Remember You 

Micah sank back onto the bed, his head resting against the cool pillow as he stared up at the ceiling. His mind was spinning. He covered his face with his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes like he could block out the madness swirling around in his mind.

"I don't think I'm in the right headspace to fully process the implications of this," he muttered. 

Callum let out a low chuckle, the sound dry but understanding. He sat down on the edge of the bed, just close enough for Micah to feel the heat of his presence. "Yeah," Callum said softly. "It was like that for me too at first." 

Micah peeked at him through his fingers. "How long have you known?" 

Callum leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. "Since I stopped riding horses." 

Micah's brow furrowed. "What?" 

He vaguely remembered Callum mentioning the horses before his fight with Damian but he hadn't expected that.

Callum sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I used to ride horses as a kid. I was actually pretty good at it." 

Micah smirked faintly. "Rich kid." 

Callum bumped his shoulder against Micah's, the gesture light but grounding. "Anyway," he continued, "one day, I was out on the pasture with Midnight—my dad's prized mustang—when I fell. It was a big fall. I hit my head on a pebble sticking out of the ground and blacked out for a few seconds." He paused, his gaze distant as if he were reliving the memory. "While everyone was fussing over me, all I could think was, 'This isn't the first time I've fallen like this.'" 

Micah's chest tightened. The memory surfaced like an image on a fogged up window, as vivid as if he were watching it unfold before him. "That time you fell off Arrow…" he whispered. 

If anyone had asked him about this yesterday—well, technically no one could have, since he'd been unconscious—but if they had, he would've laughed and asked, 'What the hell are you talking about?' But now… now, he remembered it as if it had happened just yesterday. 

It has been a year after he'd become a Stablehand at the palace. Arrow was a young, wild Kinnarion bucking furiously as an overconfident young prince underestimated the viciousness of a tiger-fox that didn't want anyone in his back. He remembered watching, his heart lurching as the prince was thrown, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. He remembered rushing to his side, his hands trembling as he called out to him. 

Micah's fingers absently brushed against the stitch running along the side of his head. He swallowed hard. 

Callum traced the faint scar on his own forehead, a ghost of the injury he'd sustained so many years ago. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Then I started getting these flashbacks, these dreams. At first, I brushed them off. I thought they were just… weird coincidences or I watched a movie I couldn't remember or something. Until…" 

Micah's breath hitched. "Until?" 

Callum's gaze met his, his coal eyes burning bright. "Until I met you. Dream boy." 

Micah's cheeks flushed, the heat creeping up his neck. He looked away quickly, his heart pounding in his chest. 

"What does this mean?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Callum leaned back slightly and his shoulders slumped along with his frame. He looked so exhausted it made Micah hurt. "Reincarnation, maybe? That's the only thing that makes sense." 

Micah scoffed. "Reincarnation? But that's absurd. What does that even mean for the world if people just… remember their past lives?" 

Callum exhaled. "I've thought about that too. Honestly? I don't know." 

Silence hung between them for a moment. Micah stared down at his hands as his fingers traced the burn marks on his arm. The scars were fresh, but they felt ancient, like echoes of a pain he'd known before. 

"I died," he murmured, his voice trembling. "And I… I could've died again." 

He turned his head to look at Callum, his throat tight. "Did you… die that night?" 

Callum's jaw tightened and his eyes darkened. "No," he said quietly. "Arrow pulled me out of the fire. But… you were already gone." 

Micah swallowed the lump in his throat, his chest aching at the raw pain in Callum's voice. "That must've been really painful for you." 

Callum let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Micah, I don't think that's what you should be saying after realizing you died." 

Micah's gaze softened. "If I can remember correctly," he said carefully, "you loved me more than anyone. I can't imagine how losing me must've been for you." 

Callum's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Hard," he said simply, his voice thick with emotion. "It was hard." 

Micah opened his mouth to respond, but a soft knock on the door interrupted him. Both men turned toward the sound, and the door creaked open to reveal Damian standing in the doorway. 

The blonde man's expression was tight, his blue eyes flickering with a small, almost imperceptible irritation as they landed on Callum. Then, like looking away from a cockroach in the corner of a room, Damian looked away from Callum and he held up a bag in his hand, the logo of a nearby café printed on the side. "Babe, I brought you lunch," he said, his voice careful. 

Micah offered him a small, tired smile. "Thanks, babe." 

Damian stepped into the room, his gaze darting between Micah and Callum. The tension in the air was palpable, the unspoken animosity between the two men hanging heavy. 

Micah cleared his throat, his voice tentative. "Callum, can you… can you give us a minute?" 

Callum hesitated, his gaze lingering on Micah for a moment before he nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. He stood, his movements slow and deliberate, and walked toward the door. 

As he passed Damian, the two men exchanged a look—one charged with hostility and resentment—but neither said a word. 

The door clicked shut behind Callum, leaving Micah alone with his boyfriend.