A Perfect Catch

Micah's fall seemed to last forever.

Callum's heart stopped as he watched the intern's foot slip, the ladder wobbling under him. The tape measure clattered to the ground, and for a split second, everything slowed. Micah's arms flailed wildly, his green eyes wide with panic.

"Micah!" Callum shouted, already moving.

He didn't think. He didn't hesitate. One moment, Micah was falling, and the next—

Micah crashed into him, a tangle of limbs and momentum.

The impact knocked Callum flat on his back, a dull 'thud' echoing through the grass. His breath whooshed out of him in one sharp burst, and for a few disoriented seconds, all he could do was blink up at the sky.

Micah groaned softly, his voice pitched with panic. "Oh my God—are you okay? Did I hurt you? Did I—"

Callum forced a deep breath into his lungs, his chest heaving. "Well," he managed, his voice rough and breathless, "I suppose this counts as 'hands-on' teamwork."

Micah froze. His hands were planted on either side of Callum's shoulders, his face hovering inches above Callum's own. He was so close, Callum could feel the heat radiating off his skin, could see the way his glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose.

It hurt.

Not the fall—Callum had endured worse—but because of the way Micah looked at him now. The nervous panic in his expression, the way his face burned crimson. The way his gaze darted away as though looking directly at Callum might blind him.

Callum's lips twitched into a faint smile. "You're fine," he said softly, hoping to reassure him. "I'm sturdier than I look."

Micah's face burned even hotter, the shade of red shimmering under the warm brown of his skin. He stammered something incoherent and tried to push himself up, but his hand slipped on the grass.

He fell forward again, their noses brushing.

Callum's breath caught.

The world narrowed to the inches of space between them, to the sharp green of Micah's eyes, to the faint tremble in his shoulders as he tried to steady himself. He didn't know why his own body felt frozen, why his mind spiraled back to him.

"Micah," he murmured, his voice low and warm, "take your time. No need to rush."

"Don't be nice to me right now!" Micah blurted. "This is mortifying!"

Callum chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "You've already fallen for me. Literally. Might as well commit to it."

The words had slipped out unbidden and they weren't meant for Micah. Not really. They were an echo of something else, from another time, another life.

Ashur had said it with a laugh once, sprawled across Caelan's lap after slipping on the dewy stones of the castle garden at night. He'd teased Caelan for catching him, called him his 'perfect prince' and leaned in for a kiss that tasted of stolen time and impossible promises.

Micah froze, his eyes wide with shock. "Did you just—did you really just say that?"

Callum's heart ached. "Bad joke?" he said, arching a brow to deflect the tension.

"Yes!" Micah squeaked, scrambling off him at last. He stood quickly, brushing nonexistent dirt off his pants and avoiding Callum's gaze. "Very bad joke!"

Callum sat up slowly, wincing slightly as he adjusted his posture. "Noted."

Micah ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. He muttered something about the ladder and the canvas, his words spilling out in an awkward rush. Callum only half-heard him, his mind still caught on the unintentional slip.

Why had he said that? Why couldn't he just keep his distance?

Why couldn't he just let Micah Liu go? Why did it have to be him? The guy with the boyfriend? The boyfriend who was an asshole, might he add.

Movement from the corner of his eye snapped Callum back to reality. Genesis stood a few feet away, clipboard in hand, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene.

"Everything okay here?" she called out, her tone casual but laced with suspicion.

Micah waved her off quickly, his voice cracking. "Yep! Totally fine! Just, uh, testing the ladder's durability!"

Genesis raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she didn't press. "Alright," she said slowly, before turning back to yell at Hugo about wiring colors again.

Callum exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. When he turned back to Micah, the younger man was crouched beside the fallen tape measure, fiddling with it like it was the most fascinating object in the world.

"Micah Liu," Callum said softly.

Micah flinched, glancing up at him. "Yes, Mr. Pierce?"

"Can we talk?"

Micah frowned, clearly hesitant. "About what?"

Callum hesitated, weighing his words carefully. He crouched down, lowering his voice so no one else could overhear. "I don't want to stay away from you."

Micah blinked, his mouth opening and closing like he was processing what Callum had just said. "…Whaaa?"

Callum's pulse quickened. He hadn't meant for it to come out like that, but now that it had, he couldn't backpedal. He swallowed hard. "I mean… boundaries. I know. I'm respecting them. But…" He exhaled sharply. "I don't have a lot of friends, Micah. Talking to you is… nice. I won't do anything to make you uncomfortable, and I won't cross any lines. I just don't want us to be… awkward around each other."

Micah stared at him, his expression unreadable. "So you're not trying to… get with me?" he asked cautiously.

Callum's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Micah Liu, I don't want to 'get with' you. I want to get to know you… respectfully, of course."

Micah blinked again, and then, to Callum's surprise, a shy smile spread across his face. "Well," he said softly, "it's not good to be friendless."

Callum nodded, relief washing over him. "Yes, I'm aware."

Micah's smile brightened, and he perked up like a light bulb flickering to life. "Hey! What if me, you, and Damian form a squad in Pantheon? We could play the Aphrodite patch!"

Callum froze, his stomach twisting. That wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind.

But Micah's enthusiasm was contagious, and before Callum could think of a way to politely decline, Micah was already nodding to himself. "I'll let Damian know! It'll be fun!"

Callum forced a smile, even as his heart sank. "Sure," he said, his voice quieter than before.

Micah didn't seem to notice. He stood, brushing off his pants, and headed back to the mural with a newfound spring in his step.

Callum lingered for a moment, watching him go. He tried to focus on the positive—Micah was smiling again and he seemed to have forgotten that there was a bright yellow spot around the crotch of his pants. That was good, right?

But as Micah crouched by the canvas, humming softly to himself, Callum couldn't shake the ache in his chest.

This wasn't the plan.

Damian Wells was going to kill him.