Echoes of Us: The CEO and His Soulmates [BL]

Reincarnation.

Callum Pierce ran his fingers through his hair as a tired groan spilled from his lips. The dull ache behind his eyes was that of a man who had been chasing sleep but wasn't fast enough.

The apartment was still. The early morning light crept through half-drawn blinds, illuminating the mess of papers and a laptop still open on his desk. 

Ryan had always found it stupid that, with all the recent advancements in tech and the widespread use of interactive holograms and VR, Callum still preferred to do most of his work on the same shitty laptop he'd had since college. It was a sentimental thing; he could afford a new laptop or interactive holographic tech, but his shitty laptop had seen him through thick and thin and, if it wasn't going to die, he wasn't going to kill it.

He sat slouched in the chair, staring at the ugly webpage glowing faintly in the dim of his room.

"Reincarnation is real—find the truth about your past lives!"

The site's neon aesthetic screamed mid-2000s cringe. All it needed was a pixelated gif of an angel doing cartwheels. But he was here, wasn't he? No use pretending he wasn't desperate. 

Last night, Callum had told himself he'd find answers. He'd skimmed through endless articles—psychological analyses of dreams, medical studies about sleep disorders, and any possible explanation for his condition grounded in logic and science. He'd looked through all the things he trusted, things that made sense. But when none of them came close to explaining what he was experiencing and, after he'd read up on how he possibly could have been lucid dreaming, his search had drifted into...less credible territory. 

Now here he was, reading an email from some self-proclaimed mystic who had taken his $5 and responded with unnerving speed. 

'The memories you describe are echoes of a life once lived. You carry fragments of a soul that has walked this universe before, perhaps in another world. In your dreams, you are awakening to your truth.'

Callum ran a hand down his face, groaning softly again.

'Awakening to your truth?' He sighed, leaning back in his chair and running his fingers through his hair. He felt ridiculous. He was ridiculous. A prince in another world? Really? How convenient. He'd always thought it was funny how reincarnation stories never involved janitors or farmers. No, it was always kings, queens, great warriors, or tragic lovers. Ego-inflating nonsense. 

He pushed himself back from the desk and stood, his movements stiff from hours of sitting. The idea was absurd. Insane. He was Callum Pierce, CEO of a multimillion-dollar gaming company. He didn't have time to entertain the ramblings of self-styled psychics on the internet. 

And yet...his jaw tightened. If it was just nonsense, why couldn't he shake the feeling that it wasn't? 

The memories—or dreams, as he was determined to call them—felt too vivid, too real. Each time he closed his eyes, the image of that other world consumed him. The colors of the sunsets. The sound of a name he was convinced belonged to him spoken in a voice he couldn't bear to forget. The fire. The betrayal. 

The boy. 

Callum exhaled sharply and pressed his palms against the desk. He could've just been dreaming and, like a child playing pretend, he believed he was a prince in his past life.

But that didn't explain Micah. 

From the moment he'd seen Micah Liu, the intern with the wide, earnest eyes and the quiet brilliance he tried to hide behind shyness, something had shifted. A string inside Callum had been plucked, vibrating with a resonance he didn't understand but couldn't ignore. 

It was impossible. Coincidental at best. And yet, whenever he saw Micah, it felt as though he were staring through the haze of time at a soul he had already known. 

Callum groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated how much his thoughts kept circling back to his employee, as if Micah were the missing piece of some puzzle he didn't know he was trying to solve. He hated even more how he could still feel the lingering guilt from last night's dream even though it had been so short he couldn't remember most of it. Ashur's face—Micah's face—haunted him. He could still hear the sadness in Ashur's voice, the pain.

"Ridiculous," Callum muttered, shaking his head. He reached for the granola bar he'd left on the edge of the desk, unwrapping it mechanically. 

Still, his mind wouldn't quiet. He glanced at the clock. It was barely 6am. Too early for anyone to be at the office. Too late to salvage what was left of his night. Resigned, he grabbed his coat and keys. 

---

The company building was eerily quiet when Callum arrived, the soft hum of the heating system the only sound breaking the silence. He made his way to the cafeteria, his footsteps echoing faintly in the empty halls. 

The snack table was stocked, as always. He grabbed two granola bars, a bag of chips and a bottle of water, chewing absently as he turned toward the large glass doors leading out to the plaza. 

That's when he saw him. 

Micah sat at one of the picnic tables, hunched over a sketchbook, his pencil moving in fluid, practiced strokes. His hair was still slightly damp, as if he'd showered just before leaving home, and his oversized hoodie swallowed his slight frame. 

Callum hesitated for a moment, then pushed the door open. The brisk morning air hit him as he stepped outside, but it wasn't unpleasant. 

"You're here early," he said, his voice carrying softly across the plaza. 

