love and expectation. It was just a casual offer. It wasn’t as though it would have changed his life.
Ben walked up the few steps and pushed open the door to The Pig. There looked to be a passage leading to small toilet on ground level and a staircase leading up to the next floor. The soles of his shoes stuck a little to the threadbare carpet as he made his way up to the landing. There was a second staircase, leading to another floor, but that was bathed in darkness, probably some supply rooms, maybe a event hall. Instead, he looked to the door in front, and there was a harsh artificial light from inside, the Saloon Bar’ writing fading on the glass. It looked like there used to be panes either side, maybe stained glass with colour, but they were boarded up. Broken and shattered at some point for standing out.
When he pushed open the mahogany door, there was raucous laughter, the deep rolling burst of middle aged men, their lungs full of hops and lard choking out in spittle. He knew men like this, Ben thought as he took a seat at the bar, the wall to his back and a clear view of the room. They wouldn’t spare him more than a second glance, just mild interest of a stranger. If they knew anything about him though, he’d pique their interest and they’d give him more than just a glance. They controlled this world, got their own way and forced those who didn’t fit into the box they set for them. Sometimes with an underhand whisper of words, and sometimes with the shove of the hand. They’d never understand why anyone would want to leave a place they didn’t fit.
This was a place in a time warp, saturated in sepia and misery, where even the brightest rainbow could fade and hide amongst the decor and judgement. But then, how different was it from the rest of the world?
It wasn’t as though Ben was deliberately hidden. He didn’t lie or disguise who he was anymore, not like when he was much younger. After that, he was fierce in his proudness, used it as a shield and a weapon to challenge those with limited views. But with every passing year, and with every person who used him, treated him different, took advantage and didn’t provide the love, care or even passing manners towards him because of who he was, he stepped further and further into the background. He didn’t want to fight when he had nothing to fight for. He went back to hiding because there was no one out there that saw him. He carried on hiding because he had never been found.
Ben was taken out of his daydream by a rustling piece of orange plastic being thrown in his face. He shook his head at the intrusion and down at the packet of salt and vinegar now laying on the bar. Looking up, he saw exactly how they got there.
It was the eyes at first, that’s what Ben noticed. They were blue, like wildflowers, but the warmness and sparkle leapt out immediately. Sadness too he noticed, just a little but this was lowered by the genuine smile that beamed towards him. It was a stark contrast to the world around him. Like glitter on a newspaper. Like a rainbow in the storm.
The man continued to smile at him from behind the bar, and then nodded to the packet of crisps on the surface. “You looked hungry and like you needed something,” he said, grinning as he picked up a glass to dry.
Ben lowered his gaze, or tried to. It was hard to tear his eyes away. They were drawn to the man. They wanted to look. No, they needed to look. He just didn’t know why. He caught a glance at the window, mostly covered by heavy bland curtains and a layer of greasy brown grime. The dullness echoing the inside decor. But outside a robin sat on the ledge, its red breast glowing through as its ruby feathers fluttered. He’d found his voice that called him here.
Ben picked the corner of the crisp packet, a twitch of a smile threatening his lips. “What would you have done if you thought I looked thirsty?” he asked, and lifted his eyes again. He thought maybe he imagined the feeling that was fluttering in his body. Thought if he looked for a second time then it wouldn’t be as strong. He was right. It felt stronger. “Chucked a Jack and Coke at me?”
The man screwed up his face and shook his head vigorously. He looked not far off Ben’s age, maybe a few years older. “I wouldn’t do something like that!” he claimed, his mock outrage quickly turning back to a grin as he threw the yellow tea towel over his shoulder, the golden thread criss-crossing like bricks on the cloth. “Waste a perfectly good spirit? Nah, I’d just have gone with the Coke!”
Ben threw the crisp packet back at him with a laugh, and he caught it deftly before placing it down and reaching for a glass. “You mind read all your customers, do you?” he asked, watching the man’s fingers grab a bottle of whiskey, a slight strand of hair slightly falling out of its styled place and onto his forehead.
“Yeah, you know, part psychic, part barman,” he laughed, pouring a measure out. “I read palms on the weekend. Do you want me to do yours?”
Ben gave a chuckle and raised his eyebrows. “Do I want you to do my palm?” he asked with flirty amusement ringing out, leaning forward a little and grinning. “Well, I’ll take that for starters. It’s been a while since I’ve given someone a hand.”
The barman gave him a cock of the head, taking him in. Ben almost felt seen, like he had dropped his mask without even realising. Or maybe because he wanted to. “Whisky, no ice,” the man said placing the glass down on a violet beermat. “Am I right?”
Ben looked at the drink. It was just a drink. A good guess. It wasn’t as though the barman could actually know anything important about him from just some words. “I don’t like things watered down,” Ben replied, taking a sip. “What’s the point of doing things halfway?”
The barman nodded. “So, you from around here, or just passing through,” he asked, and Ben picked up the slight hesitancy now. The instant quick connection and their back-and-forth had its breaks put on. As though the man was holding back and reverting to polite pub conversation to protect himself.
“Grew up not too far from here, back for a visit,” Ben replied, and his stomach lurched at the thought of going back to Walford. Of repeating the same dance over again. Feeling the same misery, the same inferiority that he wanted to run away from. That’s where he was headed though. That’s where his life would always be headed. “You live around here?”
