#aspd!callum

So here is a blip of Chp. 5ish as Ben confronts Callum for being a jackass, and for once it actually devolves in a way that doesn't involve hate sex. Okay, maybe a little.

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It hit Ben like a freight train. His heart was torn under the wheels, his ears screamed with the whistle of blood, everything breaking and crashing as he looked up Callum, his boyfriend. The person who swore he could trust him. The one whose eyes, previously concerned and twisted into the most genuine fear he had seen, flicked over his face as the realization boiled his mind into something new--blank, preparing for war. That there was enough proof of guilt that Ben could have stormed out and never spoken to Callum again. But there was no guilt in his eyes. And it drove him crazy. 

It came out softly. “You manipulated me.”

Callum’s mouth opened, but to his credit, he had enough respect to close it and reconsider whatever lies he was about to say next. Ben could see the wheels turning in the taller man’s head as he bit his lip. But he didn’t deny it. 

“You tricked me into seeing your therapist. Into thinking I was crazy.”

At that Callum’s blank face changed in some guarded, hurt way Ben could never name. “I didn’t make you think you were crazy--”

“Because you think that I am crazy.”

“No I--having a disorder doesn’t make you crazy, Ben! Needing help doesn’t make you crazy!” Whatever tactic the sociopath in front of him wanted to take broke down as anger shown through, and Ben knew, at the very least, that much was genuine. “You weren’t acting normal, and--”

“And what?! That gives you the right to control my life?” Ben took a step back when his boyfriend stepped towards him, and the world was becoming dizzy and horrible and filled with the shifting lies from the angry eyes of the man he let himself care about. Value. “I don’t need to see a fucking therapist, and I don’t need you to decide what I need or who I am or if I’m fucking crazy!” Ben’s eyes searched wildly around the room for his coat; he needed out. The walls were closing in. 

The other man must have sensed his intent to leave as alarm was laced into his voice, stifled with a suppressed bewilderment and frustration. “Ben, you can’t deny that you have issues--”

“We all have issues!”

“Most of us don’t go around being a criminal, Ben! Or staying with an abusive dad who treats you like absolute garbage,” utter hatred and contempt filled the sociopath's voice, and Ben felt bile rising in his gut as he felt a small push to blindly defend his father. He shoved it down, gripping onto the couch. “You have a lot of issues, a lot like when I first started seeing treatment.” Callum’s voice became softer, and it hurt. It dragged nails across his skin and pierced his heart because his voice never sounded that true and real and like he mattered. That this mattered. His boyfriend stepped closer, just a little bit, and Ben let him. Because if Callum wanted to manipulate him, he wouldn’t do it like this. “You know how much it helped me. I’m not exactly the pinnacle of mental health,” Ben’s lips flicked up at that, and a bit of triumph stuck in Callum’s eyes (it was soft, not a prize), “but I can stay around people. I can help them. I can think of them as people. My dad…” Callum's voice choked, and Ben knew he had tried to push too far. He let the other man gain his breath back. “It helped. And I knew it could work for you. And I know you’re hurt and you’re hurting and you need help, don’t pretend that everything is okay.” More authoritarian now, the previous frustration showing through. If Callum didn’t care, Ben reasoned, finally meeting the other’s mangled eyes, he wouldn't have put so much effort into seeming sincere. He could see in the way his shoulders tensed how much Ben’s outrage baffled him right now. 

“And that makes it all okay?” He tried to be quiet. He should have been louder. Not sound like the weaklings Callum sometimes talked about. 

“I--”

“Why even do all this?” His voice was sharper now. “Don’t pretend like you care. I know you don’t. You’ve told me. Your stupid therapist told me.” Bitter, biting. His arms were crossed, tight. 

