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Ben can still remember the first time he met Callum. Well, mostly. The memories of that night have gone a little fuzzy around the edges, blurred with alcohol.
It was a Friday, Ben had just been settling down for a rare, chilled out, evening of football and beer, with a mountain of Chinese takeaway too. The clock had barely ticked past 6 pm when he’d gotten a phone call from their manager, Ruby, about a gig for that night, a tiny bar tucked away just outside the city centre. Apparently, she’d met the owner, a guy called Mick, when out shopping, who had said they were in need of a band due to a last-minute dropout.
Ruby was right to call Bunk tiny. Upon arrival for soundcheck, Ben had a short moment of panic as they set up their gear, how the bloody hell would they actually play all squished together? Their cables a tangled mess of a death trap, that he tripped over too many times to count that night. The bar itself was all neon-lit red and sticky floors, brick walls sporting endless greenery and a bar top covered in buzzing fairy lights. This is what people meant when they said ‘quirky’, ben had thought rather sardonically. Everything was melting together in bundles of blushing lights, and heaving bodies. But he liked it.
So they played, and Ben threw himself into it as always, letting his throat go hoarse because he didn’t care, it was a great vibe that night. He grinned at the tightly packed bodies crammed in the audience doing their damnedest to dance in the small space and waved in the curious onlookers who drifted in until there was no room left to breathe. Mick who was stood in the corner behind the bar, watching and bobbing his head along the whole time,after their set, when Ben was a sweating mess and Lola was hanging off his shoulder, offered them a Friday slot. Permanently.
Well, until he got sick of them, he’d said.
He can remember Mick clapping his back and leaning over the bar, remembers him shouting “oi - get ‘em all a drink will ya?” and then the boy behind the bar had turned, wiped his hands on his shirt, and Ben had frozen, blinking slow and breathing heavily because - he - the boy - Callum - was bloody gorgeous. Everything about that moment still feels hazy to Ben, he can’t remember it with any objectivity, time had slowed, it just seemed to falter its usual speed and slow down as if it just knew the scene unfolding deserved to be recalled in minute detail. He can recollect the look in Callum’s eyes when he was caught staring as Callum poured them a row of jager bombs, and the shy smile, as he cheersed his glass to Ben’s own.
Later, close to four in the morning, they’d all packed themselves into Keegan’s flat, Callum joining them for the regular after-gig hang. The wallpaper a pale green, painted with flecks of grey, and the way the light meets it reminded Ben of Callum’s eyes under the flickering fairy lights of the bar. There’s a bottle of champagne flowing between them, and Ben felt loose and warm and content, head lolled against the sofa, legs stretched out where he was sitting on the floor. Callum’s head was in his lap, bubbles of laughter slipping from his lips.
Even later, when Ruby took Lola and Jay home and Keegan was too drunk to stay awake, Callum sucked him off on the sofa, Ben had to shove his fist in his mouth to stop a flurry of means spilling out.
:::
The band meets at Jay’s place three nights a week; Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, all of them squeezed into the garage out back, blasting out the sounds of whatever band they’re liking this week, Billy knows the drill and takes himself off to the Queen Vic for a few hours at a time.
Tonight is a Thursday which means they’ve run through tomorrow night’s set for Bunk, practicing the new songs they’ve thrown in, then collapsed in a sweaty mess and jamming quietly until they get bored and drive home in the dark. They’ve nearly reached that point already, Ben reclining on one of the beanbags, voice dropping into a soft whisper, eyes unfocused on the jumbled words in front of him, surrounded by the echoey slide of Keegan’s guitar and Lola’s slowing drum beats, Jay tying them together.
“Oi,” Lola says, sitting herself on Ben’s lap, throwing his notepad to the floor. “That sounded great.”
Ben peels one eye open, pausing. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, obviously,” Lola replies, and Ben can’t see her properly but he can practically hear the eye-roll that accompanies it. “You gonna let us hear those lyrics you’ve been scribbling away then?”
“Nah, doubt it, you know what Ben’s like these days, all secretive and that,” Keegan says.
“No I ain’t,” Ben argues, but he’s just met with more eye rolls, and, well. They’re not exactly wrong. “They just ain’t finished yet.”
“You won’t show us because they’re about Callum,” Jay croons, sharing a devilish grin with Lola.
“Hey,” Ben says, lowering his face slightly, willing the heat creeping up his neck away. “I haven’t written a single word about Callum, thank you very much. No reason I would.”
