CHAPTER 323: GUILT AND YEARNING INSIDE

Clyde was not mad at Micah. He was mad at himself. The storm that twisted inside his chest had nothing to do with the boy’s stiff, awkward reaction; it was his own weakness that stirred it. He shouldn’t have done that in the car. Pinching Micah’s ear as though teasing him, kneading the nape of his neck in what had seemed like a harmless gesture, and gently brushing his cheek with his fingertips, all of it had been reckless indulgence, selfish touches that only served to satisfy his own weakness.

Yeah. Those touches were just torture for him and a scare to Micah. Look at how the boy reacted afterwards. He wanted to soothe, to tease, perhaps even to claim some closeness. Instead, he had frightened the boy.

Clyde replayed the scene in his head with self-loathing. The way Micah had shrunk back, the way his body stiffened, the way even the simple unbuttoning had startled him. It was too clear. He had been a fool to pretend otherwise.

So, the only thing left for him to do was retreat. To hide himself away where his impulsiveness could do no harm. He had closed the bedroom door with finality, leaning against it for a moment, eyes shut, jaw tight. He thought that would be the end of it.

But then half an hour later came the soft, hesitant knock.

Clyde’s brows knit as he stood up. He hadn’t expected it. Slowly, he pulled the door open, and there Micah stood in the hallway. The boy’s hair was still damp, clinging to his temples. Fresh pyjamas clung to his lean frame, the soft fabric wrinkling as he fidgeted with it. He shifted from one foot to the other, his gaze darting up only to fall again, unable to meet Clyde’s eyes. His fingers toyed nervously with the hem of his shirt, twisting and releasing it.

Clyde studied him, his chest tightening. He couldn’t guess what Micah was about to say. The boy’s face was flushed, his lips parted slightly as though the words caught on the tip of his tongue.

Then the boy went ahead and dropped the shocking bomb. "Can I sleep with you?"

For a moment, Clyde froze. All the frustration, the self-reproach, the heavy shadow of loathing he had been drowning in, gone, like fog under the morning sun. He blinked, staring at the nervous boy standing before him, small and unsure but still brave enough to ask. His throat closed, and the corner of his mouth softened before he could stop them.

He didn’t trust his voice, so he only nodded, stepping aside in silent permission.

Micah released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

He stepped inside but stopped short. His eyes locked on Clyde’s neck. He reached hesitantly and brushed his fingers lightly over the tooth mark.

"Is it still painful?" he asked, his face flushed. "I’m sorry. I lost my cool and..."

He dropped his hand, feeling ashamed. His stomach twisted. The memory of sinking his teeth into Clyde’s skin made his ears burn. Like a cornered animal, like a savage...He had bitten Clyde, using violence when he could not deal with the man with his wits.

Clyde touched the bite mark and shook his head. "It didn’t hurt. It was just that my shirt kept scratching on it," he said, clarifying why he had unbuttoned so suddenly.

Micah nodded, embarrassed. "Did you disinfect it? I heard the human mouth has the most microorganisms in it compared to animal bites..." His voice trailed off in humiliation.

Clyde chuckled. "Don’t worry. You didn’t break the skin to draw blood. It is superficial."

Micah ducked his head, getting redder, wanting to disappear.

His feet carried him toward the bed. He sat on the edge stiffly. His hands clasped his knees, knuckles whitening, then he shifted. Finally, with an almost comical kind of defeat, he lay down, slipping beneath the blanket quietly, pulling it up to his chin. He inhaled deeply, and sandalwood, Clyde’s scent, enveloped him.

Clyde watched him in silence, his broad shoulders sinking as he ran a hand through his blond hair. He turned off the lights, leaving only the faint glow of the laptop screen as he sat down. He reached for the device on the nightstand and resumed his work.

From under the blanket, Micah peeked out, his wide eyes stealing glances at the man sitting beside him. The glow of the screen highlighted Clyde’s profile, casting shadows across the sharp line of his jaw and the curve of his cheekbone. His large, strong hands moved across the keyboard with a fluid grace that fascinated Micah. Each click of the keys echoed rhythmically in the quiet room, a steady sound that made Micah’s mind grow heavy, hazy. His lashes dropped as he continued to watch, lulled by that presence.

His body relaxed, his breathing evened out, deepening. Sleep pulled at him gently, until at last he was surrounded.

Clyde noticed. His head tilted slightly, his hand pausing above the keyboard as he listened. The boy’s breath had grown slow and steady. Carefully, Clyde closed the laptop, placing it back on the nightstand without a sound. He turned, his eyes lingering on Micah’s sleeping form.

Strands of hair had fallen across Micah’s forehead, his features relaxed in the innocence of sleep. Clyde’s eyes softened. He lay down slowly beside him, his body angled so as not to disturb him. For a moment, he simply watched, engraving every little detail in his mind.

What Micah didn’t know was that last night, despite all his restraint, he had failed. In the dark hours, unconsciously, his arms had pulled the boy close, cradling him against his chest. When he had woken and realised what he had done, he had been stunned, shaken enough to retreat in a hurry, to flee before Micah awoke and saw.

And yet, tonight, here he was again. The boy had found his way to his bed once more. Clyde’s lips curved faintly. He reached out, sliding an arm carefully around Micah. He held him gently, tucking him close against him.

Why pretend restraint, when he knew in the end he would always reach for him... even if only in sleep?