CHAPTER 492: ATTACK OF THE HUNGRY STOMACH

Micah leaned into Clyde’s hug, the tightness in his chest slowly loosening, his taut nerves beginning to relax. His body trembled once, then eased as it his bones finally remembered how to rest.

Ah... nothing in the world could make him feel as safe, as content, as this. Clyde’s arms were warm, firm, steady. It was his only sanctuary.

The memory of drowning still haunted him. He could almost feel the cold water dragging him down, the suffocating pressure closing around his lungs. The fear clung like invisible hands, clutching at his throat. He had tried to stay composed, to smile and pretend nothing had happened, but his mask cracked the moment Clyde said he had missed him.

For just a second, all the strength he pretended to have slipped away. He clutched at Clyde’s shirt, fingers curling tight around the fabric, knuckles pale. The steady beat of Clyde’s heart pressed against his ear, grounding him. Micah closed his eyes, burying his face against the crook of Clyde’s shoulder, letting that steady rhythm remind him he was still alive. He still could embrace the person he loved.

He inhaled sharply, searching greedily for that familiar sandalwood scent Clyde always carried.

He wasn’t okay. Not even close. But he had to put up a front, acting like nothing had happened. Darcy’s sudden shift in attitude had left no room for Micah to fall apart. He couldn’t show weakness. He couldn’t let anyone see how badly the nightmare still tormented him.

But right now, wrapped in Clyde’s arms, Micah let go. The walls he had built around himself crumbled, piece by piece. He let go of the fear. Clinging to life and warmth and the only person who made him feel safe enough to break.

Clyde didn’t speak. He just held him, one hand resting against the back of Micah’s head, fingers threading gently through silver strands.

Micah nuzzled into Clyde’s neck. All the embarrassing events from that morning were pushed to the back of his mind until Micah’s stomach growled loudly, breaking the tender silence.

The base of Micah’s ears turned red from embarrassment. His stomach had the worst timing.

Clyde paused for a moment before letting out a low, amused chuckle. The vibration of his chest made Micah’s ear tickle.

He pushed the man away at once, mortified. "I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday..." he mumbled defensively, lowering his head as Clyde wouldn’t see how red his face had gotten.

Clyde straightened and ruffled Micah’s silver hair as if teasing a sulking child. "Stay put. I’ll make a light meal for you. First, drink this."

He turned toward the counter, ladled out a steaming bowl of lemon ginger soup, and handed it to Micah.

Micah accepted with both hands and took a cautious sip. The taste was tangy, soothing and slightly sweet. He looked down at the bowl, watching the steam rise. Warmth spread through his stomach instantly, easing the discomfort and nausea.

He let out a soft sigh. "That was good..." he murmured.

"Drink it all," Clyde said, his tone gentle but firm as he turned back to the stove.

His movements were smooth. The way his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the way he chopped vegetables and whisked eggs...Micah watched him for a moment, eyes trailing Clyde’s steady back, daydreaming when he suddenly realised something. "Wait a minute! Where did you get the ingredients? I’m sure the fridge was empty."

He had stuffed all the grocery shopping into Flora’s fridge downstairs.

Clyde stiffened for a split second before resuming his movements. "I’d asked my assistant," he said, voice casual.

Micah’s lips twitched at how Clyde treated this place like his own home. He took another sip from the soup until it finished. Then, standing up, he picked another bowl, pouring some of the soup in it and walked toward the guest room, bringing the soup for Darcy.

From what Clyde had said, Darcy had also been drunk. Micah guessed Clyde had come last night because he had caused a scene Darcy couldn’t handle.

Knocking on the door, he heard no movement. He opened the door. "Darcy? Are you awake? I brought you hangover soup..." Micah said and stepped inside.

Still no answer.

Micah looked around. The room was dim, the curtains half drawn. His eyes found Darcy lying on the bed, tangled in his blanket.

Micah set the bowl down on the nightstand and leaned closer. Darcy’s face was flushed red, his hair sticking damply to his forehead. His lips moved slightly, mumbling something incoherent. His brows were furrowed, his expression twisted as if in pain.

"Darcy?"

No response. Only a small groan.

Micah reached out and touched his forehead. It was scorching hot. His heart sank. He quickly pulled his hand back, eyes wide. Darcy was sick.

In the next instant, he turned and bolted out of the room, nearly tripping over the threshold.

Clyde looked up from the kitchen as Micah came rushing in. "What’s wrong?"

"Ah... Darcy has a fever." Micah blurted, already grabbing a tea towel from the counter. He turned on the tap, letting cold water splash over it.

Clyde’s brow knitted together. "That’s cold water, Micah. He’ll start shivering, not cooling down."

Micah froze mid-motion, blinking in confusion. "Oh..." He bit his lip, lowering his gaze as his own stupidity. He had never nursed anyone before.

"It’s alright," Clyde said, voice softening. "Where is your thermometer?"

Micah pressed his lips together. "I don’t know..."

"That’s okay." Clyde reached out and patted Micah’s shoulder. He began searching through drawers until he found the thermometer in first aid kit. He soaked the towel with lukewarm water in a bowl and headed to the guest room.

Micah followed behind him quietly, feeling small and clumsy.

Inside, Clyde placed the thermometer under Darcy’s armpit, then sat on the edge of the bed. He wiped the boy’s damp face with the towel, careful and methodical.

Micah stood awkwardly near the doorway, watching. His hands twisted nervously around the hem of his shirt. He wanted to help but he didn’t know what to do. He hated how useless he felt.

Clyde glanced up, catching the desolate look on his face. "Go bring a glass of warm water. He needs to be hydrated."

Micah startled as if shaken from a trance. "Right!" He turned quickly and went to the kitchen, pouring out half of water from kettle and half from the fridge into a glass. His hands trembled slightly as he carried it back.

Was it because of him, wasn’t it?

Darcy had been through so much lately, too much. The incident at the scuba diving when he nearly drowned and Darcy saved him by risking his own life, the constant arguments, the drinks...

Had he pushed Darcy too hard yesterday? And then made him drink. Maybe his body couldn’t handle it.

Micah didn’t know how Darcy had gotten the fever, but he was sure it was his fault.