Upside Down (COMPLETE) Inside Out, Book 2 [BoyxBoy]

Callan

Callan knew he had run way too far now. The surrounding was darker in here, and he had simply lost most of his energy trying to catch the man he had been seeing in his dreams all this time.

He had seen him face-to-face, and only God knew how beautiful he was. He looked charming and weak, his face displayed something that sparked thousands of emotions that Callan didn't have before. He wanted to protect the man, wanted to embrace him, although he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, yet.

Callan knew he wasn't a werewolf, and not some kind of an ordinary mortal, too—in fact, he really was a familiar figure. Callan thought someone had shown his face somewhere before, but he couldn't exactly remember where. He realized this fact after a few mornings waking up to the same dream, over and over again.

He shouted for the man to come out again with no luck. The man vanished as if he was a ghost; maybe he was one after all.

"Who are you?" Callan started to sense anger rising inside of him. He really wanted to tell his father about the dreams. He had a thought before that he was probably going insane, so that made him chickened out a bit—what if he really was a madman? Callan didn't want to go to a psychiatrist—he was completely fine before.

He started to walk back, sniffing his tracks along the way to find the exit out of this thick unfamiliar wooded area. He had been running up hills just now, climbing up and traveling nowhere. He might get lost in here, and he knew he had never behaved like this ever before. The more he walked to find the way out, the more absurd he felt—what was he thinking? Where did the courage come from for him to run all the way up to chase the stranger in his dreams?

Maybe it was a coincidence . . . yes, that was more fitting, wasn't it? Yes, the man had the same eyes, same murderous expression, same kind of vulnerability; so what? That might not mean anything.

But no one would run away from him like the man did. The man literally dropped his long, slender stick, the one that Callan had picked up for him.

Then he realized it wasn't just a stick. A wand, you idiot! That's a wand! So the man was a wizard after all; that sounded more like it, with his peculiar robe and everything. Only previously he and the boys had tried to touch Colby's wand with no success; holding a wizard's wand would sting you, and sometimes it burned your skin, too. Callan was aware of that, but the one belonged to the man didn't have any effect on him.

In fact, Callan did remember picking it up; he hadn't touched the stick yet when it levitated up off the ground to his hand, as if his skin was magnetized. That was not common.

When he was out at the Tent again, the game was long finished, and the sun was about to set, the sky was dark auburn in color. He was all silent and unresponsive even after knowing Jace lost terribly to a round with Theo. He couldn't say a word in a dinner that night, his thoughts occupied with the man's eyes lingering around him. He couldn't afford to care while everyone was in shock to what happened in the Combat. His dad had to call out his name several times for him to respond.

That night, he didn't dream of the man although he wished he would. The sleep was all empty, but not peaceful. But the good thing was he could already see the man clearly in his head through his memory of him; previously he couldn't even put the man's face into a drawing.

Callan started to sketch; it was the first thing he did when the sun had risen the next day.