Micah's breath hitched, his body stiffening against the wall. For a moment, the world seemed to stop—the music, the crowd, the pulsing lights—all of it faded into a distant hum. Micah could feel his heart racing, fast and hard like a Kinnarion rushing into battle. He could see the determination burning in Callum's deep, dark eyes.
"Callum…" Micah's voice was barely a whisper, trembling with something he couldn't quite name.
"Be with me instead, Micah."
Callum repeated the words, his voice low and urgent, like a plea Micah wasn't sure he could answer.
Micah swallowed hard, his throat tight. "You know I can't do that."
Callum looked hurt, but he didn't back down. "Why not? Your feelings—"
"My feelings are strictly platonic!" Micah snapped, pushing at Callum's chest.
Callum caught his hands, holding them there, letting Micah feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath his palm. "We both know they're not," Callum said, his voice steady despite the storm in his eyes.
Micah snatched his hand away as if Callum's skin had burned him. "So what if it isn't? It doesn't matter, Cal. I'm with Damian. I love Damian."
It didn't matter if they had been together in their past lives, neither did it matter that Callum loved him in this life. It didn't matter that they had laughed by the brook, tangled in linens and furs, whispering secrets to each other in the corners of that damn stable where he'd died. In this life, he was with Damian. He had amazing friends, and Callum was one of them. He was part of the reason Micah could get through hard times without completely breaking down. They hung out, they talked, they laughed—platonically.
And sure, there were underlying feelings. Maybe even a bit of sexual curiosity. But in the end, he was Micah Liu—illustrator, character designer, former employee of Catalyst Games, game dev in training, boyfriend to Damian Wells, and friend to Callum Pierce. That was all there was to it.
"I know you love him," Callum said, his voice softening. There was a 'but' somewhere in that sentence, but Micah didn't let him say it.
He cut him off, his voice taut with distress. "So why don't you understand that—"
A sharp, short laugh cut through the music, slicing through the tension like a blade.
"Well, isn't this cozy?"
Micah turned, his stomach dropping as Damian stepped into view, his smirk sharp and knowing.
"Damian, I— Uh—" Micah stuttered, looking between Damian and Callum, his mind racing. He was still pinned to the wall, locked between Callum's muscular arms.
Callum didn't look bothered by the fact that he'd just been caught cornering another man's partner. If anything, he looked irritated.
Callum let his hands fall to his sides, his dark eyes emotionless. "Damian," he greeted, his voice flat.
"Callum," Damian replied, his tone dripping with mockery.
Micah watched as Callum's shoulders sagged in exhaustion. "I was just leaving," Callum said. "Wanted to say my goodbyes."
"Oh no. Stay, please," Damian replied, though it sounded anything but sincere. "The night is still young."
Callum shook his head. His eyes landed on Micah again, and Micah's heart broke at the emptiness in them. He'd done that.
Callum leaned in, his lips brushing Micah's ear. "Play Pantheon with me again. Tomorrow. If you think—if you want to—just… come online. We could talk."
Then he pulled back, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started to walk away.
Micah watched him go, his heart heavy. It hurt, but it was necessary. They could never be… right? Damian and Callum didn't like each other, and he'd never leave Damian. He was caught between two amazing men, and only one had the right to kiss him like Damian was doing now.
"Well, that wasn't very polite," Damian said, breaking away from the kiss.
"Hm?" Micah asked, distracted.
"Kicking him out like that," Damian clarified, his smirk returning. "It wasn't very nice."
"I didn't kick him out. He left," Micah defended, his voice wavering.
"Why?" Damian demanded, his sharp blue eyes boring into Micah's.
Micah looked away. A couple ran past them, giggling as they joined the pulse of bodies on the dance floor. He'd lost sight of Rosa and Genesis, and Elle was still seated in their booth, scrolling through her phone.
"He told me he loves me," Micah admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
There was silence, the kind that drowned out even the loudest sounds. Damian said nothing at first, then hummed, "Well. Shit."
Micah swallowed down the whole 'be with me instead' part. He would still tell Damian—he didn't want to keep secrets—just not here.
"I told him I didn't feel the same, of course," Micah added in a hurry.
"But you do feel the same," Damian said, matter-of-factly.
"I don't—you—" Micah stuttered, his face burning.
Damian pulled Micah close, his lips brushing his ear. "You whimper and moan to thoughts of him touching you, but you don't feel the same?"
"That's different," Micah breathed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
"I'd like to believe it is," Damian growled. "But not with him."
Micah wanted to bury himself in the sand, he wanted to lock himself in his room and hide away. He wanted to go back to the time where things had been simpler; when he went to work, spoke to Callum and came back home to his boyfriend. The times before the explosion and memories and feelings he could never express nor contain.
"Don't be mad at me, D," Micah pleaded.
"Mad at you?" Damian sounded surprised. "Why would I be?"
"It's just—" Micah's heart hurt. His sinuses prickled with tears. How lame could he be; fighting back tears in the club on his birthday. "It's too much. Everything is too much."
I want to make him happy. I want to make you happy.
I want the pain to stop.
Make it stop.
"Baby, I'm not mad at you," Damian says softly, tilting Micah's chin so their eyes meet. "But it's clear that this is causing you a lot of distress."
Micah raked his fingers through his hair. "How can he tell me he loves me?"
"You told me you have a crush on him," Damian stated gently.
"That's different!"
"How?"
Whose bright idea was it to bring him to a club? Micah needed to get out of here. He needed to go home.
"You fed me those… thoughts," Micah accused, his breathing erratic. "You made me see him in that light."
"You already saw him in 'that light'. I just figured out it got you hard."
Micah froze.
You'dloveit ifhewereheretoseeyoubeingmygoodboy.
Tell him you're fine and you'd keep going but your boyfriend wants to fuck you.
Should we tell him that you like having your hair pulled when I drill you?
It was all Damian. Messing with his head. Making him feel things he wasn't allowed to feel and laughing at him while he squirmed and cried.
"Fuck you," Micah hissed.
Damian grabbed his chin and squeezed hard so his nails dug into the flesh. Micah winced. Damian's blue eyes blazed with fury. "Oh, you will."
"I don't want to play your sick game's," Micah managed to squeeze out.
Damian smirked. "My 'sick games' haven't even started. You played the tutorials like a champ. Don't pretend like you're a saint when you had as much fun as I did."
Micah swallowed hard. There was no lie there. He'd moaned and whimpered Damian's name to thoughts of Callum. He'd let his boyfriend talk him into near orgasm using Callum as masturbatory fuel. He'd begged and pleaded, screamed the words 'Yes, I'd love it' when Damian asked if he'd love if Callum watched them fuck.
But there had to be a threshold. A fine line between dirty talk and reality.
In reality, Callum would probably rather shoot Damian than do anything like that. And, in reality—
"Call him back," Damian's tone was sharp. Commanding.
"We're here to celebrate," Damian reminded him, matter-of-factory. "Go after him. Call him back."
"What?" That didn't make any sense. "I— No."
Damian's gaze hardened. His grip tightened on Micah's chin. Micah felt blood erupt from the fingernail shaped wound and slide down his skin. He clenched his jaw as he watched those blue eyes he loved turn menacing under the strobe lights.
When Damian spoke again, it was in a tone that left no room for argument.
"Call him back, Micah, or so help me God, the least of your worries would be orgasm denial."