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“Why did you call me?”
“Why did you pick up?”
Callum scoffs, tapping his forefinger against the leather of the steering wheel as he focuses on the road ahead. He tells the truth.
“Because you called.”
It’s Ben’s turn to scoff, though it’s unkind and harsh, something that has become somewhat familiar to Callum recently. This front he puts on despite everything they’ve been through, the fact that he still thinks he can hide from Callum, and the fact that Callum tries to fall for it every time just to make things easier between them.
Still, it doesn’t work.
“Why did you pick up?” Ben repeats. “You hate me.”
That pokes at the pieces of Callum’s broken heart. It hurts him because it’s so far from the truth, and he knows it must hurt Ben from the way his fingers are bleeding when they stop poking. To genuinely believe that after everything they’ve been through, it’s a form of self-harm in the worst way possible.
“I don’t hate you, Ben. You broke my heart. There’s a difference.”
It’s the closest they’ve gotten to ever talking about what happened, and Callum already wants to turn the clocks back. He hasn’t prepared for this conversation, and he sure as hell doesn’t want it when he’s driving towards the city in weather worsening with every turn of the wheel.
When he got off shift tonight, he was looking forward to going back to his brother’s flat, grabbing a shower or maybe a bath if he could be bothered, and getting into bed. It hadn’t been a partially taxing day for any other reason than the length of it.
Besides, everything is taxing these days.
He hadn’t made it back to the flat before his phone started ringing or before the rain started hammering down.
He wasn’t expecting Ben’s name to pop up. Hell, it was the very last name he was expecting to see. It would’ve shocked him less if Shrimpy from the market had been ringing him.
Because he and Ben hadn’t spoken properly in months since their breakup just before Christmas. Even when Callum was away and he stupidly tried to make some amends to ease some of that awkwardness when he did eventually return back to Walford, all of his efforts were ignored. And his ridiculous drunken pleas, well. The less said about those, the better.
There was just one time, though. Just one time. And after that, Ben vowed he wouldn’t call or talk to Callum again. As much as it hurt, they both knew it was for the best reasons.
And yet Ben was ringing him again, and Callum was the idiot he still picked up the phone.
“I needed someone to pick me up,” Ben says as if it’s some kind of an explanation. “Someone who knew.”
Callum wants to ask know what? but he doesn’t need to. Their one conversation when Callum begged Ben to take him back, where Callum found out more than one person should ever know. When he’d promised he could get past it and Ben had shut him down.
So he doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to.
“You could’ve called a cab.”
Ben lets out a hollow laugh. “What, half an hour outside of the city? I ain’t made of money, Callum.”
The harshness doesn’t come as a shock anymore. From anyone else, maybe Callum would expect a bit of gratitude and thanks for driving to a dodgy pub in the middle of a dodgy part of the city to pick them up, but this isn’t anyone. This is Ben. His ex, the man he thought felt the same about him as Callum did him.
Feelings aside, Callum knows him. And he knows this is a bit of a front.
“So you called me instead.”
“Bingo, Sherlock.”
Before, this type of banter between them would’ve been flirty, fun, but now he just hates it. It feels so unnatural and wrong, awkward, but isn’t that precisely what a breakup is meant to feel like?
Then again, exes aren’t meant to have this hold over one another. It goes both ways.
They drive in silence for a while. It can’t be more than five minutes along the motorway, but for Callum, it feels like a lifetime in Ben’s company. A lifetime where neither of them says anything, where a million words need to be said.
Every second, he wants to say something different. He wants to address their breakup or what Ben told him, this evening’s problems, or why, truly why, Ben called him over anyone else. Because he knows Ben, whether he likes it or not, and he knows that Ben didn’t need someone who knew to come and get him because he was worried about what he’d say. Maybe Callum would’ve believed him if he was drunk, but he’s stone-cold sober, so there’s more to the story than he’s letting on.
But every second, too, Callum is reminded that it’s none of his business anymore. Even if Ben has somewhat made it his.
When the silence gets too much, his thoughts too much, Callum can’t stop himself from asking.
“Why did you call me?”
“Why did you pick up?” Ben mimics from earlier.
