When Damian woke up, Micah was sitting beside him at the edge of the bed, waiting.
The morning light streamed in through the hotel's floor-to-ceiling windows, golden and soft, painting Damian's skin in warmth. The sheets were tangled around his waist, his bare chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths as he blinked sleepily at Micah.
He stretched, scrubbing a hand over his face. His voice was thick with drowsiness. "Hey… what are you doing all the way over there?"
Micah didn't answer immediately.
Damian frowned, the last of sleep clearing from his eyes. Micah saw the exact moment Damian noticed he was fully dressed. His bag, packed, sat neatly beside him.
The lines on Damian's forehead deepened. "Micah?" His voice was quieter now, more alert. "What's going on? Are you leaving?"
Micah exhaled slowly. "Yeah."
Damian sat up a little, running a hand through his tousled hair. "If you want to go back to your apartment, just give me a few minutes to clean up and change. I'll drive you."
Micah shook his head. "No, Damian." He turned to face him properly, his throat tight. "You don't have to get up. I'm leaving."
Damian's lips parted, his brows drawing together. He was silent for a long moment, letting the words settle between them. Then, his voice lowered, hesitant. "What are you trying to say, Micah?"
It was the perfect setup, the perfect opportunity for Micah to tell him the truth.
But he couldn't.
Instead, he said, "I kissed Callum outside the club."
The air between them turned razor-sharp.
Damian froze, his expression unreadable. Then, to Micah's surprise, he let out a short, humorless laugh and flopped back against the headboard. "That's funny, Micah. So what would you like for breakfast?"
Micah's fingers curled into the fabric of his jeans. "I'm serious."
The room went silent.
Damian sat up completely now, his smirk wiped clean. His blue eyes turned sharp, cutting. "Okay," he said, voice eerily calm. "You can tell me if he coerced you. I'll sue him faster than he even knows what's coming."
Micah forced himself to meet Damian's gaze. "I kissed him."
Damian blinked.
Micah swallowed. "I made the first move. I wanted to kiss him."
The words settled in the space between them, thick and suffocating.
Micah's heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst from his ribcage.
Damian inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose, like he was forcing himself to stay steady. His jaw clenched, but his voice remained carefully measured. "Okay. It's fine." He nodded, like he was convincing himself. "It's just a kiss. And it's Callum. Sure, that pisses me off, but we can move past this."
But Micah didn't want to move past it.
"I want to break up."
Damian's entire body went still.
His breathing. His blinking. Even his fingers curled against the sheets like he needed something to anchor himself.
Then, slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
"You think this is funny?" Damian's voice was low, a quiet storm gathering. "Because it's not."
Micah wasn't laughing. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I want to break up."
Damian took a step forward, like he was going to reach for him but stopped himself. He let out a sharp, incredulous breath. "You cheated on me, you fucked me, and now you want to break up?"
Micah's chest tightened. "We're no good for each other, Damian. And I'm tired of pretending we are."
Damian scoffed, shaking his head. "What does that even mean?"
Micah exhaled sharply, frustration creeping in. "It means you've cared for me for so long that I was blind to the red flags."
Damian's expression snapped into something colder, something dangerous. His voice rose. "Don't you dare lecture me about red flags, you cheated."
Micah flinched, because that was fair.
True.
The room was silent except for their breathing, the tension between them thick enough to choke on.
Then, quietly, Micah said, "Dorian."
Damian's head snapped up. His whole body tensed, as if Micah had struck him. "…What?"
"Dorian," Micah repeated, steady and sure. "Would you ever yell at him? Threaten him? Punch the wall beside his head, nearly hitting him?"
Damian's nostrils flared. "You don't know shit about Dorian."
Micah's voice remained calm. "You're right. I don't. But I do know you hate that I'm not him."
Damian went still, his expression shuttering.
Micah kept going, pressing into the wound. "You're barely around. And when you are, you treat me like some kind of… pocket-pal boyfriend. You hang me on your arm and throw gifts at me and kiss me in public like you're trying to fill some kind of meter. It always felt like you were pretending."
Damian's jaw locked. "There's no pretense."
Micah let out a slow breath. "There is."
Damian laughed. Bitter and humorless. "I see what this is." He gestured vaguely, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You fuck me one last time, and now you're running to Callum, right? Right, Micah? That's what this is?"
Micah shook his head. "This has nothing to do with Callum."
Damian scoffed. "Bullshit."
"I have been your best friend, your lover and your bottom for the past two years," Micah said, his voice barely a whisper. "You've seen parts of me no one knows exist. I've never had any reason to doubt our relationship before, even when I met Callum and found out what we were."
Damian leaned back against the wall like his legs could no longer hold him up. "And now?"
Micah clenched his fists. "All I have are doubts. If I'm going to die soon, I want to spend the remainder of my time figuring things out on my own—without residual feelings from either of you clinging to me. So, you're right, it's not you, it's—"
Damian flinched, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "Don't dare finish that sentence. Don't you dare break up with me with a cliche."
Then, more softly, he murmured, "Don't do this, love."
Micah closed his eyes. He exhaled, long and slow. "You always call me that."
Damian frowned. "Because I love you."
Micah opened his eyes. His chest felt tight, his throat felt raw. He knew a thing or two about love.
Love spanned across lifetimes.
It was a young accounting student dropping cheesy pick-up lines.
It was a CEO making you oatmeal at 3 a.m.
It was hot and warm and beautiful and messy.
But it was not salvation.
"And I love you," Micah admitted. His voice broke slightly, but he kept going. "But love isn't enough."
Damian stared at him.
A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn't say anything.
Didn't try to stop him.
Micah grabbed his bag, his fingers shaking slightly as he slung it over his shoulder.
And then he walked away.