“Sure,” Lola drawls.
“Only a matter of time,” Jay says.
“I hate you all,” Ben sighs. “It’s not like there’s even anything going on between me and Cal.”
“Cal, is it?,” Jay says, wink following. “Clueless, you are. You’re like a lovesick puppy and you don’t even know it.”
Ben sits up slowly. “Again, not true. We’ve hooked up, sure, but it’s not like - it’s not anything. He sees other blokes all the time. He’s a good shag. End of.”
He’s not exactly surprised when he’s met with three pairs of eyebrows raised, because he knows they know him too well, and it is a lie. Of course it is. Nobody’s ever gotten under his skin the way Callum has; nobody’s ever gotten so deep, stayed embedded there until Ben wanted to claw at his own chest to get them out.
“Run through one last time?” Keegan says, and Ben smiles at him, thankful for drawing the conversation away for him and Callum.
Ben slings his guitar back over his shoulder in no time, and snaps his notepad shut as they all get back to their positions.
It always feels electric when they play together, freeing , but Ben can’t stop his friend’s teasing words looping around his head like a sticky mantra, and he can’t stop Callum’s face filling his mind when he’s got his eyes closed and his head thrown back, and the words he’d written thinking about that time on Keegan’s sofa projecting from his chest.
:::
He’s feeling particularly on edge tonight. Buzzed and full of nervous energy, fingers drumming a butterfly beat against the smooth neck of his guitar. They’re about to go on stage and it’s absolutely packed, happy hour coming to a close, everyone’s got two drinks in hand.
Jay knocks their hips together, kisses at Ben’s cheek and Ben’s skin prickles, looking over to the bar on reflex, where Callum is lingering and stubbornly refusing to look at him.
They hadn’t met up after soundcheck tonight like they usually do. Callum had merely said he was “too busy”, but Ben had caught him sitting around in the back room, scrolling through his phone and not looking the least bit busy. He hasn’t met his eye since, and Ben wants to drop his guitar and sneak behind the bar, hide his face in Callum’s neck and ask him what he’s done wrong.
For some reason, the thought of Callum being angry with him makes his insides churn.
He has no idea what he’s done, but he needs to focus, so as he strums the opening notes to the third song, he tries to screw his head back on and not blow their entire set.
This is what he knows, letting everything out while he’s up here, so he does just that, goes a little wilder, tries to engulf himself in the sense of freedom, gets right up into the crowd and down on his knees. If he directs just a bit too much attention over at the bar no one needs to know, he can’t help but smirk when he achieves success in catching Callum eye. Smirk only growing wider when Callum hurriedly flicks his gaze away to hide that he was looking.
“We’re gonna do a quick cover for you now,” he says down the mic, strums the chords a little for the rest of the band to catch on. “If you know the words, please sing along. If you don’t, then just make them up!”
The pub begins singing, warbling an out of tune lyrical, but Ben just cannot take his eyes off Callum, smiles a little at the defiant line of Callum’s mouth pulls into when Ben sings: in my head, in my veins, in the way you give and take , swaying his hips in a silly shimmy. Callum just slaps a palm over his eyes exaggeratedly, and then he’s grinning back, shaking his head and smiling down at the bar and that’s better, Ben thinks. That’s much, much better.
After, he’s sweaty and still a little jittery, Mick is waiting there for them with a tray of drinks, slapping them all on the back with a vibrant ‘robin as always, guys’. Ben necks his beer, revelling in the sharp buzz of it. When he sets the empty glass on the tray, he only manages to catch the tail end of Callum sneaking out back, in the little slither of the alley light that cuts through the dark of the bar. Before anyone can blink he’s following him, weaving slowly through the offers of drinks and friendly smiles, eyes stuck on the door.
When he finally pushes outside, it’s warm, muggy and dark, stars littering the clear night sky. Callum is waiting with his hands in his pockets, legs crossed, leant against the bricks and staring at an inky puddle.
“Hey,” Ben says, more an exhale of breath because his chest is faltering.
“Hiya,” Callum replies, slow crook of a smile playing at his lips. But it’s not quite there.
“Alright?” Ben approaches, hesitant, until he’s blocking out the orange glow of the street light with his body and Callum is standing in his shadow, eyes downcast.
“Yeah,” he shrugs, then, almost like a twitch, he reaches out for Ben’s shirt. “Where’ve you been?”
“What?” Ben huffs a tiny laugh.
