Don’t Disappoint Me

Callum arrived at the office just as the morning sun cast a warm, golden glow over the building. The air outside was crisp, the surrounding park already showing signs of activity as employees bustled about, setting up last minute booths and decorations for the LevelUp event. In just a few hours, the plaza and surrounding areas would be packed with families, gamers, and press—all expecting a perfect, engaging community event. 

Callum, however, had arrived early to get ahead of the chaos. The calm before the storm was the perfect time to catch up on the mountain of work that had been piling up over the last week. He sipped his coffee as he walked through the office, tablet in hand, scanning emails and reports. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that others had the same idea as he did because the office was already buzzing with activity. Employees sat at their desks or huddled in groups, chatting about last-minute tasks. A few waved good morning as he passed by, and he gave them a polite nod. He appreciated their dedication—most of them didn't need to be here this early. 

Marching towards his office, Callum gripped his coffee with one hand and looked down at the tablet he held in the other. He had a packed schedule ahead of him. The company's budget on the recent mobile game was cutting it close and he had to figure out the frustrating task of asking investment banks for loans, their head of HR was resigning and he needed to prepare a replacement— preferably someone with the charisma to manage people and the expertise to handle the complexities of Catalyst's rapid growth and there was an upcoming board meeting that Ryan would rather die than let him skip

Callum rubbed his temple, feeling the tension settle into his shoulders. There was always so much to do. Always so much to think about. He'd started making games because he loved the process of creating something people found happiness in. But running a company? That was—

"The head of the board of directors is here," someone said, pulling Callum out of his thoughts.

Callum froze, his grip on the tablet tightening. No. That couldn't be right. The chairman of the board was never around. 

"What? Why?" another voice replied, hushed but audible. "The chairman is never around." 

Yeah! That was what he thought! Callum's heart skipped a beat, then began to race. This was bad timing— the worst timing. He couldn't deal with the chairman of the board today. He was in no way equipped to see his father. 

For a moment, he stayed perfectly still, trying to will the tension out of his body. 'He's not here for you,' he told himself. 'He's a busy man. He never comes here.' 

He took a deep breath and started hurrying towards his office. He had to talk to Ryan. Ryan had mentioned his dad the day before but with all the work Callum had to do after the whole Micah debacle, they hadn't had the time to talk again. 

Those employees were out of their mind. There was no way Howard Pierce would be at Catalyst.

Callum stepped into his office and paused at the site before him.

His father, the Chairman of the Board of Directors, Howard Pierce stood by the bay windows, his silhouette outlined by the sunlight streaming through the glass. His posture was impeccable, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked out over the park below. It was incredible how the authority he radiated never failed to stump Callum. When he was a tiny kid, his father had always looked as big and as cold as an ice wall. Now, even with Callum being a whole head taller than the elderly man, he still felt like he was staring up at an ice wall in the form of an imposing figure wearing a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than most employees made in a month. 

"A community gaming event," Howard said without turning around, his tone flat and faintly disapproving. "How quaint." 

Callum's throat went dry. "Da— Mr. Pierce," he corrected himself, his voice steady but quieter than usual. 

Howard turned slowly, his expression cool and detached, his gaze sweeping over Callum like he was assessing a subordinate. "Callum." 

Callum swallowed hard. "What are you doing here?" 

Howard raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "What an odd question to ask. This is my company." 

The words landed like a slap, and Callum shrank back instinctively, his shoulders tightening. Howard's presence always had that effect on him. His father was a black hole, a darkness that sucked away all his joy and reminded him of everything he wasn't. 

Howard strode toward the desk, a file folder in hand. He tossed it onto the polished surface, the papers inside sliding slightly askew. 

"My company," Howard said, his voice low and cutting, "that, it seems, you're running into the ground." 

Callum flinched, his jaw tightening as he resisted the urge to argue. 

Howard gestured to the folder. "Failure after failure. Investors pulling out left and right. The market cap collapsing. I left you in charge because you assured me you were capable. Why are you allowing this failure to continue?" 

Callum stared at the file, his nails digging into his palms. There were explanations for everything in there—the shifting trends in the market, the logistical hurdles of maintaining a work-life balance for employees, the gamble of taking creative risks, the steps they'd had to take to stay relevant. He could defend every decision if he wanted to. But what was the point? His father wouldn't listen. He never had.

Howard Pierce didn't care about excuses. He cared about results. 

"I'm doing my best," Callum said quietly, his voice strained. 

