For a moment, there was nothing but ringing in Callum's ears.
The sound of screams came the moment he managed to force his eyes open.
He was on the ground, that much he knew. His body felt weighted and distant, as though he were sinking into the earth itself. His vision swam as he blinked against the smoke and dust clouding the air. The world around him was chaos. He could make out the distant cries of children, the pounding of panicked footsteps, and the wail of an approaching ambulance.
He tried to move, and his ribs ached sharply. His palms scraped against the ground as he pushed himself up to his knees, his breaths coming quick and shallow. He reached for the side of his head, wincing when his fingers came away sticky with blood.
But his pain—his body—meant nothing compared to the cold wave of terror that slammed into him.
Where's Micah?
Callum stumbled to his feet, ignoring the spinning in his head. The panic tightened his chest, nearly suffocating him. He could barely see through the haze of smoke and dust, but he forced himself forward, staggering in the direction of the blast.
"Micah!" he called, his voice hoarse. He coughed against the thick, acrid air, his eyes darting through the panicked crowd rushing past him. People were running away—faces streaked with soot and terror—but Callum pressed forward, weaving against the tide. "Micah!"
The smoke thinned for a moment, and then he saw him.
Micah lay sprawled on the ground, his body twisted unnaturally. His clothes were torn and bloodstained, his pale skin smudged with soot and dirt. A deep gash on his forehead leaked crimson down the side of his face, pooling into the dust beneath him.
Callum's knees hit the ground hard as he collapsed beside him. His heart thundered in his chest, a painful drumbeat that echoed the worst kind of fear.
"Micah…" His voice cracked. He reached out, then hesitated. He didn't know if he should move him, didn't know if he'd make things worse. His hands trembled as he placed two fingers to the side of Micah's neck, holding his breath.
A faint pulse.
Relief hit him like a physical blow, and Callum sagged forward, his forehead nearly touching Micah's arm. He was alive. Barely, but alive.
"Micah," he whispered again, gripping his hand tightly. Tears stung at his sinuses, hot and bitter. The image before him—the broken body, the blood, the chaos around them—flashed unpleasant memories into his mind.
A burning stable. Smoke so thick he could barely breathe. His own voice screaming through the flames, "Ashur! Where are you?" Then those final moments, him holding onto Ashur's lifeless body, screaming like the sound could somehow quantify his grief when…
Arrow burst through the walls and pulled him out.
I didn't die in the fire, Callum realized with a start. His loyal Kinnarion had singed his fur to get them out of that building but… it had been too late for Ashur.
Callum's heart felt like it was collapsing in on itself. A void wrapped in the arms of a black hole.
"Help!" he shouted, his voice raw. "Over here!"
The sound of hurried footsteps and shouting voices grew closer. The fire department and paramedics finally broke through the smoke. Callum scrambled to his feet, waving them over as they rushed to Micah's side.
"He's barely breathing," Callum said, his voice shaking as he stepped back to give them space. "There was an explosion and—"
Micah was just behind him. They were talking and… Micah was just behind him. How could everything have gone so wrong so fast?
The paramedics moved quickly, checking Micah's vitals, placing an oxygen mask over his face, and gently loading him onto a stretcher. Callum watched, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, as they worked with clinical efficiency.
"Micah…" he breathed like calling his name would automatically wake the man up.
"Micah!"
The familiar voice cut through the chaos, sharp and panicked. Callum turned his head, just as Damian burst through the settling dust and smoke. The man's face was pale, his eyes wide and frantic as they locked onto the stretcher.
"Micah," Damian breathed, his voice breaking. He rushed to his boyfriend's side, his hands hovering uselessly over Micah's still form. "Oh, Micah…"
Then Damian's eyes snapped to Callum, blazing with fury. "What did you do?"
Callum opened his mouth, but no words came. His throat was dry, his voice swallowed by the hole in his chest. He hadn't done anything, but somehow, it still felt like his fault. Like if he hadn't made Micah worry enough to take care of him, if he hadn't insisted on dragging him along to lunch then maybe…
Micah's voice echoed in his mind: "What if I die today? You're going to have to live with the deep regret that lil ol' Micah wanted to know something, and you denied him valuable information…"
Callum swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the ground.
Damian's voice cut through the silence again, thick with emotion. "You were with him, weren't you? How could you let this happen?" he lashed out, his hands trembling as he hovered protectively over Micah.
Before Callum could summon the strength to respond, the paramedics began wheeling the stretcher toward the ambulance. Damian followed closely.
"Whoa buddy, you can't come with us," one of the men said. "It's against our policy."
"I'm his boyfriend!" Damian replied quickly. "I'm the closest thing he has to family. His parents are estranged. Please… please let me ride with him. I— I don't want to leave him alone."
The paramedics exchanged hesitant glances before one of them nodded. "Fine. Just don't get in the way."
"Thank you," Damian said, his voice cracking. He climbed into the back of the ambulance, his gaze hard as he looked back at Callum.
Even with tears streaking his face, Damian's eyes burned with fury, with blame. The door shut with a final, echoing clang, and Callum could only stand and watch as the ambulance sped away, its sirens wailing into the distance.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
A paramedic approached him, insisting on cleaning the wound on his head. Callum barely felt it as they dabbed at the gash, wrapped it with gauze, and asked him questions he could hardly process.
The firefighters asked for details next. "Do you know what caused the explosion?"
"No," Callum muttered.
"Were there any suspicious individuals nearby beforehand?"
"I… I don't know."
"Were there any gas lines or equipment in the area?"
"This was where the food stalls were."
The police followed, their questions more probing: "Did you see anyone running away from the scene before the blast?"
Callum shook his head, his voice flat. "No."
"Were you aware of any threats made against this event or your company recently?"
"I don't believe so."
"Do we have permission to carry out an investigation into this incident alongside the fire department?"
"Yes," Callum replied, his tone distant.
Then came the press, cameras flashing, microphones shoved in his face.
"Mr. Pierce, do you know if this was a targeted attack?"
"Was this an accident or a deliberate act of violence?"
"Do you have anything to say to the families affected by the explosion?"
Callum's responses were brief, mechanical. "An official statement will be released soon."
By the time he returned to his apartment, he was a shell of himself.
He went through the motions of his nightly routine as he usually did. He showered in silence, the water too hot against his skin. He prepared a simple dinner, but the sight of it turned his stomach. He left it untouched on the counter.
Callum didn't allow himself to think about Micah until he finally crawled into his empty bed and pulled his blankets over himself.
Then the tears came before he could stop them, silent and bitter.
It always surprised Callum how much sorrow his body could carry.