“Last week,” Callum says, looking up from his hands, blinking slowly.
“Went to visit my sister up in Sheffield,” Ben says slowly, heat spreading through his body, breathing deeply. “Why? D’you miss me or summat?”
“Nah, not at all,” eyes glancing away.
“Well that was convincing,” Ben grins, and Callum shoves him lightly.
“Shut up,” he mutters.
Ben had only been gone for the weekend, caught the train up to Louise’s, and he’d taken her out for dinner. And breakfast, And dinner again. They’d spent three days exploring Sheffield, there wasn’t much to see beyond the city centre, but the music scene was enough to keep Ben entertained. They’d had a laugh, basically spent it acting like a uni student, but his trip had meant the band hadn’t played at Bunk that Friday, and it slowly dawns on Ben, that the random text he’d received from Callum in the early hours of Saturday morning, the jumble of letters that he couldn’t make words from, must’ve been Callum’s way of telling Ben he’s missed him that night.
“Did you, though?” he presses, finding Callum’s fingers, cool and smooth, twining them with his own.
“Did I what?” Callum says, as oblivious as ever.
“Miss me?” Ben says, voice soft in a way he didn’t know he was capable of.
Callum pauses, blinks at him in the glow of the moon and stars. They’re still for a moment, just watching each other, and then Callum’s hands are coming up to run through Ben’s hair, and he’s pulling their lips together firmly, noses brushing, falling together against the wall.
Ben doesn’t have the brain capacity to steady himself, just lets their bodies press, holding each other’s weight, and lets their lips touch for a beat before their tongues sneak out, sliding together like they’re so used to and everything go warm and fuzzy. Yeah , he thinks as he curls his fingers into the hair at the back of Callum’s head, I missed you too .
:::
Callum does this thing where he goes on all these dates with all these random guys. A string of men that are all shorter than him, dark-haired and dark-eyed, and essentially Ben, but not. Ben doesn’t really know what to make of it, he doesn’t judge Callum, after-all he was doing the exact same only a few months ago. At the very start of this - thing - he didn’t always notice those guys at the bar that would steal Callum’s attention away from the stage with a lingering look and a hefty tip, but now - well, he notices everything now.
Ben will meet Callum out back as he always does, and they’ll share a drink and Callum will leave him with a promise of meeting him back at Keegan’s place. But then it’ll be three in the morning; four, five, and Ben will be wide awake, blinking heavily up to the ceiling as he waits for Callum to reply to his string of text messages. He never does.
He’ll get his answer in the morning, a standard ‘sorry i was busy’ - which is pretty much code for ‘sorry i found someone else to suck my dick tonight’. And that - that makes Ben’s fingers curl, his stomach sick and his heart sit a little oddly in his ribs.
When they first met, Ben had fooled himself into thinking this was a strictly no-strings-attached situation. It’s different now though, because when Ben is up on stage and desperate for the attention, he’s throwing himself around and being too loud, all for the thrill of seeing Callum look at him over his shoulder, to get a smile for his antics. There’s strings attached now, he’s accepted that (in the privacy of his own head at least), plain and simple, it starts with the jealousy and ends with the thousands of butterflies dancing in his stomach.
What Ben hates the most is that he knows that all these boys that Callum ‘dates’ treat him like shit, leave him hollow and wrung out and having to act like things are fine. Ben’s brain is always clunking and working away in the background over the thought of Callum spending a day with some prick who doesn’t appreciate him the way they should, who uses him just because Callum lets them. Ben hates that he lets them the most.
Then he thinks of their lips pressed together, thinks of the way he has to stretch on his toes to meet him there, thinks of the way it’s worth that slight burn every single time. He thinks of all the intimate ways they’ve been together, the talking bits and the not talking bits, and tries to ignore the all-consuming flare of heat that burns in his stomach at the thought of anyone else touching him like that. Them getting to see Callum in the dark, eclipsed by light and shadow, and somehow not wanting him to be completely theirs, to make sure the brightness in his eyes is always there.
The worst thing is that Ben can’t do anything about it. Callum’s witty and strong and, albeit a little slow on the uptake sometimes, yet smart. And Ben knows how much Callum would hate it if Ben was to even bring the subject up, who Callum sleeps with is none of his business, after all.
Which hurts the most, too because he’s coming to realise, painfully; slowly, he wants Callum to be his, his only.