Callum wants to roll his eyes so far back into his head at Ben’s stupid antics. The rain is making it difficult to see, and he’s getting pissed off now. They aren’t going to make it much further if the rain doesn’t lift a little. The least he thinks he deserves is some kind of an explanation from Ben as to why he’s here in the first place.
He sighs, shaking his head. He’s not going to get a sensible answer from Ben, that’s for sure, so he might as well save his breath.
On the side of the road, there’s a sign. One mile until services.
The rain continues to get heavier, so Callum slows down. They’re barely crawling along, and it’s getting more and more dangerous. In his heart of hearts, Callum knows they’re going to have no choice but to pull into the next services and see if they can shelter there for the night. If he remembers rightly, there’s a Travelodge there.
He tells Ben as much. He doesn’t get a response.
As he pulls into the service station, parking the car haphazardly amongst the thrashing rain, he lets out a quiet sigh at the busyness of the car park. He doesn’t think that bodes well, which he’s not looking forward to, but even if there was a way for him to safely continue driving into the city, he’d take a guess at the main road into Walford being flooded.
So all he can do now is hope they’ve got rooms left for the night, and maybe tomorrow will be a better day.
“I called you ‘cos I knew you’d come.”
Though he’s no longer driving, Callum pretends that he is. Grip tight on the wheel, he continues staring straight ahead. If he dares look at Ben, he knows he’ll crumble.
Instead, he lets out a laugh dripping with salt.
“That predictable, am I?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ben shrug. It’s a nonchalant type of shrug, one he’s been privy to far too many times. It practically screams I do give a shit! but he knows Ben has never been good at admitting that.
Still, it rubs Callum up the wrong way now.
“So you tell me, point-blank to my face, that you don’t love, break my heart, then admit you got a man killed, and what? That still ain’t enough? No, you gotta call me in the middle of a fucking storm to pick you up miles away from home, and all you’ve done is insult me.”
He scoffs again, loud and insulting, and it does nothing to make him feel better. He tries running a cold hand over his face, but again, nothing. He hates it.
“I shouldn’t be surprised that you wanted to twist the knife. ‘Cos that’s you all over if you ask me. That’s all I’ve ever gotten from you, Ben.”
His words may be harsh, but Callum’s got weeks of pent up anger inside of him, and tonight has been the final straw. Yeah, he’s fucking pissed that Ben called him. He’s pissed that it’s the middle of the night, and he’s sheltering in his tin can of a car as he talks to his fucking ex for the first time in weeks. Except there’s not much talking happening, just him lashing out, and Ben, for once, taking it.
But Callum grows tired of the lack of response. The clattering of the rain on the car grates on him, and he knows he can’t wait forever for the other man to speak, so he turns off the overhead light and goes to brave the rain.
“Wait,” Ben’s voice says, quiet and fragile, almost inaudible amongst the outside noise.
Callum, perhaps predictable, waits. In his weak defiance, he doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t look toward the other man, but he does wait.
“I knew you’d come, yeah, but I wanted you, too, Callum.”
The admission sends stupid butterflies fluttering through his chest, but he does his best to ignore them. He doesn’t need—or want—these lingering emotions to cloud his judgment. Not now, not ever.
“You’re not even drunk,” he says instead. Instead of a thousand other things he wants to say.
“No. I— Apparently he ain’t dead, Keanu. Apparently, Martin didn’t do it, and I got wind of his whereabouts. That’s why I was there.”
One thing Callum didn’t get used to in their few months of dating was Ben’s ability to surprise him no matter what. Oftentimes, it was a good thing, a great thing. Surprises in the bedroom, surprise dates and nights out, the kind of surprises every relationship needs. Then, the ultimate surprise: four untimely words.
This is a surprise, too. Because when Ben told him what he’d done, he’d been so, so guilty. So certain of his actions and how wrong they were, and yeah, Callum couldn’t disagree. But this…
“Did you find him?”
He hardly wants to find out the answer.
“I saw him,” Ben confirms, and Callum lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“And is he…?”
“Yes, he’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Callum stays quiet because he can’t deny it, that’s precisely what he’d been wondering. It would make sense, too. Ben knows Callum wouldn’t ever—perhaps stupidly—go to the police about him, so out of everyone Ben knows, Callum is easily the best one to get him out of a sticky situation. Even more so since there are these pesky feelings involved, and doesn’t Ben know it?
