Late Nights Letters

The laptop sat between them, humming softly as it booted up. Callum stretched his arm over Micah's shoulder, fingers deftly entering his password before settling back against the couch. The glow of the screen illuminated Micah's face, making his green eyes seem almost luminescent in the dim light of the studio apartment. 

Callum should have told him to go to bed. It was late. Micah had walked miles through the rain, had spent the night drenched and exhausted and now he'd curled up in Callum's space like he belonged there. The next natural course of action was getting a good night's rest. But Callum wasn't about to ruin this—this quiet, rare moment where Micah was in a good mood, relaxed beside him instead of guarded. 

Micah shifted, pulling his borrowed sweatshirt tighter around himself as he logged into the game engine. His fingers tapped against the keyboard, a nervous energy buzzing through him, making him fidget. 

"It's just a small game," Micah muttered, almost to himself. "Nothing fancy. The theme was communication, and at first, I just wasn't sure what to do with it, and I still don't think I did a good job, but—" 

Callum's hand found his shoulder, his touch firm but gentle. "I'm sure you made an amazing game." 

Micah blinked up at him, lips parting slightly like he wanted to protest. Then he sighed, slouching forward as he handed Callum the laptop. "You say that now." 

Callum smirked but said nothing as he turned his attention to the screen. The game's title 'From The Desk Of…' was displayed over a beautifully rendered backdrop of a valley kingdom, watercolor skies blending into rolling green hills. Clearly Micah's work, based on the landscapes Callum had seen in his portfolio.

He glanced at Micah, raising an eyebrow. "This is stunning." 

Micah bit his lip, like he wasn't sure if Callum was joking. 

Callum clicked 'Start.'

The screen faded into an animated, warm and bustling village. The sprites were tiny cubes with just enough detail to show their different clothes and personality but it was clear that Micah had sprung for a model pack. Still, his art remained in the UI and character interaction bars. 

Callum started his gameplay as Dorian—a post boy, apprentice to the town's postmaster—stood in front of the palace, holding a letter with an unreadable seal. 

Callum skimmed through the mechanics, fascinated. It was a dating sim where the user played as Dorian and exchanged between him and two love interests: a charming prince and a rich young merchant. As he played, Micah explained that he managed to add a few side quests involving delivering letters for the townspeople, writing responses on their behalf and learning their stories. He also explained how he planned to make the other living mechanics such as fishing, gardening, foraging and gifting better with time. 

It was cozy. Intimate. Beautifully crafted. 

And Micah thought this was nothing special? 

"Micah." Callum turned to him, stunned. "This is amazing." 

Micah groaned, dropping his face into his oversized sleeve. "You don't have to lie to me just because I'm in your clothes." 

Callum threw his head back, laughing. "I'm not lying. You've made something really beautiful here. I'm kinda jealous I didn't think about it first."

Micah peeked up, cheeks dusted pink. "High praise coming from you." 

Callum grinned. "Let's get to debugging this, shall we?" 

They got lost in the flow of work. 

Micah worked over Callum's shoulder, pointing out sections of the code he'd made mistakes in with murmured instructions. Callum typed, adjusted, fixed logic errors with ease. It was a strange, effortless rhythm between them—Callum implementing the corrections, Micah watching, their arms occasionally brushing when Micah reached past him. 

It was… comfortable.

By the two-hour mark, Callum's stomach made its complaints known. He stretched, rolling his neck before standing. "I'm making food. Want anything?" 

Micah barely looked up from the screen. "I'm good." 

Coming from the person who hadn't eaten at all in god knows how long.

Callum hummed. "What about oats?" 

Micah scrunched his face, finally glancing at him. "Oats is grandma food." 

Callum smirked. "You're just saying that because you've never had a good bowl." 

"There's no such thing as a good bowl of oats." 

Callum crossed his arms. "Wanna debunk that?" 

"It cannot be debunked," Micah emphasised. "It's a fact."

"Uh-huh," Callum drawled, bringing his favourite saucepan down from the cupboard.