It wasn't like he wanted Catalyst to struggle. Every sleepless night, every skipped meal, every weekend spent buried in reports instead of relaxing—he had poured everything he had into this company. And yet, here he was, being reduced to a disappointment in the eyes of the man whose approval he could never seem to earn.

"Your best?" Howard echoed, his tone dripping with disdain. "If this is your best, then I'm sorely disappointed." 

Callum's gaze dropped to the desk, his shoulders sagging under the harshness of his father's words. He hated this. Hated the way Howard could strip away his confidence with just a few sentences. Hated the way he still craved his father's approval, even after years of being reminded he'd never measure up. 

Howard turned back to the windows, his hands clasping behind his back again. "I have plans for this company, Callum. Plans that could make Catalyst profitable again. Plans that, frankly, don't rely on you," he said, his tone more measured now. "As you're aware, there's a board meeting by the end of next week."

Callum swallowed hard. "I'm aware."

Howard hummed his acknowledgment. "Don't be too distracted by this… charity show," he flicked a hand in the general direction of the activity outside. "I'm willing to give you a chance to prove yourself before I move forward with them." 

Callum's head shot up, his pulse quickening. "What kind of plans?" 

Howard didn't answer. Instead, he walked past Callum, finding his way to the door. He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "Don't disappoint me," he said.

The three words carried the weight of a thousand expectations. 

Without another word, Howard strode out of the office. The door clicked shut, and for a moment, Callum didn't move. The tension in his chest felt like it might crack his ribs, his father's words echoing in his head. 'Failure after failure. Don't disappoint me.'

He wanted to shout, to punch the desk, to do something—anything—to shake off the weight pressing down on him. But all he could do was stand there, staring at the file on his desk, feeling like a little boy who'd just been scolded for breaking his toys.

"Callum?" 

The sound of Micah's voice startled him, and he turned to see the intern standing in the doorway, clutching his ever-present clipboard. Micah's eyes darted around the room, taking in the tension, the scattered papers on the desk, the way Callum looked like he'd just been through a war. 

"Callum," Micah said again, softer this time, stepping inside and setting the clipboard aside. 

Callum didn't have the energy to respond. He stumbled over to his chair and sank into it, running a hand down his face. There was always so much to do. Always. Always. Always.

Micah moved cautiously, his steps quiet, like he was approaching a wounded animal. He set the clipboard aside and crouched down beside Callum's chair, his hands resting lightly on his knees. "You look pale," he said gently. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Callum flinched at the first brush of Micah's fingers but didn't pull away. The warmth of Micah's touch was grounding, soft and steady in a way that made him feel like the world wasn't completely spinning out of control. "Just another day in paradise." 

Micah hesitated, "Do you… want to talk about it?" 

Callum looked up at him, surprised by the offer. For a moment, he considered brushing Micah off, pretending everything was fine. But there was something about the way Micah looked at him—earnest, kind, and a little uncertain—that made him pause. 

"It's nothing," Callum said finally, his voice quieter now. "Just… family stuff." 

Micah nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Tell me what you need."

The words hit Callum's ears like a pebble in a pond and he looked up at Micah, slightly surprised. The intern was crouched beside his chair with his hand resting softly on Callum's. They were close enough for this to be a huge HR violation but, Micah didn't seem to care. He didn't seem to think about the fact that he was supposed to be at the other side of Callum's desk. He simply ran his thumb softly over the back of Callum's hand, each stroke even more soft and soothing than the last.

"Micah." It was all Callum could say. One word. One name. A plea.

"You're always looking out for me," Micah murmured shyly. "And you always seem like… like you're carrying a lot. I want you to tell me what you need. I want to know how I can help you. So…" he gave Callum's hand a reassuring squeeze, "What do you need?"

The words hung in the air, impossibly simple and yet so heavy. What did he need? Callum didn't know how to answer. He needed the pressure in his chest to stop crushing him. He needed to stop hearing his father's voice in his head, pointing out every flaw, every failure. He needed to stop feeling like he was drowning in his own life. And Micah—Micah, with his earnest gaze and shy smile—was offering a lifeline he didn't deserve.

I need to feel like I'm not going insane.

I need you to remember me.

I need you to hold me so I don't break.

"I—" Callum wet his lips with his tongue and swallowed hard. "Could you stay?"

He felt foolish as soon as he said it, like he was asking for something he had no right to ask.

But Micah didn't laugh at him. Or call him a creep. His smile was soft and sweet, like the first bloom of the Calthea at the Feast of the Golden Petal. That smile that reminded Callum of nights spent in candlelit rooms, a smile that brought memories of whispered words and shared secrets. Of safety.

"Of course."