Birthday Morning  

A low and insistent buzz cut through the heavy quiet of dawn. 

For a moment, Callum thought it was part of the dream, afterall he'd asked a question and that hum vibrating in his skull was the response. But as the his senses became aware of dawn with the bright morning light filtering through the curtains, Callum felt the weight of Micah against him and remembered that he was not alone.

The warmth pressed against his lap stirred.

The buzz came again, and this time Callum groaned, voice rough with sleep. "Micah..." 

He hadn't set any alarms and the only idiot who'd dare call him at this hour was Ryan. 

A drowsy murmur answered him, somewhere just beyond reach. "I got it, I got it." 

Micah shifted, sliding off Callum's lap. A sharp jolt of awareness shot through Callum's system as Micah's movement sent an accidental but direct brush against his morning wood. 

Oh, fuck. 

Heat flooded through him, and he barely managed to hold back a moan. Instinct snapped his hand toward the nearest object—a throw pillow—and Callum slammed it over his lap before Micah could notice. 

When he finally dared to open an eye, Micah was already standing, stretching like a content cat with his phone pressed lazily to his ear. 

Callum should not be looking at him like this. 

But gods, how could he not?

The soft golden morning light spilled through the curtains, wrapping around Micah like something out of a dream. The oversized sweatshirt—Callum's sweatshirt—draped over his frame, swallowing his hands in fabric. His hazel curls were a mess, his eyes still half-lidded with sleep, his bare legs peeking out from under the hem of Callum's shorts. 

Micah looked soft. Sleepy. Gorgeous.

Callum swallowed, dragging a hand over his face, willing his heart to slow down. 

He watched as Micah pulled the phone away from his ear, frowning slightly. Two disembodied voices screamed through the speaker.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Callum sat up so fast his morning wood protector almost fell off his lap. 

Birthday? 

His eyes snapped to Micah, watching as he brought the phone back to his ear. 

"Thanks," Micah mumbled sleepily. Then, "Nah, I'm good. I'm with Mr. Pie—Callum, actually." Micah's face turned red. "Yes, just Callum," Micah muttered, rubbing his forehead. Then, after a pause—"No, we did not!" His voice shot up an octave, a mix of exasperation and embarrassment, before he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Rosa…" 

It was like watching a scene out of a movie. Micah, half-asleep and mumbling into the phone and Callum still reeling from the implications of that one word that starts with a B.

Micah's gaze lifted and their eyes met. 

Callum felt it. That telling way the air between them shifted, thickened, settled. That old love mixed with new fondness. 

Micah's green eyes, still hazy with sleep, locked onto his and Callum thought about how easy it would be to pull Micah to himself and kiss him senseless. A silent moment passed. 

Micah covered his face with the sleeve of Callum's sweatshirt, hiding an obvious blush.

Callum had to bite down a smirk. Cute. 

Micah's voice was muffled when he finally said, "Yes, I'll tell him. See you later. Love ya." 

The call ended with a soft beep. 

For a few seconds, Micah stood there, face still buried in his sleeve, as if the oversized sweatshirt could somehow shield him from his embarrassment. 

Callum raised an eyebrow. "What was that about?" 

Micah peeked out, his blush deepening. 

"So…" He hesitated. "Turns out today is my birthday." 

For the second time in one morning, Callum stilled. Okay, he heard the call but there was a possibility that the 'Happy Birthday' scream was for someone else. 

But now he was certain it was Micah's birthday. 

His twenty-fourth birthday. 

A rush of something cold and sharp curled in Callum's stomach. 

He made it.

He didn't die. 

His hands clenched against the pillow. Had Damian been fucking with him? Was all that talk about Micah's fate just another mind game? Or—was there still something waiting ahead? 

His mind reeled, flashing back to every close call, every moment Micah had come seconds from death. Were those just flukes? Was this the moment he was supposed to finally breathe a sigh of relief—or was it just the universe luring him into a false sense of security?

Micah's voice cut through the noise. 

"I'm not too excited about my birthdays either." 

Callum blinked, dragged out of his spiraling thoughts. "What?" 

Micah stepped closer, standing over him with a knowing expression. He lifted a hand—and pressed a finger right to the center of Callum's forehead. 

"You were frowning," Micah said simply. "Deeply." 

Callum swallowed. Not because he was about to dig himself into another mindhole but because Micah's touch, no matter how subtle and innocent, always turned his nerves to dust.

He reached up and grasped Micah's wrist, intending to push his hand away but, for one brief, unhinged second, the thought flashed across his mind— 

The thought of grabbing that finger and sucking it into his mouth. 

Callum let go immediately, clearing his throat as he shifted the pillow over his lap again. 

"I was thinking about something," he muttered. 

Micah cocked his head. "What?" 

Callum smirked. "Nothing you should concern yourself with, birthday boy." 

Micah's face burned. He quickly stepped away, shaking his head like he could physically escape the embarrassment. 

"Well," he huffed, "like I said, I'm not too excited about my birthdays." 

Callum hummed. He understood the sentiment. His own birthdays had always been performative—spent as the polished, perfect child of his parents, paraded in front of people who didn't actually care about him. And now? Now he spent them alone. 

But this was Micah. 

And Micah deserved more. He deserved everything.

Callum leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "How about I have enough excitement for both of us, and you just have fun?" 

Micah blinked, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. 

Callum took note of how that grin was just slightly crooked now, the left side of his face stiff from the scars that had healed over since the accident. 

His chest ached. 

The explosion. The hospital. The fear of losing Micah again. 

Always with that fear. Ever present, worsening with every passing second.

Were they really in the clear?

Callum forced the thoughts down and swallowed hard. "So, any plans?" 

Micah shrugged. "Ro and Elle probably have some ghastly surprise prepared for later, but I'm pretty sure my morning is free." 

Callum tilted his head. "Damian?" 

Micah's expression softened and Callum felt the jealous little snake coil tighter around his ribs. 

"I'll see him later too," Micah replied. "He said he's already booked his flight."

Callum clenched his jaw. And he already had a gift prepped for Micah. Damned boyfriend privileges.

"So we only have the morning to ourselves?" 

"Pretty much." Micah replied. Then, excitedly—"Are we going out?" 

Callum opened his mouth to reply 'Of course we are,' but he hesitated. 

This was his chance. 

His chance to dote on Micah. To take him out, spoil him rotten, give him the birthday he deserved. To prove that he could be twice the man Damian was. 

And yet— 

The unease coiled tighter. 

Was fate playing games with him? Was this the moment he let his guard down, only for the universe to rip Micah away from him anyway? Was it really safe to take Micah out into the city when he'd just come from walking the streets with thoughts of death on his mind? 

Micah was looking at him. Bright-eyed, hopeful. 

Callum caved. 

He grinned. "Go get ready." 

Micah whooped, practically bouncing toward Callum's bedroom. "I hope we find a good place to get cake!" His voice trailed behind him as he disappeared into the room. 

Callum finally allowed himself to exhale. 

His head fell back against the couch, eyes slipping shut. 

Whatever happened—he'd defend Micah against it. 

He just needed to talk to Damian. 

For now— 

Callum sighed. 

For now, he'd make sure Micah had the best birthday morning ever. 

…After he had a cold shower.