It’s ridiculous. Callum should hate it. And he does, he does, but there’s a tiny part of him that basks in the fact that Ben called him.
“I saw him alive and kicking,” Ben continues, “and I didn’t say a word. He didn’t see me. It’s best that way, don’t you think?”
“You wanted him to, didn’t you?”
“Could’ve been interesting.”
Callum can’t help the disgusted scoff that drops out of his mouth. Interesting is one word, dead is another. Now, Callum doesn’t know Keanu Taylor all that well, but he can’t imagine he would’ve let Ben walk out of that pub—dodgy enough already—with both of his legs still working after knowing what he did. Or his heart, for that matter.
Despite sometimes wishing he did want that, want Ben out of his life forever, Callum has never been able to bring himself to believe it.
“Why are you on a death wish, Ben?”
A beat of silence, where only the rain fills the car, then:
“Because I’ve lost everything, Callum. I broke your heart, fucked up us, and it ain’t like my dad’s ever gonna forgive me for this. My mum hates me enough already, Lola’s beginning to realise I’m a shit father, and… Fuck, what is the point?”
It’s quiet, and Callum’s mind spins. He wishes the rain would shut up so he could think, really think, but it doesn’t, and he struggles to get his thoughts in check. He wants to reassure Ben; he’s sure his mum doesn’t hate him, he’s sure Lola doesn’t think he’s a shit father. But Callum knows better than to lie: his dad might not forgive him, and yeah, Ben has fucked them up. Whether that’s beyond help, Callum has yet to decide.
“Anyway,” Ben says, stern, coughing, “are we going inside or what?”
Callum sighs. He knows that voice, and he knows he isn’t going to get anywhere tonight, maybe ever, so he resides himself to that fact and gets out of the car.
The rain is heavy enough that it hurts his skin and soaks through his clothes in the short distance from the car to the hotel reception. It plasters his hair to his forehead, and he’d care if it was anyone else but Ben with him. Besides, pushing it out of the way gives him something else to focus on for a few seconds, something that isn’t that force of Ben Mitchell.
At reception, he realises Ben wasn’t as directly behind him as he expected. If he knows Ben like he does, he’d imagine he’s collecting himself in the car, pondering the consequences of what he’s just said. Or he could’ve done a runner. In this weather, Callum would’ve thought not.
“Awful out there, isn’t it?” the polite hotel receptionist says.
Callum isn’t in the mood for small talk. It’s the middle of the fucking night, he’s soaked through to the bone, and being so close to his ex is fucking with his head. What he really wants is to get a room and get to bed, and hopefully by the morning, this stupid storm would’ve stopped, and they’ll be able to get back to their normal lives outside of each other’s orbits.
“A twin room. Please.”
The woman looks at her computer screen, then scowls at Callum. “Sorry, sir, with the storm, we’re only got one room left. A double on the second floor.”
Looking behind him, Callum sees Ben rushing in, just as drenched as he is, right as a flash of lightning lights up the outside sky. There really isn’t any other option, so he turns back to her and accepts before Ben reaches him.
“I’ll pay,” Ben mumbles as Callum pulls his wallet out of his soaked jeans.
“It’s fine.”
“No. I’ll pay.”
“Ben—”
But before he can argue any further, Ben taps his card against the reader and takes the room key from the front desk. He doesn’t say anything, just saunters over to the stairs, hovering only for a moment for Callum to catch up.
They reach their room for the night without a further word being uttered between them, and Callum wonders if this is what it’s going to be like for the whole night. They’re exes just seconds away from having to share a bed for the night, and they can’t so much as—
“One bed,” Ben murmurs, more to himself than anything, as he crosses the threshold. “I’ll take the floor.”
The sensible thing would be for Callum to agree. They might’ve shared a bed in the past, but he really doesn’t want to go through that again like this when the last memory of doing so is one he treasures so greatly.
But he looks around the room, at the stained carpet, lack of spare duvet, and tiny available space, and shakes his head.
“It’s fine. We can share. We’re both adults, yeah?”