After a quick but thorough rinse, he filled it with milk, letting it warm gently on the stove while he measured out the oats. A pinch of salt, a drizzle of honey, and a dash of cinnamon went in next, the kitchen filling with the comforting scent of sweetness and spice. He stirred slowly, letting the oats thicken into a creamy, velvety texture. While they simmered, he chopped fresh strawberries and bananas, their bright colors a cheerful contrast to the earthy tones of the oats. A handful of toasted almonds and a sprinkle of chia seeds finished the dish, adding a satisfying crunch and a boost of energy.

When the oats were ready, Callum ladled them into two bowls, topping each with the fruit and a final drizzle of honey. He carried the bowls to the table, the steam rising in gentle curls.

"My 'I told you so' is ready," Callum announced with a flourish, placing a bowl in front of Micah.

Micah hesitated, eyeing him suspiciously. Then he eyed the bowl. "You set me up." 

Callum smirked. He'd found that the best way to get Micah to eat was to get him to a point he couldn't refuse.

"I'd never do anything so dubious," he chuckled. "C'mon, it has fruit in it." 

Micah sighed like a man facing execution. He picked up the spoon, took a bite, and paused. 

Callum leaned on the counter. "So?" 

Micah chewed, swallowed, then muttered, "It's acceptable." 

Callum grinned. "I'll accept 'acceptable'." 

They ate as they worked, Micah eventually helping himself to seconds without comment. When they finished, Micah washed the bowls while Callum dried and put them away. They moved in sync and it was all so… quiet and strangely domestic. They hadn't planned to have it like that, it wasn't something they had to think about. It just… happened. As if they had done this a hundred times before even though Callum knew for a fact that they'd never done this in their past life. 

Callum hadn't realised that what his empty, cold apartment had needed was a person to share it with.

No, not just any person.

He glanced at Micah who was yawning into the sleeve of his borrowed sweatshirt. "Thanks for the grandma food."

Maybe in another life, they were the kind of couple who debugged cod and did the dishes in the middle of the night.

Callum couldn't stop staring. "I'd appreciate your thanks better if you didn't call it that."

Micah simply stuck out his tongue in response and they got back to work.

By the time Callum was finishing the last line of code, the first hints of morning light were creeping through the curtains. The game was done. The bugs were gone. The final version wasn't perfect yet but he knew they'd get it there. 

And Micah had fallen asleep against his shoulder. 

Callum stilled. 

Micah's head was warm where it rested against him, the weight of him pressing softly into Callum's side. His breaths were slow, even, his brown curls spilling messily over his forehead. 

Callum swallowed, heart lodging itself somewhere in his throat. 

He exhaled slowly, carefully reaching up to brush Micah's hair back, fingertips barely skimming his temple. He didn't want to wake him. Didn't want to break this fragile moment where Micah was here, close enough for Callum to breathe him in— close enough for Callum to be certain that he was safe.

"…Micah," he whispered, voice almost hoarse. "You gotta upload the game." 

Micah made a small noise, shifting, his head slipping from Callum's shoulder—to Callum's lap. 

Callum froze. 

Micah murmured sleepily, "You do it." And proceeded to snuggle up deeper into Callum's skin. 

Callum's brain short-circuited. 

Micah's cheek was pressed against his thigh, warm, soft, his breathing deep and even. Callum could not move. He would not move. His fingers flexed at his sides as he tried to keep himself from fully malfunctioning. 

Fuck. 

He swallowed, forcing himself to focus on the task instead of the fact that Micah was draped across his lap like it was his. He carefully navigated the laptop, uploading the game, double-checking everything before shutting it down and placing it on the coffee table. 

Then he just… sat there. 

He should move. Should shift Micah off of him and get him to a bed where he won't wake up with sore muscles. He didn't want to wake up with sore muscles.

But he didn't want to move either. 

Instead, he leaned back against the couch, exhaling slowly as he let his eyes slip shut. 

He could allow himself this. Just for a moment. 

And as the early morning light bathed them both, Callum let himself fall asleep, Micah's warmth against him the last thing he felt.