Chapter 380: Three’s a Crowd, Four’s a Mess
The next morning, a sharp curse cut through the quiet hospital room.
"Fuck!"
Micah’s voice cracked with both panic and despair, echoing against the tiled bathroom walls.
Darcy, who had been folding the blankets, startled. His hand froze mid-motion, and he rushed to the door, twisting the handle without hesitation. "What? Are you alright?" His voice filled with urgency.
Inside, Micah stood in front of the mirror, half-naked, his hospital shirt hanging open, his skin covered in black and blue bruises. He was leaning close to the glass, one trembling hand pressed against his cheek as though trying to erase that ugly patch on his face.
"Shit!" Micah gasped. His eyes darted frantically over his reflection, wide and bloodshot. "Why did it get so worse? My mum will really kill me this time!"
Darcy’s eyebrow twitched slightly. His gaze lingered for a second longer than he meant it to, taking in Micah’s bare chest, the sharp outline of his collar bones, the flush of embarrassment creeping up to his neck. He cleared his throat, snapping his composure back into place. "Of course, it would. Wash up and come out quickly," he said, trying to sound calm.
Before Micah could respond, Darcy turned quickly and shut the door with a little more force than necessary.
The tips of his ears burned faintly pink. He coughed again, adjusting his collar as if it could erase the awkwardness heat rising beneath his skin. His eyes flicked to the side and froze. Clyde and Emile had just walked in, standing at the doorway, observing him like they had caught him red-handed.
"Morning." Emile’s tone was light. "Where is Micah?" he asked as he set the food container and flask down on the table. From the corner of his eyes, he peeked at Clyde and Darcy’s expressions. Last night, when he left the hospital, it was only Darcy who was granted permission to stay beside Micah and not his little uncle. He was dying from curiosity. Did they have a face-off? How was it possible for his uncle to let another man sleep with Micah?
Darcy smoothed the front of his shirt, recovering his composure with a stiff line of his jaw. "He is in the bathroom," his voice came out flat, almost mechanical.
Emile stumbled for a second. Didn’t Darcy come out of the bathroom right now? His eyes widened as he looked at the dark-haired boy. How bold!
On the other hand, Clyde’s expression didn’t change. He gave the faintest nod, acknowledging him. His blond hair was slightly dishevelled, his shirt still wrinkled from the night before. It was obvious he had spent the night here, stationed nearby like a silent sentinel. After urging Micah back to bed the previous night, Clyde had withdrawn to the next room and lay down, relieved that the boy had sought him.
The bathroom door clicked again. Micah emerged, shoulders stiff, on hand self-consciously touching his swollen face.
Emile took one look at him and burst out laughing. His whole body bent forward, hand clutching at his stomach. "Haha! God! What’s with this piggy head?"
Micah’s ears turned crimson. His temper flared up. "Shut it! Let me hit you, then we’ll see how you look!" he said, fisting his hand, ready to swing a punch.
Emile raised his hands in surrender. "Take it easy, man. We don’t want to turn you into a complete pig!"
"Knock it off." Micah’s glare slid toward Clyde, daring him to crack a smile or let out a comment.
But Clyde only moved past him, heading toward the table. He opened the container and poured the porridge from the flask into a bowl. "Come here," he said, voice gentle. "Let’s eat."
Micah huffed loudly, shoulders rising and falling with exaggerated irritation. He walked slowly toward the table, glaring daggers at the still chuckling Emile. With a groan, he sank into the chair, muttering under his breath.
They ate in complete silence. Emile, usually talkative, glanced around, finding the atmosphere awkward. He shifted, but nothing suitable came into mind.
Micah’s hiss broke the stillness.
"Let me blow it for you," Clyde said suddenly, reaching forward. He grabbed the spoon and leaned down slightly, exhaling cool air across the surface in slow breaths. The sight was strangely intimate and kind of childish.
Micah came to his senses and snatched the spoon from him. "What are you doing? I’m not a child." he scoffed.
Darcy, who had been watching quietly, reached over and set a glass of water by Micah’s hand.
Emile’s eyes darted between them, Clyde bent close, Darcy sliding water across the table, and Micah sitting there soaking in both attentions. Emile pressed his lips together, holding back a smirk. Was he even the third wheel? Should he call himself a fourth wheel? Emile amused himself inwardly.
Micah, however, seemed oblivious to the weird gestures. He devoured the porridge until he was stuffed to the brim. "Ah, that was good." he sighed in satisfaction.
"You’ll probably be discharged in an hour. Where are you going then?" Clyde asked.
Micah touched his face in dismay. "I have to go back home. But I am sure I won’t be leaving it in one piece."
"That bad?" Emile asked.
"Yeah." Micah nodded in despair.
"Do you want me to come?" Clyde asked. His voice was steady, but his gaze lingered on Micah a beat too long.
Micah snapped his head up, horrified. "No way. How can I explain that the mighty Du Pont Patriarch is sticking with me all of a sudden?"
"What about Darcy then? He’s a top scorer," Emile suggested, tilting his head innocently toward the quiet boy.
"Absolutely not!" Micah’s reply was instant, sharp. The outburst felt out of place. Micah scratched the back of his neck in awkwardness. "I mean... Darcy had nothing to do with this."
His shoulders slumped. "I’ll just have to endure it." he exhaled heavily.
"Then what about this? Take me with you instead," Emile chimed in. "I was originally the one with you. I can exaggerate a bit, saying you saved me, shed some tears."
Micah squinted at him, sceptical. "My mum would never buy that. She is sharp."
"Oh, come on. I’m a natural. You’ve seen my acting." Emile persisted.
Micah’s eyes flickered sideways to Clyde and Darcy. These two were completely out of question. But the thought of standing before Elina and the rest alone made his stomach lurch. He let out a resigned groan. "Fine."
Emile flashed a charming smile at him. Micah’s gut twisted with a bad feeling already blooming. He had already begun to regret his decision.
Darcy stood then and started tidying up the leftovers. He stacked the empty dishes neatly. Straightening, he turned toward Micah. "I’ll go ahead then."
Micah reached out and grabbed the hem of Darcy’s shirt. "Wait, you forgot this," he said, holding up the black pouch.
Darcy took it without meeting Micah’s eyes. He threw a ’thanks’ toward Clyde.
Micah’s expression dropped, something fragile in his chest tightening. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"
Darcy hesitated mid-steps, then gave a curt nod.
"We will wait outside," Clyde said, his deep voice left no words for argument. He placed a hand firmly on Emile’s shoulder, dragging him out of the room.
The room quieted when they were gone. Micah shifted awkwardly. "Did something happen?"
Darcy’s gaze flicked up briefly, then away. "No, why?"
"Then, why are you so down?" Micah asked, his voice soft.
Darcy chuckled bitterly. "Sometimes you notice the things I wish you wouldn’t. It’s cruel." His mouth twisted faintly.
Micah pursed his lips. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Nope." Darcy shook his head. "I just have a lot on my mind. Get some rest. If you need my help, just give me a call."
He turned toward the door, but Micah’s voice stopped him.
"We’re still close, right?"
Darcy’s back stiffened. His hand hovered on the doorknob for a heartbeat before he gave a low hum of acknowledgment. Without turning back, he pushed the door open and stepped out.
Micah stood in the middle of the room, eyes dimming with a sense of loss.