Chapter 423: Why Is My Love Triangle Covered in Broth?
Micah woke up late in the afternoon. He blinked slowly, his lashes sticking together, and lay there for a while. His body felt heavy, almost boneless, but not in a bad way, more like he had finally gotten some real rest. With a groggy groan, he stretched his arms above his head, the joints in his back and neck popping loudly in protest. "Ah...finally," he muttered, rolling his shoulders until they gave another series of cracks.
Then his stomach growled loudly. He froze before rubbing it in a lazy circle. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you," he grumbled.
Kicking off the sheets, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His hair stuck out in every direction, his shirt was twisted, and his slippers were mismatched, but he couldn’t be bothered to fix any of it. With a yawn that cracked his jaw, he scratched himself and walked downstairs.
The smell hit him as soon as he reached the hallway, savoury, warm, unmistakably comforting. His stomach growled again, louder this time. Micah pushed into the kitchen, his eyes half-lidded with sleep, and collapsed into the nearest chair with a sigh. Before he could even fully settle, a steaming bowl of noodles slid onto the table in front of him.
He blinked at it. His lips parted slightly, the smell penetrating his mind. Without hesitation, he picked up the chopsticks and leaned forward, slurping up the first bite. "Mm... so good..." he mumbled through a mouthful, barely pausing to breathe.
"Thank you, Grandpa Sunny. It is even better than before." He leaned down and noisily slurped the broth, his voice muffled but sincere.
"You’re welcome."
The reply was soft, but the voice was all wrong.
Micah’s eyes widened as the sound hit his ears. He sucked in a sharp breath at the wrong time and immediately choked. Soup went down the wrong pipe, and he sputtered, coughing so hard that a spray of broth splattered across the table.
"Hey, slow down," Darcy said, and handed him a napkin. His expression was half mused, half scolding. "You are such a foodie," he teased lightly, shaking his head. "Always gulping like you haven’t eaten in days."
Micah clutched the napkin, coughed into it, and wiped his mouth, his eyes watering. He looked at Darcy in shock. "Why are you here?" he rasped.
"Huh? What’s that supposed to mean? You literally saw me this morning." Darcy replied nonchalantly while he wiped the broth across the table with a tea towel.
"No... when..." Micah shut his mouth. The morning events replayed in his mind. The hug, the quiet words, and then the kiss... ahhhh..., the kiss!
Micah’s entire body jolted as the scene popped into his head. Heat rushed into his face so quickly it felt like fire spreading under his skin.
His ears went hot, his chest tight. He averted his eyes, unable to look directly at Darcy, because if he did, he would see those lips, the very ones that had pressed against his.
What the hell had he done! Why did he let Darcy do that? He should have dodged. He should have pushed him away. Or said something. Like hey, I am in a relationship! I am taken!
But no... he hadn’t. He just stood there like some statue and then collapsed like an idiot from exhaustion and lack of sleep.
What would Darcy think? He surely didn’t misunderstand, right?
Micah dared a peek at the dark-haired boy.
Darcy was watching him, calm as ever. When their eyes met, Darcy offered him a gentle smile.
Micah cursed in his mind. Fuck! He totally misunderstood! Somebody please kill him now! Or at least rewind the time. Send him back to this morning, so he could dodge, shove, shout, anything but what had actually happened.
Micah’s hands were dampened with sweat. Shit! Shit! What would Clyde think if he found out? That he let Darcy make a move on him? The man would flip out, right? Would he think of him as a loose man? An unfaithful? Would he think less of him?
Micah hid his face in his hands and groaned. What was wrong with him? Ahh...
He hadn’t slept properly in days; that had to be it. Lack of sleep, stress, and confusion had disordered his mind.
What a mess! How could he come out of it unscathed, while both Darcy and Clyde were left unaffected?
Telling Darcy the truth now... Would it be like twisting the knife in his heart? He had already taken everything from him, stolen his name, his identity, his wealth, his family. He had blocked his growth. Who knew maybe he would have turned out to be a worldwide genius if he had grown up in the Ramsy family. If he hadn’t needed to work, to take care of a sick mother and a little sister, shouldering the burdens that weren’t his in the first place, maybe Darcy would have ended up winning a Nobel Prize in mathematics!
Micah’s heart ached painfully. He was really stupid. There had been signs, so many signs, and he had brushed them all aside. Ah... he was such a self-centred bastard! Just thinking about himself.
Micah pressed his palms to his eyes so hard the black spots appeared.
Darcy put away the bowl and leaned against the counter, watching Micah’s reaction. He wasn’t upset or disappointed. He wasn’t surprised either. He had seen how Micah was glued to Clyde, how he had eyes just for that man. Of course, Micah would panic. He wasn’t the type to play with others’ feelings. He had a strong sense of principle.
But even so, Darcy was sure of one thing. Micah wasn’t against being with him. At that fragile moment, when the mind was too exhausted to think rationally, it was the heart that controlled the consciousness. Micah subconsciously had let him get close.
It was a small opening. A fragile chance.
But Darcy wasn’t the type to let chances slip away.
There was room for him, no matter how small, in Micah’s heart. And he would seize it.