:::
It’s Thursday, which means it’s rehearsal night, only Billy’s got his kids staying over for the weekend and Ben had to agree with Jay when he’d said it wouldn’t exactly be fair to hijack their garage this time. That’s why they’ve all ended up crammed into Mick’s basement, Ruby had worked her magic, fluttered her eyelashes and negotiated hard-ball to get them this playing space.
They’re having a break, Lola and Keegan have popped across to the shop to pick up some drinks and Ben’s drawing lazily in his notebook, trying to distract himself from writing the words he’s terrified of putting down in stark black and white. Jay is almost asleep beside him, slumped back in his chair.
Ben finishes shading the tiny spiral in the corner of his page, sighing quietly. The problem is that he feels completely inspired right now, feels a bit angsty, like he could burst and his fingers are itching to writewritewrite . Maybe he could just write about something objective, something he doesn’t have to put a face and name to, write about sex or the trip he took to Sheffield a few weeks back, literally anything else, that’s not a problem. The problem is, lately, every objective thing he’s attempted to write for the sake of not writing about Callum and Feelings and Love has become subjective anyway.
And the problem, the real problem, is that Ben wants to sing about Callum.
He wants the world, and Callum, to know he’s fallen for the cute, quiet boy behind the bar at Bunk.
“Jay,” he says, drawing another furious scribble onto the corner of his page.
Jay just grunts in response, fighting to keep his eyes from slipping shut.
“If, like, hypothetically,” Ben starts, “you had a mate, and they were with someone who was really shit for them, would you, like - I don’t know - would you say summat?”
Jay blinks at him. “Ya what?”
“Hypothetically speaking” Ben stresses, panicking a little. “If they were always dating people that don’t really care about them? And you know that you’d be better for them. Would you tell ‘em?”
Jay shakes his head, laughing. “You do talk some shit mate.”
“I ask for your advice and you mock me,” Ben kicks him in the shin. “Twat.”
“That weren’t you asking for advice,” Jay rubs at his eyes, still shaking his head. “That was you tryna ask me whether or not I think you should ask Callum out.”
“No it weren’t,” Ben splutters. “That was all hypothetical.”
“Whatever” Jay drops his head, then, he places a consoling hand on Ben’s knee. “Listen to me, you idiot. If I were you, I would hint to your hypothetical friend that you’re into him, that you want to be with them, whatever, but you can’t pick and choose who they’re with.”
“It’s not as easy as that though, is it?” Ben says, scratching at his temple.
“Oh dear,” Jay says. “You’ve got it bad, ain’t ya?”
“Shut up,” he tacks on pathetically as he feels his cheeks flush. “Just - ugh I shouldn’t of said nowt.”
“When did this start, then? The whole feelings part?”
Ben side-eyes his mate, ignoring the taunt, “I don’t know, Jay. Lately I’m just - its like -” he grimaces at his own incoherence, feelings suck . “It don’t just feel like sex anymore, to me at least.”
“And what about him?” Jay asks, gently. “What does your hypothetical friend think?”
“Ain’t got a clue,” Ben fidgets with the pen in his hand, deflating. And then he’s thinking about Friday nights. He’s thinking about how he lives for those little pockets of time that exist when they are only with each other. Tucked together outside after soundcheck, talking and laughing and being close, Ben stumbling over his words when Callum looks at him like that, up through his lashes innocently, like he’s got no idea what he’s doing, but also knows exactly how he’s making Ben’s heart flutter. And then there’s after, after the band have played, when Callum smells like vodka and Ben’s skin is sticky and overheated, and Ben has to stop himself from just slotting their lips together.
Sometimes he can’t stop himself though, and then they’ll be kissing and kissing and kissing; staggering, falling together.
“You’ll figure it out, mate,” Jay says, ruffling his hair as he walks to the door. “Give him time.”
And Ben really hopes its enough, to just be as patient as he can, because he’s never clicked with someone the way he’s clicked with Callum. That second Friday, back when they’d just started playing at Bunk, Ben had been flushed and nervous and had screwed up so many times because Callum was watching him from the bar, this shy smile playing on his lips that made Ben squirm with need and want.
In the end, it turned out he hadn’t needed to worry about awkwardness or stilted conversation, because they got along instantly, had the same humour, and drew together like moths to flame.
:::
When Keegan and Lola arrive back with bags full of drinks and sweets and sugar, Callum is with them. “Look who we found at the shops,” Keegan announces. “Thought it’d be good to get a second opinion on the new tunes, a fresh ear an’ all that.”
