What Happens When You’re Not There

Micah still had droplets of water clinging to his lashes, remnants of the storm outside clinging to the fine hairs. His skin was warmer now, but Callum could still see the faint tremors running through his muscles, like his body hadn't yet fully accepted that it was safe and warm. 

Callum's throat tightened. Even now, he looks beautiful. 

Scars and all. 

Micah always looked beautiful… scars and all. 

Slowly, carefully, Callum lifted Micah's hand to his lips, pressing a ghost of a kiss against his knuckles. Just enough for his breath to warm the cold skin. Just enough to mean something. 

He felt Micah inhale sharply. 

Callum swallowed. "I do want you, Micah," he murmured. His thumb brushed against the back of Micah's hand, tracing slow, deliberate circles. "More than you even know." 

And it wasn't just Ashur he wanted. It wasn't just the lingering pieces of the past whispering between them, pulling them into the same orbit they'd once shared. 

He wanted Micah. 

He wanted the awkward intern who hunched over his tablet at work, scribbling away with a focused frown. He wanted the man who scrunched his nose at meals he didn't want but ate anyway because Callum goaded him into eating. He wanted the man who sang too loudly to pop punk whenever Callum drove him home, drumming his fingers against the car door in time with the beat. 

He wanted Micah Liu— every inch of him. Every broken piece, every scar, every memory—both old and new. He'd spent his past life loving this man despite his duties, despite the crown on his head and the people he was responsible for. He wanted to spend this life getting to know the person that man was now, and loving him all the same.

"I want you, Micah Liu" Callum repeated. His voice was quiet but firm. "But not like this." 

The desperate heat in Micah's gaze flickered. Dimmed. 

And then he pulled away. 

He said nothing. Just turned his back and reached for the towel Callum had given him earlier. His movements were sluggish, like he was dragging himself out of whatever headspace he'd been in. 

Callum exhaled, his chest too tight, his body still burning from the closeness of before. 

"Just turn around," Micah muttered. 

So Callum did. 

He heard the soft shuffle of fabric, the quiet rustle of wet denim hitting the tiled floor. Then a small splash as Micah lowered himself into the tub. 

"Okay," Micah said after a moment. His voice was quieter now, more himself and not the depressed lust fiend that had almost jumped Callum moments ago. "You can turn back." 

Callum turned again. 

Micah was submerged beneath thick layers of soap suds, his knees drawn up slightly, his arms resting along the rim of the tub. He looked… tired. The tension from earlier had drained from his face, leaving only a deep weariness in its place. 

Callum swallowed hard, then sat down on the floor, his back leaning against the bathroom door. 

"You wanna tell me where you're coming from?" he asked. 

Micah didn't answer right away. His fingers skimmed the water's surface, tracing idle patterns in the foam. 

Callum sighed. "You shouldn't be out this late. It's dangerous." 

Micah let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "I appreciate your concern, but I can't bring myself to care." 

Callum frowned. "Micah…" 

Micah's fingers stilled. The bathwater rippled softly. 

"I feel like there's a shadow over me," he said, quietly. His voice was small. Hollow. "Like something's following me. Watching. Waiting." 

Callum's stomach twisted. What was it that Damian had said? Fate. They were tied to their fates and Micah's…

Micah took a shaky breath. "With the way things have been… I'm scared, Callum. I feel like I'm going to die." 

Something inside Callum snapped.

"I won't let that happen," he growled. 

Micah chuckled, shaking his head. "Who says you can stop it?" 

The words hit Callum harder than he expected. He'd sworn it. Over the grave of his love, on his own life, he'd swore that he would not fail the man before him again. Yet, here that man was telling him it was pointless.

Micah exhaled, staring down at the water. "I don't know what's happening to me," he admitted. "I usually try to be optimistic but now I…" Sad green eyes met Callum's again. "Am I cursed?" 

"You aren't," Callum replied, strongly.

"I wish I believed you but it doesn't feel that way." Micah's hand raised a hand from the water and raked his fingers through his hair. "My parents almost killed me multiple times when I was young. But I'm still here."

He inhaled deeply. 

"I almost killed myself when I was eighteen." His voice cracked. "But I'm still here." 

Callum held his breath as Micah continued speaking. 

"When that man attacked me, I thought I was a goner. When I fell from that ladder, I thought that was the end. Then the explosion happened, and now I look like this—" he gestured vaguely at himself, at the scars tracing his body—"but here I am. Still living. Still breathing." 