He notices Ben’s moment of hesitation, but he decides against mentioning it.
It’s all kinds of awkward after that, in ways it never has been before. Callum hates every second. He doesn’t know whether he can strip off his soaking clothes without it being weird, but he does know he can’t sleep in them. Across the room, Ben is standing, frozen, and Callum would hazard a guess at him pondering the same thing.
Callum decides to make that call.
“It’s alright. We can’t sleep in wet clothes, can we?”
Ben offers him a weak smile, his eyes flitting over Callum’s face briefly before he turns the other way and toes his shoes off.
With a sigh, he does the same.
By the time he’s stripped out of his jeans and hoodie and dried his hair as much as possible, Ben is already under the covers. He’s facing the other way, the duvet pulled up over his shoulders, and there is nothing Callum wants to do more than to slide into the bed behind him, wrapping his arms around the other man.
He doesn’t. He can’t. He won’t.
What he does do, though, is stay as close to the edge of the bed as possible, facing the wall and trying his hardest not to disturb the duvet.
So close yet so far, he thinks. Closer than they’ve been in months, but still so, so far.
“You haven’t fucked us up, Ben,” Callum admits quietly. He doesn’t know if Ben will be able to hear him, doesn’t know if his words will matter, but he says them anyway.
He says them because, despite everything, it’s the truth, and he can’t bear the thought of Ben thinking otherwise. He says them because, yeah, he’s an idiot. This whole night has proven how much of a weak idiot he is when it comes to Ben, and this, this is no different. But they’re so close now. Close enough that he can feel the warmth of Ben’s skin under the duvet, and it’s something he misses so much more than he’ll ever admit.
And maybe that’s why he lets something else slip from his mouth.
“And I still love you. Always will.”
—
Callum wakes early, and though he hasn’t had anywhere near enough sleep, he feels more rested than he has in weeks.
He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t anything to do with the familiar presence in the bed next to him.
The presence that is currently attached to his side…
Back when they first started sleeping in the same bed, Callum was always surprised by how clingy and cuddly Ben was. He’d become a koala with Callum, wrapping both arms and legs around Callum’s form. At first, it wasn’t ideal, but he quickly came to love it. That warmth that only comes from another person, one that increases tenfold when it’s someone you love.
Of course, when that warmth was ripped away along with his heart, Callum wondered if he’d ever sleep well again.
This morning, Callum’s all too willing to bask in this fake moment before reality comes crashing down again. It’s selfish, yeah, but Ben’s here with him for the first time in forever, and Callum needs that.
Selfish or not, he can’t bring himself to care.
But this is his life, and good things, as he’s come to learn, don’t last for longer than a moment or two. And this, this one is broken when Ben’s eyes flutter open.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
And for one shining moment, just a second or two as their eyes meet in the grey and white darkness of the room, everything is perfect.
It’s as if nothing in the past few weeks ever happened. No break-up, no ill-timed admissions, no late-night calls in the middle of a storm. They’re just them, the them they were before any of that. The them that loved each other, and nothing else mattered.
Callum can feel it deep inside. It’s a steady presence of love and longing and want, and it’s all Ben, always has been. And it’s always been there, never dulled, but it’s back with a new lease of life.
The thing is, though, like magnets, he can feel the same coming from Ben, and he’s drawn to it.
But the moment passes, shatters, when Ben blinks some clarity into his eyes and pulls away from Callum’s touch as if he’s been burnt.
It hurts. It hurts, and it’s stupid because they’re exes sharing a bed in a dingy motorway service station hotel thanks to a storm, and that’s all it is. A means to an end. Ben needed a lift, and Callum needed to get them home safely. And if getting them back to the Square in one piece meant setting aside their problems for one night, Callum thinks they should’ve been able to do that.
Famous last words when he’s still so hung up on the man he’s sure he’ll always love.
And even more so thanks to Ben’s admissions last night.
Everything feels heavy. The white light spewing in from the curtains, the greyness of the rest of the room. The weight of Ben on the mattress next to him, and the feeling of their touching hands despite Ben’s efforts to move away.
Then, too, Ben’s words.
“I can’t believe he’s alive, Callum.”