“Hello, sunshine,” Jay says wearily, and Ben knows their previous conversation weighs on Jay just as much as it does on Ben himself.
“Alright mate?,” Callum replies, then turns to Ben with a shy smile toying at his lips. He makes a beeline for Ben then slumps down on the carpet next to him, bodies close like magnets.
Ben’s fingers wrap around his ankle and he taps the bone there three times, light and fleeting. Callum smiles again, a private curl of lips just for Ben, and reaches into the bag for a packet of prawn cocktail crisps.
They hang around for hours, they’ve packed their baggage away and Ben’s got his notebook open in his lap, scribbling words down as fast as his heart is beating. Callum’s put Oasis’ Stand By Me on, tapping rhythms away onto Ben’s arm with one hand, scrolling through his phone with the other while Noel sings about the moon and being brave.
“What are you writing?” Callum asks.
Ben halts his pen, “A song,” he says as he pinches him.
“Ow.” Callum complains, feigning rubbing his arm like it actually hurt.
“Well quit be annoying then,” Ben replies, teasing.
“I ain’t!”
Ben scrunches his nose at him. “Top secret, this is.”
“Oh, come on,” Callum pouts, bats his eyelashes. “Just give me one line.”
“No,” Ben says flatly, bringing his pen back to paper. He does nothing but draw an aimless spiral in the corner of his page.
“Please,” Callum asks, quiet, soft. Breathy. Ben glanced up at him, at the coy sharpness of his eyes, and at the gentle wash of his eyelashes against pale skin.
He mostly doesn’t want to share because this song is about Callum. And there’s no hiding that, really.
“Fine! Fine!” Ben relents, fiddling with his page, god he’s such a sucker for those eyes , he mocks himself privately. “If it’ll shut you up.”
He holds the book towards Callum because the thought of saying the lyrics out loud makes him feel sick. Callum takes it with gentle fingers, elbows on his knees, and Ben pictures him sitting out on the balcony like that, afternoon light draping around delicate bones, faded freckles coming to the surface with every passing second. Callum’s eyes flicker over the words again and again, over the messy scrawl of Ben’s writing.
And I’m so impatient when you’re not mine
I just want to catch up on all the lost times
And I'll say I'm sorry if I sound sordid
‘Cause all I really ever want is you
“Nice,” Callum says gently, meets Ben’s eyes over the cracked cover. “I like it.”
“Thanks,” Ben says, just as soft, because if he talks any louder his voice is going to do something stupid like break.
Callum hands the notebook over slowly. “You should write a song about me,” he says, grinning.
“You’d be lucky,” Ben says, smiling through the painful irony of his life, through the tidal wave of heat and panic that’s roaring through his ears, heart doing something strange and violent in his chest.
If Callum turns the pages back, he’ll find hundreds of words there, all for him.
Mick comes back in, then, whistling along to Bitter Sweet Symphony, and Callum pulls away slowly, clears his throat and sits up a little straighter. “Still here, ae we?” He sighs, but he hooks his arms around the back of Callum’s neck and tugs him into his chest playfully.
“Hm. Ben’s writing me a song,” he says.
“That’s lovely an’ all,” Mick chirps. “But I want me house back, so go home.”
“Yes boss,” Callum laughs. “See you Friday, Ben.”
:::
Ben’s not too sure how he’s ended up here again, three blankets deep in Callum’s bed. It’s late, closer to sunrise than sunset, the beginnings of a red sky lining the horizon. Inside the bedroom, though, it’s all cool blues and slates greys, tinges of oranges reflecting from the closing sequence of Fast and Furious on Callum’s laptop screen. He probably should lean out and close the screen but his bones feel too heavy and his eyes too weary, he’s on the cusps of sleep; bleary eyed lying on his stomach, arms tucked under the pillow.
Callum isn’t on the cusps of sleep, he’s flat out - has been since the the title screen started rolling - he’s letting out these soft, even breaths, tiny whistles of sound, warm on Ben’s neck. His nose is tucked into the dip where Callum’s neck meets his collarbone, one arm splayed along his side, the other resting gently across Ben’s heart. Ben can’t help but bathe in his warmth, all thin cotton and sleep and comfort.
He looks so delicate like this, Callum does, all guards down, peaceful and content, a far cry from the boy behind the bar. Ben shuffles in bed then, accidentally kicking his phone off the side as stretches, he winces at the resounding, obnoxious clunk, and at the way Callum’s body stutters, legs stretching back and forth.