“Because I fucking VALUE you!” Ben jumped out of his skin as Callum almost screamed, frustration and anger riddled and bored into every surface of how he gestured on, like he wanted to shake Ben until his brains were scrambled enough to understand. “Just because I don’t feel empathy doesn’t mean I don’t fucking CARE about you! Do you think I would do all of this,” he gestured throughout the room, “or even be your boyfriend if I didn’t think you were worth it?! Because I do, and I did, and I try to do all this caring stuff that doesn’t mean anything to me because I want you to be happy! Because that makes me happy.” Ben’s eyes stayed widened, words beating in his ears over and over. “This--maybe--” Callum had to regather himself, gesturing near his head, “I reasoned that you being in therapy would mean an overall enjoyment of happiness, and yeah, its crude math, but it makes sense and it’s all part of this cognitive empathy I’m trying, so you can say a lot of stuff about what I did,” Callum pointed towards him, towards his heart, “but don’t fucking say it was because I didn’t care. Alright?” Quieter, and the rare vulnerability that flashed on his face blinked out as Callum gained control over it, breathing heavily. Blank.

His arms hurt from how his fingers dug in. He could hear Callum’s words beat in his heart and in his brain and in his ears, and he had to hold onto his previous anger to stay alive. 

Because that was the first time Callum said he cared. In his own, different way. In the Callum way. 

“You still manipulated me. You lied.”

“And?”

“I don’t like that. You know that,” Ben bit back, voice a bit exasperated. “We said no lies.”

“You lie to me sometimes. Said you’d get milk yesterday.” Ben had to fight back the flick of his lips. No.

“That’s not the same.”

“I know.” There was a second of pause, the second in which he knew Callum was trying to process what to say. “I know that makes you feel hurt,” it came out slowly, like he hadn’t practiced in a while, “and I’m sorry you’re hurt. Like I said, big fan of happy Ben, me.”

Ben opened his mouth, but instead he broke out into the smile he had been fighting back, and sat down on the couch he had been next to, hands interlaced and gripping each other. “I think that was the most healthy conversation we’ve had in weeks.”

“Maybe months.” Callum’s voice didn’t change, but Ben didn’t have to look at Callum to see he was approaching this cautiously. That he wasn’t too far away, but close enough to pounce. To touch. “But we can still have hate sex if you want,” Callum offered, head knocked to the side and eyebrows raised in that stupid, dumb way he did to make himself seem serious. God, he really could manipulate him without even trying. But he still didn’t come closer. Waiting for the verdict. 

“Don’t tempt me, you know how hot you look when you’re angry,” Ben flirted back, maybe on habit, but his voice was still exasperated, looking at Callum with a raised eyebrow. 

Everything about Callum screamed, ‘what does that MEAN,’ but he still managed a smile and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Of course, men and women alike are lining up to make out with a pissed off sociopath. Really turns them on.” His nose scrunched. “Nevermind, that’s probably an actual fetish. Is that why you started dating me?” His voice was a bit too hopeful for Ben’s taste, but he swallowed it down; he wanted to keep this blip of sanity.

“Yeah. The other half is your cheekbones.” Callum’s head ducked in a smile, in a more sincere, gentle way. (He could tell it was real because it was about Callum, that glow always stayed with him with compliments. Narcissistic bastard, right?) Ben looked downward, studying Callum’s floorboards. 

“So?” The other man couldn’t take it anymore, suspense and some impatience lacing his voice. “Are we...okay?” Like he couldn’t wait for this all to be over and done with. 

“No. Not anywhere close to okay.” Ben made sure to meet his boyfriend’s eyes as he said it, breathing steady and eyes serious. Callum didn’t fall apart at that news ( as Ben knew he himself would have). But his face did close a little, more blank, eyebrows straighter. “You lied to me, severely, and I’m gonna need time. To process.” Callum nodded, hands still in his pockets, though his head hung a little. “And I’m still mad at you. Just because your intentions were not...completely self motivated, doesn’t mean I am just okay with it.” Frustration blipped by, as Ben knew it would. But Callum still stayed silent. Until he didn’t. 

“And the therapy?” Ben could practically hear him trying to push him towards the end result he still wanted, so this tangle of emotions wasn’t a huge waste of his time. But, at least to Callum’s credit, he tried to hide it. That respect was something he and Ben and to build up with mortar and bricks and time, so Ben took the small victory. Softer, “It can help, Ben.”

