Chapter 309: The One I Can’t Leave Behind
Clyde straightened his back slowly, his tall frame casting a shadow over the boy pressed against him. He looked down at Micah, who was behaving like an oversized cat, cheek rubbing lazily against his bare shoulder as if claiming ownership, his eyes closed and his glasses sitting crooked on his face.
For a moment, Clyde didn’t move. His gaze softened, the guarded sharpness melted into something warmer. He reached up, his fingers brushing the rim of the glasses before carefully slipping them off Micah’s face. "Sleepy?" his voice was low, almost coaxing.
Micah’s eyes opened halfway. "No... You just have this effect on me..." His tone was light, but there was an accusation under it, like it was Clyde’s fault.
Clyde raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his gaze. "What? Am I your walking sleeping pill now?" Clyde teased. His mood, once heavy and strained, had already begun to settle.
Micah was like that. The boy had a knack for erasing sadness, worry, anger, and all the negative emotions in his chest. Everything would vanish the moment he hugged the boy.
Micah didn’t move, still glued to shirtless Clyde, one hand resting with an almost possessive weight against his ribs. "Mm...no. More like a warm, oversized pillow."
Clyde’s lips twitched. "Should I be flattered?"
"Yeah. Definitely," Micah replied without hesitation, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Then, to Clyde’s surprise, Micah pushed him, hard enough to make Clyde take a step back. The back of Clyde’s leg bumped against the edge of the bed frame.
Clyde was puzzled. "What was that for?"
Micah’s answer was to push again, with a sudden burst of determination. Clyde lost his balance, catching himself with one hand on the mattress, but the momentum had already tipped him backward. He leaned on the bed with a faint bounce, lying there for a beat as if trying to decide whether he should be annoyed or amused.
"I’m using my pillow. Got a problem?" Micah said simply, as if that explained everything. Without waiting for an answer, he climbed onto the bed, moving with a casual confidence. He stretched out beside Clyde and patted the mattress. "Sleep."
Clyde remained exactly where he was, arms loosely at his sides, blinking up at the ceiling for a moment. "Why? It’s the middle of the day. We came back here so you could tell me your plan without interruption..."
Micah lifted a finger and pressed it gently against Clyde’s lips, cutting off the rest of the sentence. His touch lingered just a little longer than necessary. "Shhh... quiet. Sleep first. We can talk later."
Clyde stared at him for a moment, then let out a soft sigh, the kind that came more from resignation than defeat. "At least let me put on a shirt."
"Nope." Micah’s answer was immediate, almost playful. "This version’s way better." He shifted closer, his head resting against Clyde’s bare shoulder, his arm sliding over Clyde’s chest in a loose but unmistakably possessive hold.
Clyde studied him, puzzled by the shift. A few minutes ago, the boy had been tense and fierce, raw with emotion. Now, he was overbearing, bossy, and almost clingy. Why?
Micah buried his face deeper into Clyde’s arm, as though trying to disappear into the warmth there. The faint sandalwood scent clung to Clyde’s skin, steadying him. Micah knew Clyde didn’t need the physical comfort, not the way Micah did right now, but it didn’t matter. His own need to hold onto Clyde was stronger than reason.
Because the truth was simple, and it hit him hard... he might die.
That was his ending in the novel.
The thought slashed through him like a cold wind. The image came uninvited: Clyde, standing alone in some quiet corner of this big empty house, no one there to notice if his shoulders were heavier or if his eyes were tired. It filled Micah’s chest with a tight, almost choking dread.
Dread of what might happen to Clyde when he was gone...
Micah knew his family could survive his loss. His friends could grieve and still move on, because they had each other.
But what about Clyde? He had no one. He was too proud, too stubborn, too closed off to voice his pain.
The idea of leaving him like that... alone with his silence... was unbearable.
Micah had never feared death quite like this before. He knew, in the logical sense, that it could come for anyone, that it was in God’s hands. But now, the thought wasn’t about his own pain. It was about Clyde.
The moment he realised Clyde’s situation, Micah knew he couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t go through with that procedure. Not if there was even a one per cent chance it would kill him. Not if it meant leaving Clyde behind.
He felt awful. He had prioritised Clyde over his biological mother. He was really a villain, wasn’t he?
It was absurd, how quickly he had fallen for Clyde... but the heart didn’t ask for permission, and his had made its decision long before his brain caught up.
Micah was sure that if he left, Clyde would definitely be alone for the rest of his life.
It was ridiculous. This feeling...
But he didn’t fight it. In the novel, Flora would live for more than ten years from now. That meant there was still time, time to find another donor, time to search for the best doctors, time to fight for a different ending.
He would use every bit of that time. He would not gamble with his life, not if it meant gambling with Clyde’s future.
His hold on Clyde tightened, his fingers curling into the muscle of his side, pulling himself just a little closer until there was no space between them. He didn’t want to let go, not now, not ever.
He would never let Clyde know about his ending. Never. If he did, Micah was certain the man would lose control in ways that would be messy, destructive, and impossible to contain.
Clyde’s arm shifted, his large hand settling over Micah’s shoulder in a steady weight. With his other hand, he began to caress Micah’s head, slow, deliberate motions that traced the strands from crown to nape. The action was unhurried, more instinctive.
He didn’t know what thoughts were running through Micah’s mind, but he could feel it, the urgency in the boy’s movements, the way his body clung tighter than usual.
Maybe, Clyde thought, seeing his scars had shaken Micah more than he let on. Maybe it had stripped away the illusion of invincibility... that Clyde wasn’t that strong and untouchable.
Maybe it made Micah fear losing him... Like losing all the things he had thought belonged to him before Darcy showed up.
Clyde let his eyes drift half shut, his thumb brushing idly over Micah’s shoulder blade. Even though he liked this clingy version of Micah, he knew he had to be more unshakable than ever, yes... be the strong pillar Micah could lean on.