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

Micah sat on the very edge of Callum's couch, his back hunched as though trying to make himself smaller. His trembling hands gripped the cup of tea Callum had made for him, but he hadn't taken a single sip. The steam curled and faded into the quiet air between them. 

Callum leaned against the counter in his open kitchen, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Micah. He didn't know how to fix this—how to make Micah feel safe again—but he knew he couldn't leave him like this. 

Micah spoke first, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's… it's all my fault." 

Callum straightened, his stomach twisting at the broken tone in Micah's words. 

"I- I didn't want to take my usual bus home," Micah said, stumbling over his words. "It was so nice out, and I thought I could walk for a bit, maybe stop at the store to get something for Damian. Lunch was so nice, and I wanted to… to surprise him." His voice cracked, and he gripped the mug tighter. "But that guy… he started following me. I thought maybe he just wanted money. But he said that if he squinted just enough… I looked like a whore he once knew, and…" 

Micah's words broke off into a shuddering breath. 

Callum couldn't let him finish. He couldn't bear the thought of Micah blaming himself for what had happened. 

He crossed the room in three long strides, going down on one knee in front of him. Gently, he took the cup from Micah's hands and set it on the table. Then, he took Micah's trembling hands in his own, holding them tightly but carefully. 

"Micah," Callum said softly, his voice steady. "What happened to you is not your fault." 

Micah blinked at him, his lips parting, but Callum didn't let him argue. 

"What you were doing doesn't matter," Callum said firmly. "You didn't deserve to be attacked. No one deserves that. No one should have to be worried about getting hurt just for taking a walk." 

"But if I hadn't—" Micah started, but Callum cut him off, his grip on Micah's hands tightening just slightly. 

"It's not your fault," he said again, his voice leaving no room for doubt. 

Micah's gaze dropped to their joined hands. He didn't say anything and his lips pressed together tightly, his shoulders trembling. 

Callum hated seeing him like this. The shy, soft-spoken intern who always smiled nervously during meetings was gone, replaced by someone haunted and afraid. He wanted to fix it, to say something, anything, that would make Micah feel safe again. 

"What do you need?" Callum asked softly. "What can I do for you?" 

Micah blinked at him, his wide, tear-bright eyes looking almost surprised. He'd taken off his broken glasses and lights danced in the emerald of his eyes. He hesitated, then murmured, "I… I want to take a bath." 

Callum nodded, standing slowly. The sudden absence of Micah's hands in his own left his palms feeling cold. "Of course," he said, clearing his throat. "The bathroom's down the hall. I'll get you a towel." 

He turned to leave, but Micah's fingers caught the hem of his shirt. 

"Could you…" Micah hesitated, his cheeks flushing faintly. "Could you stay? Outside the door, I mean. I… I don't want to be alone." 

Callum's chest tightened. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'll stay." 

Micah followed him as he walked to the laundry room to grab a fresh towel and some clothes. Callum led him to the guest bathroom, pushing the door open and setting the towel on the counter. For a brief moment, he thought about showing Micah to his personal bathroom instead, but he didn't think Micah would be comfortable being in the intimate space of someone who, despite everything, was still technically a stranger. 

Micah disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the door clicking shut followed by the rush of running water. Callum sank to the floor just outside, his back pressed against the wall. He rested his elbows on his knees, letting his head fall back against the cool plaster. 

The silence between them was filled only by the gentle sound of water running into the tub. 

"Do you get that angry often?" Micah's voice came from the other side of the door, soft and hesitant. 

Callum sighed, his fingers drumming against his knee. "No," he admitted. "I— I used to have a problem with my temper. But I went to therapy." 

Even as a kid, Callum had been quick to snap. His parents had been patient with him at first, but they didn't tolerate outbursts for long—especially not in a family like his. Rich buisnessmen didn't have time for children with explosive tempers. So they sent him to therapy, more for their benefit than his, but it had helped. At least, it usually did. 

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that," Callum added, his voice quieter. 

"Don't apologize," Micah said quickly. "You… you saved me. If you hadn't been there, I don't know what I—" His voice broke, and Callum's chest tightened. 

He needed to change the subject, to take Micah's mind off everything. 

"Why did you want to work at Catalyst?" Callum asked. 

Micah let out a shaky laugh. "What kind of question is that?" 

Callum rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Ryan mentioned it might be a good idea to get to know the interns. And I… I want to get to know you better. So… why Catalyst?" 

There was a pause, followed by the quiet splash of water. "Because you made Pantheon," Micah said finally. 

Callum's brows lifted. "Really?" 

"Yeah," Micah said, his voice growing softer. "I've always loved art. It was my comfort, you know? Nobody really liked me growing up. My OCs were the best friends I never had, and Kinnarions were the pets my parents wouldn't let me keep. I know it's weird…" 

Callum smiled faintly, picturing a younger version of Micah sketching in a quiet corner, fully immersed in the characters he'd created. "That's not weird," he said gently. "But, for the record, I think anyone who missed out on being your friend made a very grave mistake." 

Micah's laugh was faint but genuine. "My parents didn't see it that way. They wanted me to be an engineer. To them, my art was just… silly little drawings. But then Pantheon came out. I saved up money from drawing commissions online and bought an old headset from a friend. Playing it was… everything." 

Callum felt warmth spread through his chest. Knowing people loved his game was one thing; hearing Micah loved it was something else entirely. 

"Well," Callum said, "I can't take credit for the art. That's all Genesis. But I'm glad it meant so much to you." 

"It wasn't just the art," Micah said quickly. "Believe me, I've had multiple fanboy moments around Genesis already. But the story. Playing as Hades, watching him lose everything and struggle to get it back… it spoke to me." He laughed softly. "It said, 'You'd make a shit engineer.'" 

Callum chuckled, pride swelling in his chest. "If you keep buttering me up like this, Micah Liu, I might have to hire you full-time." 

"Stooop," Micah groaned, but his voice was lighter now, the smile in it unmistakable. 

The silence that followed wasn't heavy or awkward—it felt almost comfortable. Callum shifted on the hard floor, ignoring the ache in his back. 

"Why did you create Pantheon?" Micah asked suddenly. "What inspired you?" 

Callum tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, his voice quiet. "There are so many versions of Hades in the media but my thought process was simple. I woke up from a bad dream and thought: What would happen if you take a god who has everything and leave him with nothing?"