French Girls and First Gifts 

Micah was trying not to feel weird about it. 

Mr. Pier—Callum!—was his friend, and god knew Elle and Rosa had given him multiple speeches about accepting kindness from friends. 

"We love you, so let us show you."

"You don't owe us anything, Micah. We did it because we care."

"If you thank us one more time, I swear to god I'm going to shove my—" 

That last one had been from Rosa, and thankfully, Elle had covered her mouth before she could finish the threat. 

Still… this felt like cheating. 

Micah spent the morning of his last birthday trying to convince Rosa that day drinking before noon was unreasonable, only to fall prey to the persuasive shine of the bottle himself. He had figured this one would start more or less the same. 

He hadn't expected this. 

Callum sat across from him on the picnic blanket, casually holding a plate of samosas like this was normal, like this was something they did. 

"So, what would you like to begin with?" Callum asked, looking up at him from his plate. 

Micah had been prepared for a lot of things. Seeing Callum in casual clothes was not one of them. 

Callum in dark, razor-sharp suits? Expected. Callum in business wear that screamed CEO of a gaming empire? Totally normal. 

Callum in jorts and a band T-shirt with a logo Micah didn't recognize? With Converse sneakers and his dark hair slightly tousled from the wind?

Micah was not prepared. 

Something in his brain short-circuited. He looked more like one of Micah's classmates than, y'know, a rich CEO. 

But the thing about Callum was—no matter what he wore, he still had that energy. That presence. Those sharp, smoky eyes and that natural intensity that explains the 'shadow prince' vibes women in online forums refer to when Callum comes up in conversation.

Micah had read a few erotic comics with that trope…

Scratch that, it was one of his favourite tropes and Callum was messing with his mind by just existing.

"Micah?" 

He snapped out of it, startled. 

"Yes, Mr. Pier—!" Micah blurted out, too loud, too fast. 

Callum gave him a look. 

Micah's face burned as he hurriedly corrected, "Sorry. Callum." 

At first, the slip-ups had been because Callum was his boss, and it was hard to call your boss by his first name. 

Now?

Now it was because Callum was so effortlessly… dominant that Micah was one slip away from calling him 'Master.' 

"…I was asking if you wanted to start with the samosas or the mini burgers," Callum said, clearly choosing to let Micah's near-humiliation slide. 

Micah forced himself to smile, shaking off the absolute mess of thoughts in his head. 

Inappropriate fantasies aside— Callum really was a good guy. 

Coming back from his parents' place, Micah had been angry, tired, afraid. Soaking wet from the rain, feeling like a mess. Damian was out of town, and he hadn't wanted to face Rosa and Elle yet. He'd gone to Callum's place without knowing what to expect—just that he didn't want to be alone. 

And Callum had taken him in.

No hesitation. No questions asked. 

Callum had always taken care of him. 

And now, Micah knew why. Now, Micah knew it wasn't just kindness—it was an oath, a promise made to someone Micah used to be. 

The thought hurt more than he wanted to admit. 

But Callum was looking at him, waiting for an answer, and Micah forced the ache down, smiling through it. 

"The mini burgers, please." 

He glanced over the food between them—plates stacked with everything from chicken skewers to fruit tarts. 

"Was this just a ploy to get me to eat more?" Micah asked, raising a brow. 

"I don't plot," Callum replied, lifting one perfect eyebrow, smirking in a way that sent Micah's heart into cardiac arrest.

What was wrong with him?

"A picnic though? Really?" Micah shot back. 

Callum sighed, setting the plate of samosas down. "I'm being serious, it wasn't a plot. I just figured you wouldn't want to be in a place with so many people after… y'know." 

Micah swallowed hard. 'The accident that left me hideously deformed. Don't worry, you can say it.'

That was unfair. Callum wasn't thinking that. Callum would never think that. 

"That was really thoughtful of you," Micah said, softer now. "Still… how did you even set this up?" 

Callum blinked. "Micah, I'm rich." 

Micah's cheeks heated. "Right. Sorry." 

Callum simply shook his head, amused. "Still, you can say it if this was a stupid idea. I mean, it rained last night. The grass is wet." 

"We found a dry spot," Micah pointed out. 

"And all this food—we're never going to finish it." 

"Rosa and Elle would love to join us," Micah said. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with taking leftovers home." 

Callum exhaled, shaking his head. "Still, the picnic is just unnecessary window dressing for what we're actually here to do." 

Micah opened his mouth for another quick comeback but he hadn't been expecting that. "Wait, it is?" 

Callum suddenly looked… nervous. 

Micah had never seen Callum Pierce nervous before. 

His ears were tinged red, and he looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up. 

Slowly, Callum reached into the massive picnic basket and pulled out a wrapped package. 

Oh. 

Micah's heart pounded as Callum handed it to him. 

"May I?" Micah asked. 

The redness in Callum's red ears was spreading to his cheeks now. "Be my guest." 

Micah carefully unwrapped the package, peeling back the delicate wrapping paper— 

And pulled out a sketchbook.

A high-grade, moleskin sketchbook. A pack of pens. A box of crayons that might as well have been pastels because someone forgot to scrape off the price tag and damn, that was a lot to pay for crayons. 

Micah stared at them, heart twisting. 

Callum knew. 

He knew Micah loved art. 

And he had gotten him something that let him create. 

Sure, it was the easiest gift to give an artist, but that meant most people didn't think to do it. 

Elle and Rosa tended to buy weird, niche gifts (like that dildo shaped lamp stand last year). Damian liked to spend obscene amounts of money on expensive trips and dinners. 

But Callum? 

Callum got him a sketchbook. 

A quiet gift. A thoughtful gift. 

"Do you like it?" Callum asked. 

Micah's throat was too tight to speak for a moment. 

"I love it," he finally managed. "Thank you." 

The thank you wasn't just for the gift. 

It was for last night. 

For this morning. 

For everything.

And, judging by the way Callum smiled, Micah knew he understood. 

"You're welcome," Callum murmured. 

Micah smirked, because he had to or he'd cry. 

"So, you organized a picnic just so I can draw you like one of my French girls?" 

Callum groaned. "For starters, you don't have French girls!" 

Micah laughed, flipping open the sketchbook. He plucked a mechanical pencil from the pack and began to sketch in thin, loose lines— 

A man under the sunlight. 

Dark hair. 

Sharp chin. 

Warmth. 

Slap in a brook and it would be just like old times.