Micah swallowed hard. "Death has been edging me for so long, and I just took it in stride. But now that I know how Ashur died— how I died…" His hands curled into fists beneath the water. "I can't help but wonder if I don't have much time left." 

Callum's entire body went cold. Micah knew? Callum hadn't told him anything, he hadn't planned on telling him anything. It was too sad. Painful. How would that conversation even go? 'Hey! I know you're still recovering from a near fatal accident and you just found out you were once a peasant in a fantasy world, but— and it sucks to say this— you might die soon.' 

Perhaps Damian had told him. But that didn't seem like him. Damian— Edric— lasted like he was eager to keep Micah from the truth— to protect him from it.

'He'd be safer anywhere but here—with anyone but you!'

"You're going to be okay, Micah," Callum said. It was a lie at worst and a prayer at best.

"Doesn't feel that way." Micah's voice grew even quieter. "It feels like every breath I take is just borrowed time. A- and I wonder if I should just save the universe the trouble by taking matters into my own hands." 

Callum's chest ached. Micah was going through so much on his own and he hadn't even known. Hadn't even bothered to check because his company was slipping through his fingers and the intern had told him he needed space. Callum was trying to respect his wishes… or that was what he told himself. In reality, Genesis was right. He wasn't brave enough. To be with Micah like he wanted to. To be the one he could completely rely on.

He has a boyfriend.

He's my employee, this is inappropriate.

He's so vulnerable, I don't want to take advantage of him.

He could have killed himself.

"Micah, are you okay?" It was a stupid question. "You know I'm here for you right? No matter what."

Micah let out a long, heavy sigh, pressing his damp forehead against the edge of the tub. 

"My parents' place," he murmured. "That's where I was." 

Callum frowned. "But…" 

Micah tilted his head slightly, meeting his gaze. "My dad's dying of cancer." 

Callum didn't know what to say. He knew Micah hated his father, but still—hearing it said aloud— 

"Oh." 

Micah let out a dry chuckle. "Oh." 

Silence settled between them, heavy and suffocating. 

Then Micah turned to Callum fully, lifting his eyes, and for the first time in the entire conversation—he looked lost. 

"I think I'm drowning, Callum." He let out a shaky exhale. "After that man attacked me, I kept having nightmares about it. Nightmares of what might've happened if you hadn't shown up." He swallowed. "Then those dreams stopped when I started dreaming of—" He hesitated, voice barely above a whisper. "You. Caelan." 

Callum's heart pounded. 

"In those dreams, you're so warm. So happy. Even when things were falling apart around us, even when I knew we could never stay together, it didn't matter." Micah's lips trembled. "But since the explosion… My nights are full of nightmares again. Of fire. Of my father from that life. Of the master he sold me to." 

His fingers clenched the sides of the tub. "I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't even look in the mirror because all I see are his eyes," His voice cracked. "I can't tell where Ashur ends and I begin." 

Callum swallowed hard. "I don't think you're completely separate people." 

Micah laughed softly, bitterly. "Funny. Damian said that too." 

Another beat of silence. 

Micah sighed, rubbing his face with wet hands. "It's so depressing that nothing's changed. Like I was born to be the world's punching bag. Still poor. Still weak. Still pathetic." 

Callum couldn't take it anymore. He stood from where he sat on the floor and stepped toward the tub. 

Micah followed him with his eyes, straightening slightly as Callum knelt beside him. 

Micah was naked in his tub.

Holy shit, Micah Liu was naked in his tub.

But that wasn't what Callum was here for. He hadn't been lying earlier. He wanted Micah in the worst way. But, more than anything, he wanted him to feel safe. To feel loved. To feel the same warmth Callum felt whenever he looked at him.

Callum reached out, cupping Micah's face, brushing his thumbs against the damp skin. 

"We may not be completely separate from who we were back then," he whispered. "But this life is our own. And I swear to you, Micah—I won't let anything happen to you." 

His words were intended for comfort but Micah somehow looked even more tired. 

"Cal," he murmured. "You can't keep being my savior." 

Callum's throat burned. "My life is complete if that is all I am." 

Micah exhaled. His fingers curled around Callum's hand. 

"Still as noble as a knight," he whispered. "Still a valiant prince." 

And then he pulled his hand free and looked away. 

"But what happens when you're not there to save me?" 

The question hung between them. 

Because they both knew the answer.