CHAPTER 322: WRONG WAY, HEROINE!

Clyde drove steadily, the hum of the engine filling the awkward silence between them. The city lights passed across the windshield, painting patterns across Micah’s face. He sat slouched in the passenger seat, eyes glazed. Clyde kept stealing glances, the crease between his brows deepening. He had seen the brutality of society, yet when it came to Micah, every twitch of his lips, every stiff breath, felt something fragile cracking inside him.

They arrived quicker than Micah realised. Clyde pulled into the underground parking garage. The car came to a smooth halt. Clyde cut the engine and exhaled, resting one hand on the steering wheel before pushing the door open.

He got out first, waiting for Micah. But the boy didn’t move. Clyde circled the car and pulled down the handle of the passenger door. Micah sat frozen, shoulders slightly hunched, his gaze unfocused as though he were caught in some dream.

Clyde leaned down, his shadow falling over him. A tired sigh left his chest. He knew Micah couldn’t handle it. A little caressing and he had turned into a pile of mush.

"Micah," he called out, voice low.

Micah’s head snapped up, hearing the voice. His cheeks burned pink. He blinked rapidly, then scrambled to get out, his limbs jerking stiffly. He looked like a rusted tin man trying to move without oil.

Clyde stepped back to give him space, watching with a strange mix of amusement and worry. Micah was... endearing in the most ridiculous ways, though he would never admit that aloud.

Instead of walking toward the elevator, Micah shuffled off in the wrong direction, head tilted down, expression completely blank.

Clyde pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wrong way," he muttered, stepping forward. His hand closed around Micah’s arm and gently redirected him. Micah stiffened at the touch, then turned obediently in the right direction.

Clyde let go of his arm and followed him. They didn’t make it far before Micah veered slightly, almost colliding with a concrete pillar. Clyde grabbed his shoulder and stopped him before he hit his head.

Clyde inhaled slowly through his nose. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling of the garage in helplessness. Then he reached out again, this time catching Micah’s hand. His fingers wrapped firmly around the smaller, cooler ones.

"Come with me," Clyde murmured, tugging him gently toward the elevator.

Micah’s pulse jumped. His hand felt tiny inside Clyde’s, swallowed by warmth and strength. Each step sent little shivers down his spine. He let himself be pulled along, giddy inside.

Earlier in the ride, a ridiculous scene from one of Aria’s favourite romance movies had crept into his head. In it, the male lead and heroine had a fight, then ended up tangled together in a heated kiss in the car. That wasn’t the important part. The one Micah remembered was after that. The male lead lured the heroine to his place, then... things got heated, and before long... bam... she was pregnant. Micah had laughed at how stupid that girl was when he watched it. Yet now, walking beside Clyde with their hands still faintly tingling from contact, his mind kept flashing back to that nonsense. Heat crawled up his neck. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t a movie! And he was definitely not the blushing, foolish heroine being dragged into some man’s apartment... right?

Then, Micah’s gaze fell onto Clyde’s back, and his heart trembled. What if they also couldn’t control themselves and...

Micah felt his mouth had gone dry. Every brush of Clyde’s skin against his own set off sparks. He was terrified of making a fool of himself when the time came. Now he knew Clyde wanted him badly, and he, himself, was not any better. Clyde’s small touches in the car had set a fire in his body. His mind was full of concepts below the waist.

The elevator was short. The metallic door slid open to reveal the quiet hallway, and Clyde led the way to his apartment, unaware of the inappropriate thoughts inside the boy’s head.

He released Micah’s hand only once they stepped inside, his movements brisk as though nothing had happened.

Clyde shrugged off his coat and tugged at the stiff collar of his shirt. The fabric scratched against the place Micah had bitten earlier, irritating it. So he loosened the two top buttons with a small sigh of relief. He was only trying to breathe easier, but to Micah’s frantic imagination, it looked far too much like the beginning of something indecent.

Micah jolted as if struck. "W-what are you doing?"

His words trailed off as his brain betrayed him, filling in the rest of the scene with images he had no business picturing. His ears burned hot. Wrapping his arms around himself defensively, he stepped back, even though Clyde was just loosening a button.

Clyde froze mid-motion, his hand resting against the second button. His eyes cut toward Micah, sharp but unreadable. A vein throbbed faintly at his temple. From the way Micah was acting, it was clear his strange wiring had cooked up something he could never fathom.

"Make yourself at home. I’ll be in my room," he said, turning away and walking with slow steps toward the master bedroom. The door shut behind him with a click.

Micah stood there, eyes wide. The wheels in his mind finally began to spin, realising he was overreacting. He buried his face in his hands and groaned. "Crap!"

The moment Clyde unbuttoned his shirt, his mind had leapt to those scandalous scenes burned into his imagination. Wild, reckless, and heated.

If a simple touch made him feel like this, what about all those other things shown in the movie?

He wished he could turn back time and slapped his mouth shut before uttering those words.

He pinched his own face in frustration. He had messed it up.

Damn it! It was all the movie’s fault. Those steamy scenes from the screen...

Micah wailed in his head. Why did Clyde have to be so charming without even trying? Why did he put himself in the heroine position and Clyde as the male lead? He wanted to kick himself. Who said he should be the bottom?!

Micah walked toward his room in a depressed mood. He felt ashamed, like he had accused Clyde silently of being some kind of pervert, ready to pounce on him. Ahh... he yanked his hair hard.

Reaching the door, he pushed it open. The moment he did, a wave of soft fragrance hit him, the sweet, calming scent of jasmine. He froze, eyes widening.

The flowers.

They sat on the nightstand, arranged neatly in a clear vase. Their yellow petals seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, still fresh even after two days. He stepped closer, fingers trembling as they brushed against the delicate blossoms.

Micah’s throat tightened. He sat down on the edge of the bed, gazing at those yellow jasmines. A shaky chuckle slipped out.

Clyde’s love for him was like this, pure, gentle, and sweet. He had let his mind cloud, twisting every small touch into something crude, when in reality, Clyde had never been like that.

Clyde would never hurt him. Never force, never place his own desire above Micah’s comfort.

Micah felt ashamed of his own dirty mind.

He drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He rested his head there, still gazing at the flowers. He felt small but strangely comforted, as though the blossoms themselves whispered reassurance.

He was lucky, so lucky, to have crossed paths with Clyde. To meet him. To fall in love with.

After a while, he pushed himself up. He pulled his pyjamas from the drawer. The shower was brief, steam wrapping around him, washing away the stickiness of shame. He dried himself quickly and stepped out of his room.

The apartment was dim. Micah lingered in the hallway, his eyes drifting toward Clyde’s door. His pulse quickened again.

He hesitated, chewing his lip, then forced his legs to move. One step, then another, until he stood before the closed door. His hand hovered, fingers curling, before finally knocking softly.

The door creaked open after a second. Clyde stood there in comfy loose clothes. His hair had fallen a little over his forehead, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked down at Micah.

Micah shifted from one foot to another. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, trying to find his voice. The air was heavy with awkwardness.

Finally, Micah parted his lips, his words barely above a whisper. "Can I...sleep with you?"