“I know that!” Callum’s face closed up more. The shorter man had to look down at the floorboards again. “I’m--I’ll think about it. But I’ll do it on my own and reach my own conclusion; you’re not involved in this anymore.” Because Callum cared about him. Valued him. Wanted to him to be happy. Wanted to spend time with him. Wanted Ben to be Ben, just for him. And there was no way his sap of a heart, having won a war, could not be a bit lenient in sentencing. Yeah, it was messed up, but so was he. So were they. “Okay?”

Callum looked at him, really looked at him, for a second. He could tell that he was bewildered, frustration knocked on the floor, but patience lingered in his eyes when Ben tore their gaze apart. “Okay,” the softer voice came, and Callum stepped towards him, sitting next to him on the couch, far enough apart for Ben’s walls not to come crashing down, crushing them both, but close enough to whisper through the prison windows. There. 

Aaa I'm glad!! I've been doing more research into it and it would be a lot of fun to write!! ASPD is super fascinating and having a manipulator in a fic could be a lot of fun, plus the conflict between Callum wanting human intimacy vs. being who he is (gay) and not wanting to admit that what he has w Whitney isn't what he should be aiming for and both he and Whitney deserves more + Callum struggling to controlling his lying and learning how to try and construct better relationships??? Has so much potential?? Aaa I'm just ranting, but I loved this anon sm that I wrote a little drabble from the plot that I have planned!!

Warning: Ben WANTS to believe Callum is bad for being a sociopath and so uses kinda mean langauge. I don't believe this and its part of his character at this point in the story!!

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Callum smiled when Jay left the room, a proper, sunny smile before looking down at the paperwork he was cleaning up like a good little worker bee. The corner's of Ben's eyes stayed concentrated on how the smile faded with a more aged practice, face turning serious as a mask slipped away, supposedly. Ben could see him rifling through them just like he took that paperwork out of the cabinet. How many paper mache masks did the good boy of Walford where with such carefully cut corners and eyeholes? Maybe someday Ben would care enough to ask. 

"Got Jay wrapped all around your little finger, don't you?" Ben remarked from his place in the doorway where he still hadn't left, looking at some paper or other that Jay had handed him to look nonchalant. But of course in the corners of his eyes he noticed Callum stand up straighter at him saying something, another smile and a small look of confusion on his face as he sat down in his chair. Maybe just like old Jack from juvie. Making a new personality on the spot. They never talked one on one before.

"I'm sorry?" So confused dolt it was. Ben turned his head to face the uptaker, leaning more against the doorway. Callum gave him a look akin to a confused puppy, wondering what it was getting teased about this time. They hadn't even spoken for a few seconds and Callum was making Ben feel less resolved. But Ben saw what he saw. He knew what those eyes were like, and the fact that the cute face was working on him dug at his skin. 

To dismiss the inflated pause, Ben gestured the paper and said, "Must be because of your pretty face, I mean, who can say no to that jawline?" More confusion, it seemed Ben caught him genuinely off guard. This was starting to be way more fun than he thought it'd be. 

"I'm--I'm sorry, what?" Callum's solid eyebrows set into his face. Now a bit guarded. 

"Relax, it's called a compliment. Unless, of course, it isn't your face that's making him do what you want. Buy you breakfast in the morning, maybe?" 

"What?" Now the confusion was fortified by the cobalt steel wall that was Callum's eyes, the straighter posture and tighter grip on the paperwork making it clear that Ben had touched a particular nerve. "Are you accusing me of--" 

"Manipulating my best friend? Yeah. Crazy right? Good boy of Walford wouldn't do something, so, well, sociopathic." Callum's face flashed with shock mixed with a veil of hurt, leaning backward in his chair. Ben stood up straighter. "Like making Lola help set up Whitney's stall for a week. Or getting making Jay late for picking me up at the airport. Sound familiar?" 

"Are you serious?" Callum his palms with some disbelieving gesture, the steel fortress replaced with a baffled, though highly insulted, man. "You have no right to accuse me of--" 

"I think I do, Cal. Can I call you Cal?" 

"I don't like--" 

"Here's the deal Cal, I'm not afraid of you." More confusion, Callum was done with that blank face, apparently. "And I'm not afraid of people like you." 

"And what would that be?" Callum's voice was irritated, snapped, already tired of this conversation. Ben got that a lot. 