“Ben?” he grumbles, voice thick with sleep.
“Sorry,” Ben whispers, settling beside him gingerly, bottom lip tucked into his mouth.
“‘S fine,” Callum says, the words are slurred and distant, his body is already settling back into sleep.
Ben shifts again, trying to get comfortable against the springs in his back. He feels boneless and on the edge of sleep, but each time he closes his eyes he’s wide awake, thoughts of CallumCallumCallum are running through his mind.
“What’re you doing?” Callum whispers, voice raspy, dipping his chin into the flesh of Ben’s shoulder.
“Can’t sleep,” Ben says, apologetic, “maybe I should go home, let you sleep.”
“No,” Callum insists, his fingers tracing delicate patterns across the skin of his bicep, soothing him. “‘I ain’t bothered. Just want you here.”
“Yeah. Same here.”
Ben closes his eyes while Callum gets comfortable again, lips at his neck, breath warm, and arm slung over his waist, fingers curled loose against his hip. It takes Ben a moment to sink into the mattress, to let his hands settle across Callum’s back, unsure whether it’s okay to touch like this, wondering whether it’s too much to pull him straight into his lap and wrap his arms around him. “How was your day?” Callum murmurs. “Feel like I didn’t get to talk to you tonight.”
They hadn’t talked, not really. The band had been late, and then they’d had issues during soundcheck, so by the time they’d finished up they we’re having to set up to go on stage. After, they’d gone straight to Keegan’s without going out back, exhausted and sleepy, pulling out the sofa almost as soon as they walked through the door.
“Not too bad,” Ben says. “Soundcheck was a ballache, though. How was yours?”
“Alright,” Callum says, words smudged against Ben’s throat. “Went out for lunch, had a nap, worked. Same old.”
“Where’d you go for lunch?” Ben asks as he traces his fingers down Callum’s arm, smiles at the tiny goosebumps that swell up under his touch.
“Dunno, some poncy cafe,” Callum snorts quietly. “Couldn’t even get a normal cuppa there. All fancy shit.”
“Sounds ‘orrible.”
“It was. Went with this guy though, Liam, comes into work all the time,” Callum starts and Ben’s stomach sinks, fingers curling against Callum’s skin while he tries to breath evenly. “Turns out he’s an arsehole, but I think I already knew that.”
“Then why’d you go?” Ben murmurs. Why with him? Why not with me?
Callum just shrugs. “I like the company, I guess.”
“You don’t have to go out with pricks like that for company,” Ben says, voice tight; sharp.
Callum lifts his head and peers down at him in the dark and Ben swear he can see stars in Callum’s eyes. “No?”
“No,” Ben shakes his head, earnest. “You could always - like - text me, if you wanna. I’m free most weekends.”
Callum watches him carefully, and when he smiles it’s dejected and soft, lips tucked in. He lifts his hand, sinks his fingers into the soft hair by Ben’s ear, stroking once, twice, three times. With his thumb, he leaves a soft, warm trace along Ben’s jaw. Everything about this is familiar, too familiar, the two of them curled together in the dark, in a little pocket of quiet.
“You’re too nice to me,” Callum says, thumb catching Ben’s bottom lip.
“I ain’t,” Ben whispers, kisses the pad of Callum’s thumb before he can stop himself, fingers rubbing firm circles on his hips, pressing in close. “I just wanna treat you the way you should be treated.”
That last part slips out too fast for him to catch, a thorn of a thought poking out from a rose, catching along his skin and splitting him open, exposing thoughts that are supposed to stay locked inside.
“And how’s that, hm?” Callum ponders. He folds Ben’s bottom lip down with his thumb again, lets it go. His mouth stays parted. “How should I be treated?”
All Ben can do to explain is kiss him.
It’s desperate and sleepy and they kiss like they’re dying for it, Callum’s hands travelling up Ben’s shirt, buttons popping open as they go. Callum is just in his boxers and his body is soft in the moonlight, the curtain pulled back and letting all the silvers and navys in, and Ben wishes that he could capture this moment forever, a grainy snapshot of desperation and something deeper.
To Ben, kissing Callum is the swooping sensation in your stomach, right before the drop of a roller coaster. It's being on top of the Ferris wheel and looking down to the ground. It's that moment when the plane first lifts off the runway, tilted upwards, on its way to the sky. He feels every place their bodies touch like a brand. He feels every single quick breath that Callum takes, as if it the air is traveling through their chests as one.