Micah jumped slightly, turning toward him. When he realized who it was, he relaxed, offering a sheepish smile. "Oh. Morning, Mr. Pierce." 

"Callum," he corrected automatically, then glanced at the sketchpad in Micah's lap. "We don't open for like, another three hours." 

Micah shrugged, closing the sketchbook instinctively. "Couldn't sleep. Weird dreams."

Callum groaned in solidarity. He could relate to that.

"Figured I'd come to work," Micah continued. "I kinda forgot no one sane comes in this early." 

Callum smiled faintly. "Guess I'm not sane, then." 

Micah's lips quirked up in a half-smile. "Guess not." 

That smile. Callum wanted to bottle it up and take it like a pill whenever he was having a bad day. Warmth spread across his chest like the taste of hot chocolate on a cold day.

He realised he was staring and tore his gaze away, lowering himself down on the bench beside Micah. "May I?"

Micah nodded his consent and Callum sat down, dumping his snacks on the picnic table.

Micah looked down at the haul, amusement dancing in his gaze. "Breakfast?" 

Callum hummed. "It's not exactly eggs Benedict but," he shrugged, "It's not the worst substitute. What about you? Have you eaten?" 

Micah opened his mouth as if to say yes, but then paused, his shoulders tightening slightly. He shook his head. "Not yet." 

"Granola?" Callum offered, holding one out. 

Micah hesitated but eventually took it, though he didn't open it. Instead, he slipped it into his pocket, glancing away. Callum noticed the hesitation just as he'd noticed how his smile didn't quite reach his eyes when talking about his morning. As if there was something else weighing on him.

He noticed but chose not to comment. "So, coming to work before dawn and finding the place empty...you decided to draw?" 

"It's calming," Micah admitted, his voice quieter now. "And it's good practice. Keeps me sharp." 

Callum leaned against the table, letting the silence settle for a moment. Micah looked tired, more so than usual. There was something about the way his shoulders slumped, the way his fingers toyed with the edge of his sketchbook, that made Callum want to ask if he was okay. But he didn't. He was his boss and bosses didn't do that… At least, he didn't think they did. Ryan had a better grasp of the 'boss' thing than he did; he was just Callum.

Instead, he gestured to the sketchbook. "May I see what you're working on?" 

Micah stiffened slightly, holding the book protectively. "It's nothing. Just doodling." 

Callum raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'd love to see your doodles." 

Micah hesitated, then sighed, flipping it open to the latest page. "Just...promise not to fire me," he muttered. 

"This is hardly grounds for termination," Callum said dryly, but the humor faded as his eyes fell on the sketch. 

Two figures stood side by side on the page. One bore a striking resemblance to him—broad-shouldered, intense, with an otherworldly edge to his features. The other was softer, gentler. Curly hair, squinty eyes, a small button nose. He looked like a distant cousin of Micah's.

Caelan and Ashur. 

Micah noticed Callum's reaction, his cheeks warming. His smile was shy, nervous and so cute that Callum, like a worm exposed to the sun, both wanted to bask in and shrink away from it. "I realised I hadn't created new OC's in a while," Micah said. "And these two kept popping up in my head."

Callum carefully traced the drawing, his fingers brushing the thin scar on Caelan's forehead, the aftermath of an injury acquired from falling off Arrow the first time he rode the tiger-fox. Callum felt his own forehead ache in remembrance.

Micah was saying, "I think... I've been stuck on them for weeks now. I don't know why, but they feel... real, you know? Like their story is already written, and I'm just trying to remember it." He pressed a finger against the drawing of Caelan— "This one is a prince and this one—" the finger migrated over to Ashur— "is a stablehand who takes care of royal Kinnarion's."

Callum felt like he was— for lack of better terms— one step away from absolutely losing his shit. This couldn't be happening. There was no way in hell that the shady psychic was right. Really, what were the odds? What were the odds that reincarnation was real in the first place? And what were the odds that he'd end up a reincarnated soul and finding his lover in their new life? They had to be slim. Nonexistent. 

So how was this happening!?

"Are you okay, Mr. Pierce?" Micah asked, pulling him out of his internal breakdown. "You look a little unwell."

Callum quickly composed himself. "It's Callum," he replied shortly. Then, realising the unnecessary hostility in his tone, he added. "This looks wonderful. Can… can you tell me more about them?"

Micah's nervous smile increased by another inch and he reached up to pull a curl over his eyes. "I don't want to talk your ear off. Asking about my OC lore is one way to guarantee I never shut up."

Callum's smile, although pinched, returned at that. He could relate to being obsessed with your characters to the point of constant chatter. When he was in the process of creating the lore of what would later be Pantheon, he would spend long hours talking to Ryan about worldbuilding details and characters stats until Ryan reminded him it was 3am and normal people went to bed hours before.

"I don't mind," he replied.