"Sociopaths. Manipulators. I've met my own share. Spent enough time in prison to be called one. But here's the kicker," And here is where Ben took his turn for his face to lose it's teasing, hiding tone and become more aggressive, a wolf with bared fangs. He moved towards Callum desk, placing his hand on the wood. "You leave my friends out of whatever twisted mind games you're playing. Alright?" 

Callum looked up at him with his pretty blue eyes in disbelief, and more than a fair share amount of broiled anger and hurt, before darting up from his chair and staring Ben down. 

Callum was tall. A lot taller up close. Ben swallowed. 

"First of all, Jay buying me breakfast in the mornings has more to do with the fact that my brother and his girlfriend are living with me, and that tends to bring down a paycheck, not that that's any of your business. I don't know what this is about Jay not being able to pick you up on time but I'm pretty sure Jay can manage his own schedule and that whatever traffic that got backed up had nothing to do with me." Callum put a hand on his chest, "You don't even know me! You're calling me a sociopath because Lola helped Whitney for a week? Because I try to be a nice and polite person to Jay? What's wrong with you?" Hurt flooded Callum's face, and it occurred to Ben that people usually didn't like to be called an unfeeling monster at 17 o'clock on a Tuesday. 

"I--" 

"No, just," Callum placed his hand in the air, as if commanding Ben to stop. He did. "I just--I can't deal with this today. I have a 2 year anniversary to plan and I'm..." Callum took a step back, giving Ben an exasperated, defeated look as he pushed off from the desk. The silence was deafening. With a shake of his head, the taller man walked out of the room, giving Ben a wide berth as he passed, paperwork left neatly on the desk. As he heard the door close through the walls. 

"Callum?" he heard Jay call out. "Ben, what did you do?" 

"Why do you assume I did something? Maybe he just can't stand to be around the dead for another eternity." Ben snapped back loudly, jerking his head towards the sound of Jay's voice. 

Callum's hurt had sounded...real. Ben looked back at the abandoned desk, swallowing. Maybe he--no, no, he knew what he saw. Callum had to be manipulating him. That's what sociopaths did. That what he had been doing to Jay for months. 

Callum Highway was a sociopath and he was going to prove it. 

Aww, thank you!! When I got this I was working on chp 1 and wanted to share it as thanks for sending in this sweet comment but I wanted to be done w the first part before I did, so sorry that this took a while to answer!! Thanks again ❤❤

Here's the first section of Chp 1 for my ASPD!Callum fic! Hope you enjoy it!!

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Maybe Callum should try doing cocaine. That would be close to caffeine, right? Callum's eyes blipped down the list of coffee prices from his place far away from the little airport shop, fingers gripped comfortably around the loose collection of things he had deemed worthy to bring with him to basic training. His rumpled clothes didn't stand out much from the crowd of men and boys around him, and touches of poor sleep showed on his eyes and lips. 

Cocaine was just a drug, Callum mused, drawing circles with his thumb on his bag. It would be a rush. A thrill. A break from the never ending void of boredom grinding through his mind every second. And it'd probably be fun. He could imagine it, rushing through his veins, stealing his breath, feeling his mind with a euphoria that would shatter his windows and leave claw marks on his doors. Maybe he should try it. Find another way to fill that void. But, he reasoned, logic flowing in like the steady, infuriating clockwork it was, that would lead down a path to getting addicted and being poor and becoming ghastly. And Callum liked not being ghastly. 

Caffeine was a drug too. Less potent, sure. But a stimulant nevertheless. Maybe if he had some, the sluggish, sleepy grog in his head would disappear. Though Callum really was more of a tea person, he found himself giving into the impulse and patted his pockets, confirming his wallet was all the way down in his bag. His eyes flicked to the nearby Sergeant, trying to keep a rambunctious 18 year old in line, and sized him up, thinking quickly--he really didn't want to pay for a four pound coffee--before walking towards him. 