He kisses Callum deeply then, trying to pass on some of this feeling, but he thinks Callum might already know. He's sweet and bitter and familiar on Ben's tongue, beautifully bold when he bites Ben's lip and leans over him, slides his hands underneath the hem of Ben's shirt. Breathing each other’s air like this dips Ben’s head into a thick, warm pool of intimacy, where all things are damp and hot and sweet all at once.
Callum keeps carding his fingers through Ben’s hair, almost rhythmically, in time with the tilt of their heads, the lock of their lips, and Ben’s hands are vibrating just from that touch alone. Ben feels as if he’s got a star forming somewhere in the pit of his stomach, hot enough to draw sweat down the back of his neck. Callum is right in front of him, his chest heaving, his lips shiny and redder than he ever remembers them being and his hair is falling into his eyes, but he won't let go of Ben's gaze when he parts their lips to take a breath.
It doesn’t move past that, though. They kiss-and-kiss-and-kiss, until Ben’s lips feel fuzzy and numb in a way he didn’t think was possible. He wonders if he’ll feel it tomorrow, if he’ ll up and press his fingers down and feel Callum’s mouth there forever more.
“Ben,” Callum breathes, smudged by the lingering drag of their mouths. “Ben.”
“What?” he murmurs, dazed, his eyes on Callum’s bottom lip, he wants it between his teeth again.
“Y’alright?” Callums says, still stroking his hip gently.
“Yeah,” Ben rasps. He’s got his head tipped back, eyes closed. “Y’alright?”
“I-,” Callum starts. “Yeah,” he echoes instead.
“Good.”
“We should uh - should probably sleep,” Callum says, but it falls from his lips in a tumbling sigh, almost regretful, fingers twinned in Ben’s fringe.
And they do sleep, eventually. They fall asleep curled together, lips brushing because they just can’t seem to stop bloody kissing, even when Ben turns them onto their sides and pulls the thin sheet up, encasing them in a cocoon of blushing, homey warmth.
Ben isn’t aware of the moment he loses consciousness, he just feels himself slip away somewhere heady and quiet, until all that’s left is Callum’s even breathing and the fuzz of yellow in the corners of his dreams as the sun comes up.
:::
For a while, things are good.
Ben sort of exists in this haze, works towards Friday nights, the times he gets to be solely in Callum’s company, and suddenly everything is in high-definition, hightened. Sometimes they kiss and sometimes they don’t but it’s alright because it feels like something has changed; shifted. Callum is gentle with him when he teases, wishes him good luck and raises a glass to him from the bar when Ben is up singing songs that Callum doesn’t know are about him. Maybe.
The next Friday night roles around quicker than Ben is prepared for but he’s still holding this warmth, this hopefulness, in his chest. There’s a reason he feels so giddy tonight, buzzing with nerves, restless feet tapping out a beat against the stage, a rhythmic snapping of fingers, andheavy, uneven-breathing.
“This is our last song tonight,” Ben says, gripping the mic because he feels like he’s about to fall over, legs gone jelly like and weak in a way they haven’t done in a long time, but Callum is watching him and this feels very much like something Ben can’t come back from. “It’s something new we’ve been writing together over the last few weeks and it’s uh - well it’s about someone who’s pretty special to me. This is Hourglass.”
Callum’s reaction is immediate, a seriousness settling across his expression, eyes flickering, as if he knows. It starts all at once, Lola counting them in on the drums and then Ben is spilling his guts right there, under the ridiculously hot stage-lights with over a hundred eyes on him, all caution to the wind as he sings.
And I'm so impatient when you're not mine
I just want to catch up on all the lost times
And I'll say I'm sorry if I sound sordid
'Cause all I really ever want is you
I wanna bring you home myself
Bring you home myself
They smash their way through the rest of the song, and Ben feels himself getting lighter, feels all this weight simply falling away, and when Callum finally meets his eye neither of them look away until the song reaches its end.
It’s a bit of a blur when they stumble off stage, but Callum is there to greet him, and he whacks Ben in the stomach, a smile brighter than the sun playing on his lips.
:::
Callum is a silhouette when Ben meet him under the fuzzy-orange street lights and closes the side door behind him quietly. When Callum hears the snick of the door his gaze darts up like a spooked animal, and when he spots Ben he stands immediately.
