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

The shrill ringing of his phone jolted Callum Pierce awake.

He groaned, his hand fumbling across the bedside table before realizing the device wasn't there. It was tangled somewhere in the sheets, but his head was pounding too hard to care. His VR headset pressed against his face— no wonder his neck felt like it had been snapped in two. He groaned again, sitting up and yanking the headset off with a frustrated sigh.

He'd fallen asleep with it on. Again.

The sound of his phone's insistent buzz pulled him out of his thoughts, and he finally found it buried beneath the sheets. He hit the green button without looking at the name on the screen, slouching forward with his head in his hands. "Yeah?"

"You sound like shit. Don't tell me you slept in the headset again."

Ryan Wells sounded like he always did. Annoying. Still, he was Game Director at Catalyst Games and Callum's only tolerable friend.

"What's it to you?" Callum muttered, running a hand through his damp black hair.

He was icky, sweaty. His dreams had made him restless and his heart was still thumping erratically in his chest, like he'd run a long marathon…

Or just finished having se—

"It's only everything to me because you're about to head to work looking like you crawled out of a grave," Ryan said with a laugh. "And because you've been spacing out like crazy lately. Seriously, man, you've got to stop falling asleep in-game. People will start saying our CEO's losing it."

Callum grunted, pressing his fingers against his temple. The dirty thoughts could wait. "What do you want, Ryan?"

"I'm calling to remind you we have that big investor meeting this morning. You know, the boring one you're going to sulk through while I do all the talking?" Ryan's voice was equal parts mockery and exasperation. "Put on a suit. Smile. Pretend you're not emotionally dead inside. It'll be great."

Callum let out a dry laugh, dragging himself out of bed. "Why do you sound so excited about a boring meeting?"

"Because that boring meeting pays our bills," Ryan shot back, before adding cheerfully, "And the sooner we kiss ass and kiss it hard, the sooner we can go back to making what we want instead of what they want."

Callum replied flatly, "I'm not kissing anyone's ass." 

"Which is why I'm doing all the talking." Ryan's voice was practically smug. "Don't be late. And wear something nice."

The call ended before Callum could grumble a response. He tossed the phone onto his bed, his gaze drifting to the VR headset on his desk. His reflection stared back at him in the faint glow of the monitor's standby light. If Ryan thought he sounded like shit then he definitely would hate to see what Callum looked like. Exhausted raccoon eyes stared at him, a faint red line still pressed into his face from the headset strap and his hair— god, his hair— atrocious was putting it lightly. The black mop looked like a wet crow.

His jaw clenched as he ran a hand over his chest, fingers lingering over the steady drumbeat of his heart.

What the fuck was that dream?

They had been happening for years now, even more frequently over the past few months. Snatches of moments that felt too vivid to be just figments of his imagination—a slow-moving lake and the gentle rustling of leaves, a massive tiger-like creature curled by his side, the warmth of a boy's laughter.

That laughter. It was so distinct, so clear, that he could still hear it now, even in the silence of his empty apartment. His brows furrowed as he combed back his damp hair, trying to shake off the strange sense of loss that gripped him whenever he woke up.

It was a dream. Just a dream. And yet…

Shaking his head, Callum turned away from the headset and moved to get ready. His small studio apartment held the same amount of warmth as a jail cell. The space was neat, orderly, minimalist to the point of sterility—everything in its place, nothing more than what was necessary. Just how he liked it. Just how he needed it. 

He pulled on a black suit, straightened his tie in the mirror, and stared at his reflection. His eyes were hollow, just like his soul. It was getting harder and harder to keep pretending like he enjoyed his life. Every day was the same; work, game, sleep. Work, game, sleep. It was like a goddamn existential horror game and it was driving him nuts.

For a moment, the image of his face blurred, and his mind conjured the boy from his dreams again. His smile. The feel of his hand brushing against Callum's. The faint sound of his voice, calling a name that wasn't 'Callum' but still very much felt like his.