The Sergeant met his eyes after a few seconds of waiting as the kid was brutally scolded. From the creases on his brow, sleep had been torn from his eyes as well, and Callum could sense it: the weakness in how the old man carried himself. The way his back was straight but shoulders crouched, the way his eyes pinched together, the scowl of irritation tracing his lips. Appropriately, Callum whipped up a new face, slouching himself and putting his head to the side in a naive, infuriating way to show he really was a special kind of idiot, face uncertain and maybe a little bit frightened. It happened quickly--Callum already had half of it already made up before he walked over here in case the Sergeant wanted to poke at a random soldier--and the face only adjusted to become more uncertain as the Sergeant began talking. 

"What do you want, Private?! Get back in line!" Annoyance laced his voice, and a vein was starting to pop up. Perfect. 

Callum shifted his weight, looking as if he was about to hop back into line except for how his face contorted with indecision. "Sir, I--" 

"That's Sergeant! And stand at attention!" 

Callum corrected himself, twisting his hands out of a fidgeting motion to stand straighter and looking down at the Sergeant with the same apprehensive look. "Sergeant, before I--" a brief look of embarrassment, "--I really have to go to the bathroom." 

The look given by the man in front of him could only be described as one overcome by the stupidity of humanity as his deadpanned eyes stared up at the face of a rather squeamish looking soldier, with perhaps a touch of pity drowning in the apathy that boiled there. After a few seconds of pause, the Sergeant apparently reached the conclusion that this particular soldier wasn’t worth the effort and pointed in the direction of the bathroom in a dismissive and defeated gesture. “Grab a battle buddy and hurry back, Private.”

“Thank you, Sergeant!”  Callum released a dumb smile and nodded, grabbing his bag’s strap lying on his chest in a break of the stand at attention and let his eyes glide over the wide varitey of men in front of him. There, to his left, was a kid, about 18 looking, that wasn’t grouped up with anyone else, rather hovering over a group and only adjacently part of the conversation. Callum might not have to pay for his coffee after all. 

He walked over to the kid, looking across the crowd as if inspecting each one with a rather bored expression, before making his way to the future soldier, face now passive and with only a bit of interest lit in his eyes. The kid seemed suprised when Callum stopped in front of him, confusion and anxiety shown by his scrunched eyebrows, but the group he had tried to enter only gave him a glance before going back to their conversation and ignoring both of them. 

“Can you be my battle buddy real quick?” He jerked his thumb towards the bathroom, posture straight and head hung in that loose, confident way that people were drawn to. “I have to head to the bathroom and Sergeant says I need one.”

“Me?” The kid put a hand to their chest, letting the surprise blip out into a mimic of Callum’s own posture: cool and confident, a quick acceptance in a way to show that he got asked to do these things all the time. Wanted. “Yeah, sure.” Callum let a crack of a smile slip, letting the kid know he chose the right decision and that he was doing alright so far, which made the other stand up straighter with more confidence, following Callum’s long gait as he started for the bathroom. 

They hit the bathroom on their long-ish journey, passing a few convenience stores, and he gave a nod to the kid before opening the bathroom door and entering the room. He waited a few minutes, the thrill from the chase and the game already setting into his bones. Plan now cemented in front of him, he opened the door with a new face: disappointed, troubled, but still hung in that aloof, unbothered way that would still hold the kid’s attention. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked first, picking up on the signals on his face almost immediately. 

“I was trying to pocket a few pills I need for this cough I had, but it must have fallen out of my pocket.” Callum pressed a few fingers against his throat absent mindedly, distress littering the previous apathetic face, and he bit his lip, self-contemplating, making it clear that he was trying to find his own solution, but body still facing him to show that he was in the conversation. That he could help.

“Oh. Is that bad? How bad is the cough?” the kid interrupted, head to the side and a concern littering his own eyes, brow scrunched together in that emphatic, caring way Callum never understood. 

“Pretty bad, I guess, I was thinking about getting some medicine from the convenience store but I can’t find the money in my bag…” Here, a guide to the right direction. Hopefully, the kid wasn’t too stupid to see it. 

The kid did draw the right connection, rushing in to help the distraught man, seeking inclusion, another smile from the aloof eyes that had picked him for exactly that reason. “I can pay for it, if it’s that bad. How much is it?”