Another inch added to the nervous smile and Micah's hand migrated to the back of his neck as he rubbed his nape. "Uhm… well, they're still new so I don't really have all the details but they live in this semi-fantasy world, of course in a castle." He paused. "Well, Caelan lives in the castle. Ashur lives in the servants quarters and works in the Beast stables. And…"

"And?" Callum asked, waiting for him to continue.

Micah hesitated, nervously tapping his pencil on the wooden table. "Well, I can't tell you the next part until I know… if you're homophobic or not."

"Micah," Callum started carefully, afraid that any sudden responses would make the younger man run. "Catalyst Games is one of the, if not the most inclusive studios out there. We celebrate Pride."

Micah shook his head slowly, his curls flopping along with the movement. "That doesn't really mean anything. A lot of companies slap on a rainbow flag on everything because it's good for publicity; then remove it when it's not. Besides—" his huge green eyes laser focused on Callum, making the older man squirm. "I want to know if you're homophobic, not if the company is."

Callum's chest tightened. Micah didn't say it, but he'd probably been burned before. Callum's fingers flexed, the memory of the halfhearted tolerance speeches at shareholder meetings he had to listen to and his parents' complete ignorance of his sexuality prickling uncomfortably. 

Micah's eyes unraveled him, daring him to tell the truth and threatening him to lie and Callum? Callum only had the truth to give. "I'm not homophobic."

Micah's smile returned and his eyes lit up like a supernova, reopening the floodgates of OC lore dump. "Oh, right! So, like I said, Caelan's a prince, but not one of those spoiled, brooding ones. He's like... the 'I will protect my people even if it kills me' type. And Ashur—he isn't just a stablehand; he's, like, the most loyal, headstrong stablehand ever. And, okay, I don't know the details yet, but something happened, and now Caelan can't stop looking at Ashur like he hung the stars." He glanced between the drawing and Callum, his expression twisting into something unsure. "Weird," he murmured, almost to himself. "They kinda look like us."

Callum forced his voice to remain steady. "You didn't notice the uncanny resemblance while you were drawing?" 

Micah groaned, running a hand through his hair. "No, I did not subconsciously draw my boss as a fantasy character. That already happened." 

Callum smirked. "It did?" 

Micah froze as if he'd just realised what had come out of his mouth. "Forget I said that," he said quickly, his cheeks reddening. 

"I don't think that's possible." 

"It's embarrassing." 

"Not at all," Callum said, leaning closer to examine the drawing. "Doesn't everyone dream of becoming the muse of an artist? Is it not a wonderful thing to be captured through the eyes of someone who sees you more than you see yourself in a mirror?" 

Micah blinked at him, startled. 

Callum met his gaze, and for a brief, unguarded moment, something flickered between them—recognition, unspoken but undeniable. 

A cool breeze blew, sounds of the city waking up floated through the air; cabs honking, commuters chatting but Callum was so hyper focused on Micah, he couldn't hear it all. Once again, his heart constricted in his chest. A soft squeeze that could either have been an oncoming heart attack or his body's reaction to Micah looking at him like he was a gift he'd yet to unravel.

Callum cleared his throat, the tips of his ears heating up in a blush he was determined to keep from reaching his face. "You don't have to show me if you don't want to. But…" he racked his brain, searching for a phrase that would appeal to Micah. "But I am a bag of curious Kinnarion's and we demand to be let out."

It was a stupid joke, one he would not be using at any public speaking events. Still, it had its intended effect and Micah's smile blossomed, small and bright, like a desert flower.

He huffed softly, rolling his eyes before flipping the sketchbook around, revealing the drawing. 

Callum froze. 

He looked… magnificent. Micah had captured him perfectly, right down to the tiny mole underneath his left eye. 

Micah was saying, "I was trying to remember your features. But the armor totally came out of nowhere," he chuckled nervously. "It kinda fits you."

Callum traces the armor carefully, afraid that he'd smudge the delicate lines that made up the design on the piece. It was stupid. It was so so stupid but…

"I really didn't...I mean, I wasn't thinking about it," Micah said hastily, bothered by Callum's silence. "I just—I don't know. It's probably weird—" 

"It's not weird," Callum said quietly, his voice steadier than he felt. He traced the edge of the drawing with his finger. "It's...familiar." 

His gaze met Micah's again and, in those green eyes, he saw a kingdom fall, sorrow blossom and a love that had endured through timelines and traversed worlds. He saw the reason for his existence, the driving force behind his death and the bastion of his eternity. 

He saw Micah as Caelan saw Ashur and he knew, by whatever god existed, he knew his dreams were more than just dreams.

Micah's phone buzzed, breaking the spell. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting slightly, becoming guarded. 

"Is that your family wondering why you're out of the house at the asscrack of dawn?" Callum joked, a weak attempt at normalcy in the face of his world imploding.

Micah didn't laugh. "Close. It's my boyfriend. He wants me to meet him for lunch."