Sparks

Now that Micah's mind had latched onto the idea, there was no way he could let it go. 

In a way, it made the most sense given everything that had happened so far, given everything he knew about Callum and—more importantly—everything he felt around him. Somewhere, somehow, they'd met before, and Micah just couldn't remember. 

The first time they'd met, if Micah could recall correctly—and given his apparently shit memory, he probably couldn't—Callum had called him Ashur. He'd claimed it was the name of an old friend, but the coincidence had gnawed at him ever since. Ashur. It wasn't just any name. It was the name Micah had chosen for his OC, the one tied to Caelan. He could've picked literally anything else, but Ashur had felt right. Both names were inseparable in his mind, Ashur and Caelan, bound together like they were written in the same breath. 

Why was that? Why had Callum called him Ashur? And who exactly had Ashur been to Callum? 

Micah's thoughts were spiraling again, a never-ending loop of questions without answers. He felt like he was trying to piece together a puzzle, only to realize halfway through that half the pieces were missing. 

"Did I get amnesia?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "And now everyone has to protect the secret of my past to prevent my mind from breaking with an influx of memories?" 

Callum scoffed, his voice cutting through the haze of Micah's thoughts. "No?" 

Micah narrowed his eyes, turning to look at him. "Are you asking or are you responding?" 

"I'm saying I can't think on an empty stomach," Callum replied without missing a beat. 

Micah watched him march ahead, his long strides purposeful as they made their way toward the food stalls. Callum's palms were bruised, his knuckles red and raw, and his shirt was still dusted with dirt from his fight with Damian. Yet somehow, he carried himself like none of it had happened. Like no one could tell there was history between them. 

But there was. 

"Are we in a time loop and are you cursed to relive this same day over and over?" Micah questioned. "Is this like that one old movie…"

"Groundhog day?" Callum suggested.

"I was thinking of 50 First Dates, but that doesn't matter! Are we in a time loop?"

"I hope to God not." 

Micah pouted at the non-answer. Callum was definitely hiding something. Why did he say things that implied he knew more about Micah than Micah knew about himself? What the hell was that place he'd built into Pantheon, and why had seeing it given Micah a headache? And why in the world did Callum feel so familiar to him? 

It felt like the answers were right there, just out of reach, teasing him. Every time he reached for them, an impenetrable wall would block his way. The frustration was driving him mad. 

"I don't understand why you're being so cagey about this!" Micah blurted as they reached a food stall. 

Callum slid into a seat at an empty table and signaled the server. "About what?" 

Micah groaned, dropping into the chair across from him. "About our connection! I know you know something." 

Callum barely glanced up from the menu. "Why don't you ask your boyfriend?" 

Micah froze, his breath catching. Slowly, he sank further into his chair, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I don't really want to see him right now," he admitted. "He hurt you." 

Callum gestured to himself, his voice dry. "And, as you can see, I'm perfectly fine now." 

Micah didn't believe that for a second. But he didn't press. Instead, he leaned forward, his tone quieter but no less insistent. "Besides, I don't know what Damian knows. But I know what you know." 

Callum finally looked up from his menu, one brow quirked. "And what do I know?" 

"That you know something!" Micah's frustration spilled out, exasperation clear in his tone. 

To his annoyance, Callum laughed—a genuine, deep laugh that made Micah's heart flutter despite himself. "What will you be having?" 

"Don't change the subject!" Micah snapped, his cheeks heating. 

Callum's lips curved into a faint smirk. "I'm only suggesting that the subject waits until after lunch." 

Micah narrowed his eyes. "Do you promise to answer my questions then?" 

"No," Callum said simply, his smirk widening. "But you might convince me by finishing this sandwich." 

As if on cue, the server placed a club sandwich in front of Micah. He stared at it, dumbfounded. Sure, he hadn't eaten all day, but it wasn't like he'd planned to. He just… didn't have the appetite. 

Yet somehow, Callum had seen through him. He'd understood that, appetite or not, Micah still needed to eat. And now, he was cornered. 

"Callum…" Micah started, his voice soft but hesitant. 

Callum shrugged casually. "Or we could split it, and I only answer one question." 

Micah scowled, his frustration warring with grudging admiration. "Well played, Mr. Pierce." 

He pulled the sandwich toward himself, biting into it reluctantly. 

Callum leaned back, clearly satisfied. He didn't say anything as Micah chewed, the silence between them surprisingly comfortable. 

The server returned with Callum's order—a grilled chicken salad—and Micah's water. As they ate, Callum glanced at Micah. "How's your game for the jam coming along?" 

Micah perked up slightly, though he kept his focus on his food. "It's coming along fine," he said with a shrug. "I mean, I've got the art down, obviously. But no one told me coding would be this hard." 

Callum chuckled softly. "You could always ask me for help." 

Micah hesitated, then shook his head. "Thanks, but… I feel like I need to do this on my own. Like it doesn't really count if it's not 100% mine, you know?" 

Callum nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I get that." 

Micah smiled faintly, knowing he did. 

"Can I know what the game's about?" Callum asked. 

"No," Micah said immediately, his tone firm. 

"Fair." Callum grinned, taking another bite of his salad. "Will I get to play it, then?" 

Micah's cheeks turned pink, and he pushed his glasses up his nose. "Would you… want to?" 

"There's no way I wouldn't want to play a Micah Liu original," Callum said, his voice warm and sincere. 

Micah's heart stuttered in his chest. It was moments like this that reinforced the idea that Callum knew him more than he let on. Not that he was complaining about that, it felt good to be seen, to be understood. He just hated feeling like there was a gap in his memory.

He ducked his head, mumbling, "Well… I suppose I can let you see it when it's done." 

They finished their meals in comfortable silence and, just as Callum called for the bill, Micah polished off the sandwich. Callum paid for the food before Micah could argue, and they stood to leave. 

"Okay," Micah said, crossing his arms as they walked away from the stall. "Lunch is over. Answer my questions." 

Callum glanced at him, smirking. "I never agreed to do that." 

Micah stopped in his tracks. "But you said—" 

"I said the subject could wait until after lunch," Callum interrupted, his tone calm and even. "I never said I'd play teacher." 

Micah groaned, jogging to catch up with him. "That's not fair," he muttered. "Why won't you tell me anything? What if I die today? You're going to have to live with the deep regret that lil ol' Micah wanted to know something, and you denied him valuable information!" 

Callum chuckled, shaking his head. "Micah Liu, nothing's going to happen to you—" 

A deafening boom shattered the air, cutting Callum off. The explosion was coupled by a blinding flash of light and the force of it knocked Micah off his feet, slamming him into the ground. 

Pain shot through his body, sharp and searing. He tried to scream, but the heat licked at his throat and the acrid smell of burning plastic filled his lungs as his world was engulfed by flames.