Callum looked back at him with surprise, a pleasant surprise, before giving a smile of relief--not too much, but enough for the kid to smile back and stand up straighter. Callum made sure his voice was laced with a mix of relief, surprise, and a tantalizing bit of respect, “Really? Thank you, you have no idea how grateful I am.” His posture was more open now, inviting. Friendly. “It’s about 4 pounds I think? That isn’t too much, right?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” the kid dismissed, grabbing something from his bag and flicking him a 5 pound note, face still wrapped up in his smile and hullabaloo. His happy smile grew a bit as he assured that it was no problem, dismissing Callum’s voiced concerns. “You’ll just pay me back, right? When you have the money?”

“Yeah, yeah definitely,” Callum assured, giving one of his sunny smiles, littered with that grateful glint that people found important, before another nod and heading off to the convenience store, right next to the little coffee shop he had spotted before, before ducking into said coffee shop as his face slipped away. He let the paper money roll in his fingers as he entered the shop--out of sight from the bathroom, he made sure to check--as he looked the coffee prices up and down, face a mask of apathy and boredom. Espresso shots sounded nice. Picking one with the most caffeine as possible, Callum drummed his fingers against the counter as the barista faked a smile for him and whipped up his order. With a polite nod and smile, he took the coffee when it was finally finished and offered to him, moving to lean against one of the walls of the coffee shop, change clinking in his hand as he took a sip. 

Dear God, that was like a cat and the blood of Satan had a baby. It fried his nerves a little, jingling his doorbells and nibbling at his walls, but he couldn’t get over the taste of it all. He should have gotten tea instead, really. Halfway through the drink, he tossed it into the trash, putting the change in his pocket before heading back to the bathroom, relieved smile back in place as he handed him the coins the barista had handed to him in change. The kid nodded in that enthusiastic way kids do and gave him another smile, dimmed slightly by how Callum now started to pull away, eyes not staying on the kid for long, but he waited once he started walking to make sure the shorter of the two matched his stride, which was enough for the kid to bubble in different talking points as if the two men were now buddies. Great.  Callum’s smile was clearly a little forced now, not matching his eyes, which the kid picked up on as they approached the group again, and he didn’t hang so closely to the other’s shadow, eyes darting to the group he had been tailing before. 

Callum jerked his thumb towards the mass of men in front of him, “I need to talk to Sergeant, but thanks for the medicine, mate, it means a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah, any time.” Disappointment fluttered over his face as Callum started to pull away, but he let a smile stay on which made Callum smile back, just in case he needed the kid again. The short young man was of the stupid varetiy that would probably be useful in the future anyway, he remarked as the young man slipped off, 4 pounds poorer and with no idea how Callum stringed him along like the mouse he was. He didn’t even ask what prescription Callum had or question why a sick soldier would be in the army. People like that had only themselves to blame for what came to them. 

Callum let himself fall back in the place he was in before, hand on his bag strap and waiting for the Sergent to start pushing them towards the plane, where Callum would join the infantry and see war, famine, bloodshed. After basic training, of course. War was going to be a messy rush of adrenaline and something new, in the sharp, biting way that Callum craved, a way to distract himself from the maddening softness of boredom caressing every second of every day. The thrill of the little game he played, his eyes spinning his own universe and world and character, power over the empty hulls that surrounded him (lifeless, real only on paper, disconnected from the sky) still ran through his veins, mixing with the rumbled nerves he received from the coffee. Most of it was probably the coffee, anyway. As the mass of men started moving, an ease filled his gut. 

He imagined someone next to him asking him if he was worried. Stuart, maybe, if he cared. His mother's lingering tendrils of sanity. Did he have concern that he would die, that the impulsive decision to join the military--dropping everything, leaving behind everyone--would be a bad one, etc. But Callum would just lie to them anyway if they were here. Because no turmoil rolled in his gut, no concern ladened his heart, other than the faint one of eating soon. Apathy drummed his bag, same as his fingertips, as it did for every impulsive decision Callum has ever made. 

War was a thrill, change was a thrill, and Callum was bored. Inwardly shrugging, he picked his pace to reach the front of the mass of men. At the very least, war was safer than cocaine. Probably.