“Yeah, not far,” the barman answered, as another customer approached the bar and he walked towards the man to serve him. “What do you do? As a job?”
He was avoiding giving up too much detail, Ben noticed. He could see through this man so easily. He could see him. He understood him, but there was something that was off. Something he wasn’t clicking together. He pondered the question, not entirely sure how to sum up his employment history. “A mechanic,” he replied, thinking that was the answer that would provide the least questions. “Used to have my own place, but sort of in between positions at the moment.”
“A mechanic?” the customer being served asked, turning towards him in surprise. “You’re kidding me!”
Of all the acts in his history Ben could have mentioned, he didn’t think it would be this that would elicit shock. “No, trained for years. My old man was one too,” he revealed, buckling a little in his voice at the mention of Phil.
The customer slapped the bar, which almost made the barman drop the glass he was holding. It wobbled a little in his hand but he kept his grip. “Well, would you believe...what are the odds of that?” he bellowed, looking between the two men. “I’m looking for a mechanic, desperate to find one to cover my business and you’re looking for a job!”
“Oh, I’m not staying-” Ben started but the man didn’t seem to hear his protest. Simply beamed beneath his moustache and ran a hand through his thinning grey hair.
“It ain’t a big business, mind!” he started, pulling out a card from his pocket and scribbling down some information on the back. “You’ll be the only one apart from an assistant who’ll do the accounts, answer the phones, that sort of thing. The wife wants to go visit the grandchildren in Australia, trip of a lifetime, so we’re going out there for 6 months. Flying out tonight! Wonderful, it’ll be! Need someone to keep everything ticking over while I’m gone. Did have someone lined up but they backed out today!”
Ben opened his mouth to protest. He seemed to have been interviewed and hired without even uttering a word. “Don’t worry about finding somewhere to stay!” he spluttered out, clapping Ben on the back. “There’s a nice little flat above the garage, last tenant only moved out a few days ago. All furnished. How are you with pets?”
“You ain’t got a lion kipping in there have you, Frank?” the barman laughed, clearly amused by Ben’s predicament. He didn’t seem unhappy though, and that gave Ben a jolt. To take the leap. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was all in his imagination but he couldn’t fight this feeling that was already tingling his body about the bartender. This didn’t always happen. This feeling, whatever it was, it was new. He could run, far far away, and not risk seeing where it took him. Or he could stay. Leap with both feet and see when he landed. Into the unknown.
“When do I start?”
As the Frank wandered over to get his coat, saying he needed to go finish packing, the bartender nodded to glass. “No, I better not have another,” Ben said, the adrenaline kicking around his body from the unknown of what could happen. The potential the future offered. “Don’t want to turn up hungover on my first day. I'll save that for the second week at least.”
The bartender let out a laugh, a shy one where he looked down. If it were up to Ben, he’d leap behind the bar and raise his chin up. A face that beautiful should never be looking at the ground, but always staring up at the stars. Ben wondered if anyone had ever shown the bartender that; ever shown him all he could be capable of if he only looked up.
Shaking his head, he tried pull himself together. He’d only known the man two minutes. It was ridiculous to think you could connect with someone so intoxicatingly after only a few words. He didn’t even know his name. He could leave now, and never know. Just remember a face, and a smile and the warmest eyes he’d ever seen. Like a Disney Prince with sparkle deep within. He could leave now and never have a name, just a memory.
“Ben Mitchell,” he said, holding out his hand for the bartender to take. Fuck it. You only get one life, and he wasn’t about to pass this chance by.
The bartender looked between Ben’s outstretched fingers and his face, seeming like he too was wondering whether to take this step. He licked his lips a little, and Ben recognised it as determination. He could read this man so quickly. He just knew. “Callum Highway,” he returned and gripped Ben’s hand tight.
Ben didn’t want to let go. The first touch, and he knew. He knew this was something. He knew he was now on a rollercoaster he would never be able to get off. The warmness that radiated off Callum’s skin wasn’t just from heat. It was from a soul that he had known without ever meeting. A twin flame.
“Right, I better be going then!” Frank remarked, sliding his empty pint glass along bar. The voice and the movement snapped both Ben and Callum out of their grip. Both stepping back a little as if shocked by the loss of the other’s touch. “Come on, son! I’ll show you where the garage is!”
Ben wanted to refuse, wanted to stay here with Callum. To stand here and just watch him forever. He didn’t know how glorious he looked, how Ben could be mesmerised by a single movement. There wasn’t a single reason why he couldn’t sit next to this man forever and just watch and listen, and be in complete bliss.
“You aren’t working late are you, Callum lad?” Frank asked, as Ben slipped off the bar stool reluctantly. It was like a red thread had appeared around his wrist, one that was always there but he could now see that it was wrapped around Callum’s too. He wasn’t simply blown here by the winds of chance. That fate had brought him here. Fate had finally been kind to him after years of torture. And now there wasn’t anything standing in his way. “You don’t want to be too late back home to that lovely wife of yours!”
Fuck.
There it was. The cruel trick of fate that laughed smugly in his face.
Callum was married.