Callum's chest tightened. He clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away. Dreams didn't mean anything and, the sooner he could establish a healthy work-life balance, the sooner he could stop chasing mirages and actually go on a date.

---

Catalyst Games' headquarters was a moderately sized three storey house of glass and steel that reflected the morning sunlight like the shiny forehead of Callum's grand-uncle Trent.

He parked his car in the underground lot, the soft hum of his sports car cutting off as he slid out, adjusting his tie. He wasn't in the mood for this meeting—or any meeting, for that matter—but the company wasn't going to run itself.

Ryan was waiting for him at the entrance, grinning like he'd had three cups of coffee too many. "There he is! Mr. Pierce, savior of VR gaming and the worst person to call at 8 a.m."

"Ryan," Callum muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Ryan fell into step beside him, already talking his ear off about the investor presentation. Something about slides, projections, and 'knocking the socks off every old guy in the room.' Callum wasn't paying attention, his gaze flicking over the lobby as they passed a small tour group.

Excited whispers reached his ears as they walked by.

"Isn't that Callum Pierce?" 

"The 26-year-old CEO of Catalyst Games!" 

"The youngest CEO in the gaming industry!" 

"Creator of Pantheon: Lord of the Dead, the most immersive VR MMORPG ever. Do you think he'll sign my copy?" 

His stomach churned. Praise like that never sat well with him. They spoke as though his success had been purely his own doing but most of it was a hand-me-down from his father, who'd begrudgingly funded Catalyst Games after years of subtle jabs about his 'frivolous' career choice. 

'Gaming is for children,' his father would say. 'Why not just take over the family business like you're supposed to.'

He'd refused and now the company was running smoothly enough for his father to focus on the money Callum was bringing in rather than the fact that he was a disappointment to the Pierce family name.

He forced his jaw to unclench as he brushed off the whispers. 

Ryan was still talking. Callum tuned out the stream of words, nodding absently as they approached the elevators. That was when someone bumped into him, sending a book, a file, and a pair of glasses tumbling to the floor.

"Shit, I'm so sorry!" The smooth alto voice was slightly high-pitched with nervousness, frantic, and apologetic. Papers scattered across the tile floor as the person bent to gather them. "I wasn't watching where I was going. You really don't have to—oh, God—don't worry about it!"

Callum bent down automatically, his hand closing around a sketchbook that had slid near his feet. He froze the moment he saw it.

There was a sticker on the cover. A curled-up creature with sharp ears, the body of a tiger and a fox's tail. His breath hitched.

A Kinnarion. 

Arrow.

The name rose like a long-forgotten memory, sending a shiver down his spine. He blinked, trying to make sense of it, but when he looked up, his confusion deepened. The person crouching across from him had curly hair, honey-brown skin, and a smattering of freckles over their nose. And their eyes—bright, striking green eyes—were staring at him, wide and apologetic.

Callum's heart made a swift exit out of his body.

"Ashur," He whispered.

The boy—no, the man—frowned slightly, pushing his glasses onto his face. "Micah," he corrected, his voice tinged with confusion. Then realization hit, and his face paled. "Oh my God, Mr. Pierce. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Callum said, his voice distant, his gaze still locked on Micah's face. His mind was spinning.

The boy from his dreams was standing here, real, alive, and right in front of him. Was he still dreaming? The urge to pinch himself gripped him.

Ryan snorted from behind him. "Yo, Callum, if you're done kissing the ground, we've got a meeting to get to."

Callum straightened up mechanically, handing the sketchbook to Micah, who mumbled another nervous apology. "I didn't mean to make you late. I'm so sorry."

'What the heck is happening? What the heck is happening? What the heck is happening?' Was what Callum didn't say. Instead, he said, "It's fine."

He turned without another word, walking toward the elevators in a daze, Ryan trailing behind him. His friend glanced at him, brows raised. "What the hell was that, dude?"

Callum didn't respond. He couldn't. His chest felt tight, his pulse pounding in his ears. The boy from his dreams was here. His green eyes. Those freckles.

What the hell was going on?