“You fucking terrify me,” is what he blurts out, and that - well Ben hadn’t expected that. Callum runs his hands through his hair, jaw twitching as he looks at the ground. “You scare the shit out of me, Ben. Every time I look at you, I want to fucking run away ‘cause I never, ever want to hurt you, and that’s all I seem to keep doing. I keep messing this up and I never meant to mess with you the way I have, and I’m sorry.”
A ball of warmth spins in Ben’s chest, weighing on his lungs and stealing his breath, but it feels wanted, needed, somehow. “You don’t need to apologise, Cal, It ain’t like I’ve ever explicitly told you how I felt, is it? Properly, I mean. Which is a bit ridiculous considering how many songs I’ve written about you. I’ve literally spent months hanging off every word you say. And I dunno if I love you or not but I know that I could, so easily, I know that I could love you but you just won’t let me. You won’t let me get close enough and you won’t stop bloody sleeping around.”
“Ben,” Callum says, and he’s close enough to touch now. “I know now, and God I wish I hadn’t been so blind and stupid before, so stubborn but I’m here now. For you. Only you. And I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Ben whispers, but Callum shakes his head.
“It ain’t,” he says, grabs Ben’s hand and links their fingers. “It’s not okay and I need you to let me be sorry. I don’t want to fuck this up. You’re - you’re the most kind, lovely person I’ve ever met.”
“Why all these other blokes, then?” Ben finally asks. “Weren’t I enough?”
“God no. Ben, you’re more than enough,” Callum says, voice so sincere Ben thinks he might crumble under the weight of it. “But - well I suppose - I just didn’t think I deserved your - you.”
“You do. You deserve the world.”
“I’m not so sure.” And then, “you know, I’ve never had a relationship with a bloke before. Not had a relationship in a long time.”
”Really?”
“Yep. Well nowt that’s lasted longer than a week.”
“How come?”
”I don’t know. I guess people just don’t think I’m worth settling for.” Callum says, looking pointedly at his shoes.
“Well I do.”
”Yeah,” Callum says, that same shy smile pulling on his lips again. “I think I know that now.”
Ben can’t speak so he just nods, and his eyes are going misty and hot and he hates that he’s about to cry but then Callum is pulling him in, and he’s warm and safe and this might just be okay.
“How long?” Callum rasps. Ben tucks his face into his chest.
“Nearly the whole time, I think,” he says, flushing. “Just ignored it at first, but, um - I think I always knew.”
“Me, too,” Callum admits shyly, and Ben’s flush only deepens.
“We’re so, so stupid,” he whispers, and Callum laughs, bright and echoing up the empty alley, buried in Ben’s shoulder.
“Fucking hell,” he breathes, pulling back a little, letting their noses brush. “I’m serious, though. I’m gonna make it up to you. I was such a dickhead.”
“If you insist,” Ben breathes, sniffling.
“We’re honestly the worst. God, I’m so into you, Ben. It’s ridiculous.”
“Shut up, idiot,” Ben whispers, as he revels in this feeling of being giddy and so flushed and Callum is kissing his temple over and over.
“No,” he breathes. “I think about you all the time, to be honest, and I want you to know that. Only you.”
Ben has to kiss him then, because he feels breathless with affection and there’s still so much to say but he can’t hold off any longer, has to press closer and feel the familiarity of Callum’s lips, feel close to him in this brand new way.
A bright, dizzy kind of happiness looms over him like a tidal wave, wriggling in underneath his skin, goosebumps all over. It's headier than even the most expensive wine he's ever tasted, fiery and brilliant in his veins.
When they break apart they linger for a moment, noses brushing, and when Ben opens his eyes, he sees every constellation at once.
“I think I love you, Ben Mitchell,” Callum says, and Ben shoves him playfully, starts to drag him further into the shadows, eyes glinting with mischief and light and this - this feels right.
“And I think I love you too, Callum Highway.”
“Let me take you home,” Callum says in this sing-song voice and Ben’s heart just bloody bursts.
He starts laughing then, and doesn't stop. He's got this kind of happiness trapped in his chest that demands to be let out; it wants the entire world to know that he’s finally got the man of his dreams. For this night. And forever.
Callum joins him, after a second, hiding happy sounds into the skin of Ben's neck, the cup of their joined hands.
They laugh. Music roles in the background, I Always Knew blaring through the speakers.
They laugh and they sing and they laugh some more, and with Callum’s happiness cradled in his palms, Ben feels whole.