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

The night blurred past Callum in streaks of streetlights and the low hum of his car engine. 

He should have stayed at the office, buried himself in emails or spreadsheets— he should have done anything to keep his mind off the echo of two words he couldn't stop replaying: 'my boyfriend.'

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white as tension coiled in his chest. He couldn't stay at work, Ryan had sent him home the moment he caught him brooding in his office. But Callum couldn't stop thinking about it.

Of course Micah Liu had a boyfriend. Of course. Callum didn't even have a right to feel this way. So what reincarnation was real? So what he'd once loved a man named Ashur. Micah, in this life, was just an intern, a blip on the radar of his otherwise busy life. They were strangers. Everything else was irrelevant.

Yet, every time he closed his eyes, he saw fragments of someone else's life—his life, but not his. 

His last few moments in the office had been spent thinking about his most recent dream. In it, Caelan and Ashur had been fighting in an empty corner of the stables. Even now, he could still hear their sharp, angry whispers.

"Ashur," Caelan had said, frustrated, "you speak as though every man in my court is conspiring against me."

Ashur's had crossed tightly over his chest. "Not every man. But Prince Edric—"

"Edric is my friend!"

"He is the prince of Velentis first," was Ashur's response. "Friends can betray you. You should know that better than anyone."

Caelan had stiffened at the jab. "Ashur, you—"

"You don't trust me." 

"I do," Caelan insisted, his tone softening. "I trust you more than anyone. But this—this is hearsay. I can't act on it alone—" 

"Can't? Or won't?" Ashur had interrupted, stepping closer. "You'd rather hold onto your loyalty to him than listen to me. After everything we've—"

Callum blinked hard, forcing himself to focus on the road. Friend. Traitor. It didn't matter now. Ashur had been right all along and dwelling on the past wouldn't change the present. Micah had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who wasn't Calean. A boyfriend who wasn't— 

He slammed the brakes without thinking, his car skidding to a sharp stop. 

At first, Callum thought it was just a couple arguing, Afterall, that's what the sharp voice he heard slicing through the quiet night and the scuffle of shoes on asphalt sounded like. But then he heard it. A soft, broken plea, barely audible over the hum of his car engine: "Please, leave me alone."

The words sent a jolt through his chest. He peeled the car around and sped towards the alley he'd heard the noise from, his tires screeching as they skid against the pavement. Ahead, just barely illuminated by his headlights, a man loomed over someone smaller, thinner with a hand fisted in the other's hoodie. The smaller figure struggled, their movements frantic.

It wasn't just anyone. It was Micah.

His stomach dropped. 

Without hesitating, Callum threw the car into park and jumped out, slamming the door shut behind him. The scene in front of him froze him in place for a fraction of a second.

Then rage flooded Callum's system, drowning out all rational thought. 

"Hey!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the cold night air. 

The man turned, sneering, and Callum didn't wait for an explanation. He surged forward, yanking the man back and landing a solid punch to his jaw. 

The feeling of bone crunching beneath his fist only fuelled his bloodlust. How dare this degenerate hurt Micah? Hurt Ashur!? He would pay. Prince or not, Callum would make sure he never put his hand on Micah— on anyone else ever again.

"Callum, stop!" Micah's voice cracked, panicked, but Callum couldn't hear him over the blood roaring in his ears. 

The man lunged at him, and Callum caught the swing just in time, landing another blow to his ribs. He didn't stop to think about the consequences—didn't care about the fact that, if the media heard about this, they would have his throat. He didn't care about the man's fist connecting with his lip or the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. All he cared about was the sickening image of someone hurting Micah. 

"Callum, stop!" 

The man choked out a few garbled words—maybe begging, maybe swearing—before Callum grabbed him by the front of his jacket and slammed him into the ground again. 

"You think you can get away with this?" Callum growled, his voice was barely human. "You think you can touch him?"

"Stop! Stop it!" Micah's voice broke through the haze, his trembling hands clutching at Callum's arm. "Please, Callum, stop. You'll kill him. Please! Don't kill him! I just… I just want to get out of here. Please Cal…" 

The words pierced through Callum's blood red vision. Another voice echoed in his mind, just as soft, just as pleading and just as afraid.

''Please, Cael…'

Callum felt like a man possessed, each punch felt like it came from someone else and was driven by pure instinct rather than thought. His mind flickered between the present and the past— between Micah's terrified face and Ashur's voice begging, "Please, Cael, stop! You'll kill him!" But this wasn't the stables, and the man beneath him wasn't Edric. Still, he couldn't stop. Not until…

"Callum, please. Look at me."

He froze, his fist hovering midair, his breath ragged. The man groaned dangling by his shirt like a rag doll as Callum held on to him. Callum looked up at Micah who gave him a small, weak smile. 

"I'm okay, see?" The intern said softly, his lips trembling into a weak smile. "So let him go."

Callum released the man and fully turned to Micah. The boy's face was pale, streaked with dirt, and his lip had a faint split like he'd been shoved hard into something. His hoodie hung off one shoulder, and his hands… Callum's chest twisted as he caught sight of them—fingers shaking, nails cracked and bloody, like he'd clawed desperately at the ground or the man who'd pinned him. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, one lens cracked like a spider's web.

"I just want to go," Micah whispered with tears in his eyes.

For a moment, he couldn't move. His fists were still clenched, the adrenaline still surging through him. All he could see was Micah's trembling frame, the way his shoulders curled inward like he was trying to disappear. The fight was over, but something in Callum's chest felt like it was breaking.

"You're safe now," he said finally, his voice softer than he thought himself capable of. 

Micah didn't answer. His wide, glassy eyes stared past Callum, and the sight sent a fresh wave of fury rolling through him— not at Micah, but at the man who'd reduced him to this. 

Callum swallowed hard, his own breath shaking. Without another word, he crouched in front of Micah, shrugged out of his coat and draped it over his trembling shoulders. 

"Are you hurt?" He asked, softly.

Micah shook his head, though his hands betrayed him and trembled they clutched the edges of the coat. "I just… I just need to get out of here," he whispered. His voice cracked, and Callum's heart wrenched.

"Can you walk?" Callum asked, though he already knew the answer from the way Micah's knees trembled beneath him. When Micah didn't respond, just curled further into the coat, Callum crouched down. "Okay," he murmured. "I've got you."

He lifted him as gently as he could, careful not to jostle him, and Micah folded into him like he belonged there. He weighed nothing—less than nothing—but Callum had never felt a burden heavier. It felt like holding Ashur all over again. And just like before, Callum had failed to protect him.

The faint scent of pine and soap clung to Micah's hoodie, though it was almost buried beneath the bitter metallic tang of blood. As he carried Micah toward his car, Callum's jaw tightened. He hadn't saved him fast enough. He'd let this happen— not just tonight, but centuries ago. His mind kept replaying the image of Micah crumpled on the ground, trembling and afraid, over and over until it threatened to consume him.