Pieces of the Puzzle

Micah rubbed his tired eyes beneath his glasses, blinking against the sunlight filtering through the canvas of the medical tent. He could still hear the distant hum of the LevelUp community event in full swing—kids laughing, arcade machines dinging, the occasional cheer from a gaming competition. The energy outside was vibrant, electric. But inside the tent, everything felt muffled, like someone had thrown a heavy blanket over the world. 

What even was that fight? 

He exhaled sharply, slumping back into the plastic chair beside Callum's cot. His fingers fiddled with the hem of his shirt as his mind reeled, replaying the events over and over again. 

Earlier, everything had been perfect. The face-painting booth had been a blast— smiling, parents laughing, and Callum… 

Micah's lips twitched into a faint smile despite himself. Callum had been so stiff and awkward at first, but he'd loosened up, his natural warmth shining through as he painted wobbly stars and tigers on little faces. Micah had loved seeing that side of him—the soft, gentle Callum who could make children laugh. 

And then Damian had arrived, and Micah had been over the moon. He hadn't expected his boyfriend until the end of the week, and he'd been so excited to show Damian around his workplace, to introduce him to the world of Catalyst and the community event he'd helped organize. 

But then… 

Micah groaned, dragging his hands down his face. That sword fight. 

Once again, what the hell had that been? 

Damian loved sword fighting. He had a passion for the art and practiced relentlessly, studying different styles. His latest obsession was Japanese kendo, and he'd already won a few tournaments in it. Micah had seen him spar before, had even cheered him on from the sidelines. 

He was never going to downplay his boyfriends skill but, it goes without saying, when fighting against a noob, you relax a bit!

Damian wasn't relaxing, he wasn't even fighting like he did during a sparring session—he was full-on fighting, and not just with skill, but with fury. It was like he'd been holding onto years of pent-up aggression and had decided that today, here, in front of all these people, was the perfect time to unleash it. 

And Callum… 

Micah's brows furrowed as he looked at the man lying on the cot. How had Callum even managed to hold his own? Callum was the CEO of a video game company, not some modern-day King Arthur. Micah had never seen him so much as pick up a sword—real or simulated. And yet, he'd moved like he'd done it a thousand times before. Like he was confused as to why he had to fight for his life but knew how to defend himself. 

Micah shook his head, frustration bubbling in his chest. None of it made sense. 

What was going on with them? Why was it that every time he brought Callum up, Damian lost his cool? Why did Callum grow tense at the sound of Damian's name? Why were they always so weird around each other? 

Micah groaned softly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Why was it that, whenever they were around, he always felt like the last treat between two very hungry dogs? It was exhausting. 

He wished he could've heard what they'd been saying to each other during the fight. Maybe if he had, he'd be able to understand why it felt like there was centuries of enmity between two men who had only met just over a month ago. 

"Micah Liu," Callum's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, low and slightly raspy. "This is the second time you're taking care of me today." 

Micah startled, his heart leaping for a completely different reason than surprise. He looked down to find Callum staring back at him, his dark eyes tired but alert. Despite everything, Callum's expression was tinged with worry, like he was more concerned about Micah than himself. 

Micah exhaled, trying to calm the strange flutter in his chest. "Stop getting hurt," he said, his voice softer than he intended, "and maybe I wouldn't have to play nurse." 

Callum chuckled, the sound low and warm. He pushed himself up slowly, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position. "I can't say I hate the thought of you playing nurse," he said with a teasing glint in his eye. "You'd look good in uniform." 

Micah's cheeks flared with heat as an image popped into his mind—him in a tight, white nurse's outfit, tending to Callum's every need. 

It was all Damian's fault. Ever since his boyfriend had filled his head with ridiculous insinuations about him wanting to sleep with Callum, his brain had been a minefield of inappropriate thoughts that made his ears burn. 

He cleared his throat, trying to focus. 

"Where are we?" Callum rasped, his voice still rough from exhaustion.

"Med tent," Micah replied, gesturing around them. 

Callum nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "I'm sorry for troubling you so much today," he said after a moment. "But… thanks for bringing me here. I feel much better." 

Micah opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat as tears began to well up in his eyes. 

Oh no. 

Callum's eyes widened. "Hey, hey, hey," he said quickly, his voice soft and calming. "Don't cry. See? I'm all patched up now." 

But the tears kept falling, unbidden and unstoppable. Micah wiped at them furiously, frustrated with himself for breaking down like this. He felt exhausted and overwhelmed and confused—so, so confused. 

"It's not that," he managed to choke out, his voice trembling. 

Callum's tone gentled even further. "So what is it?" 

Micah struggled to find the words, his hands shaking as he tried to wipe his eyes. Through his tear-blurred vision, he saw Callum pull a handkerchief from his pocket. 

The touch of the fabric against his skin was soft, careful, as Callum wiped at his tears. For some reason, that simple gesture made Micah feel even more emotional. 

"Is there something I'm missing?" he asked, his voice breaking. 

Callum froze, the handkerchief stilling. "I don't understand." 

"No, I don't understand!" Micah snapped, snatching the handkerchief from Callum's hand. "You and Damian don't like each other—I know that—and it sucks because I want my boyfriend and my boss-friend to get along, but you've both been weird around each other from day one and I don't get it!" 

His words tumbled out in a frantic rush, too fast for him to stop. 

"Why do you keep giving each other that look? Y'know, that 'you owe me money and I'll kill you to get it back' look? Why do you keep saying weird things to each other? Why do I constantly feel like I'm missing something? Have you two met before? Have we met before? Because if we have, you don't have to spare my feelings by not telling me! I forget things a lot, okay? Dad used to say I was a dunce but Rosa says I just prioritize differently. Either way, it's not like I meant to forget you and if remembering is going to make you and Damian stop fighting then you have to tell me because I don't know if I can keep playing referee and—" 

"Micah." 

Callum's hand landed firmly on his shoulder, and Micah's breath hitched. 

Callum's dark eyes locked onto his, steady and grounding. "Breathe," he said gently. 

Micah shut his mouth, inhaling shakily through his nose. 

"That's it," Callum murmured. "Now exhale." 

Micah did as he was told, the tension in his chest slowly easing as Callum guided him through a few more breaths. 

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. He wiped at his eyes again, his movements slower, less frantic. "I just… I hate being confused." 

Callum sighed, leaning back against the cot. His fingers raked through his hair, his expression contemplative. "Have you ever had déjà vu for moments that couldn't possibly have happened?" 

Micah froze, his mind going blank. "Huh?" 

Callum groaned and repeated, "Have you ever had déjà vu for moments that couldn't possibly have happened?"

Micah stared at him, dumbfounded. That was the same question he'd asked Rosa and Elle that morning after that weird dream. That dream where Caelan…

His breath caught as realization dawned. 

Callum and Caelan. They looked so alike. 

Too alike. 

Like, sure he was aware of it before. It was the whole reason why he wanted to redesign his OC, but now he had a feeling that Caelan's design wasn't just a product of his knack for turning beautiful men into characters.

"Callum… what's going on?"

Callum sighed again, pushing himself off the cot with a wince. "Let's go get some lunch," he said, his voice lighter now, like he was trying to shake off the weight of the conversation. "I'm starving." 

Micah nodded numbly, his thoughts a whirlwind. 

As he followed Callum out of the tent, one question burned in his mind. 

What aren't you telling me?