In truth, Callum has hardly had a chance to think about Keanu, about what it means now he’s alive, about what a relief it is for Ben. Maybe it should’ve been higher on his priority list, but from the second Ben slumped into the passenger seat of his car, there’s only really been one thing on his mind.
“Will he come after you?” he asks.
He needs to know if Ben is safe. There might not be much he can do to prevent anything from happening to him, but he can damn well try. Losing Ben like this is… But the possibility of something else, something worse, happening isn’t something Callum wants to contemplate.
“Doubtful.”
“What about…”
Ben turns away then. He pulls his hand away from Callum and flops onto his back, the duvet falling down enough for Callum to see Ben’s topless form. It’s not what he should be focusing on right now, but it’s impossible not to. He is, after all, only human.
And as expected, Ben notices.
“Good to see one thing ain’t changed, eh?”
“It’s been a while,” he mumbles.
Callum has never been embarrassed around Ben. Shy, yes, but not embarrassed, and this is no different. Exes, friends, lovers, it doesn’t matter; Ben makes him feel a certain kind of way, feel seen in a way no one else will ever perfect, and he’ll never get used to it. Never.
Shifting back onto his side, their eyes meet, and Ben says, “For me, too.”
It’s a shock to hear it. Callum can’t decide if it’s exactly what he wanted to hear or if the words are too much. Too much to know that perhaps this front Ben’s putting on is much more of a mask than he realised, too much to know that he’s not the only one in too deep.
He should change the subject. He could, quite easily, too. He’s got more questions about Keanu and Martin and Phil, and he wants to thank Ben for opening up to him, but he doesn’t. The more pressing issue on his mind is this, and he’d hate that if it wasn’t Ben.
“Really?”
Ben nods, just the once, but it’s enough confirmation to settle over Callum.
They maintain eye contact, even as the space around them falls quiet. Callum’s mind is spinning, but not a single word of it makes sense when Ben is looking at him so similar to during those quiet mornings together when things were…
Different. Better.
And it shouldn’t happen, he knows that, but it’s like he can’t control this magnetic pull between them. It gets stronger and stronger, and before he knows it, they’re kissing.
Much like their first kiss, it’s hesitant until their eyes lock again, and then it’s all in. Desperate, needy, heated. Hands are everywhere within a matter of seconds, pushing away covers and touching bare skin, reacquainting themselves with weeks of missed opportunities. It’s actions fueled by lust, by time apart, by getting something they can only get from one another.
Callum’s hard quicker than he thought possible. He’s straddling Ben, deepening the kiss to impossible heights, and he’s basking in the feeling of oh-so-perfect soft skin against soft skin. It takes everything he has not to push his hips into Ben’s and ride that feeling after so long.
But Ben starts begging, murmuring pleas into the kiss, and Callum doesn’t bother holding back anymore.
They’re like two teenagers, really, so desperate for one another that they can’t even get their clothes off. They’re both still in their boxers, and Callum knows he’s going to come in them soon if he’s not careful. Because it feels amazing, to be this close to Ben again. To be kissing him and feeling him. To be moving together like one.
“More.”
Callum should know by now, what Ben asks for, he gives. It’s the sole reason they’re here in the first place.
So he gives him exactly what he wants, though it’s not completely selfless. He wants it, too, perhaps much more than he’ll ever admit, perhaps more than he should, but he’s powerless. Powerless and yet as he rolls his hips against Ben’s, he feels like he’s the most powerful man on the planet.
It’s all over in a matter of minutes. They kiss through it, pant into each other’s mouths, and Callum pretends the world around them isn’t there.
When it’s over, his boxers sticky and lips swollen, he flops to the side and sighs.
The room is quiet.
—
“Why did you call me?” Callum asks as they pull into Walford.
“Because I lied to you that day. And why did you pick up?”
“Because I know you lied.”
He parks the car and turns off the engine. The rain has mostly cleared now, a bit of blue sky and the edges of the sun peeking through. It provides some much-needed clarity to Callum’s mind.
“Yeah,” Ben confirms.
“So why did you call me, Ben?”
He sends him a pointed look but still says, “Because I love you. Why did you pick up?”
“Because I’ll always love you.”