CHAPTER 493: WHAT SHOULD NEVER BE REMEMBERED (PART ONE)

Clyde stood nearby and checked the thermometer again, his brows furrowing. "40 degrees," he said grimly. "That’s too high."

Micah’s stomach dropped. He glanced anxiously at Clyde, hoping for some kind of reassurance, but Clyde’s face remained serious as he moved to the bedside table. He took a pill from the small medicine kit he had brought earlier.

"Try to wake him," Clyde said, holding out the glass. "See if you can get him to take this."

Micah nodded quickly, his pulse racing. He leaned close to Darcy and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. "Darcy...Hey, wake up," he whispered. His voice quivered, his words nearly lost in the sound of the rain tapping faintly outside. "You need to wake up, okay?"

Darcy stirred faintly, his eyelids fluttering open for a moment before sliding shut again. Micah shook him again, more desperately this time. "Come on, open your eyes," he pleaded, trying to sound calm but failing miserably. "Just for a bit. You need to take the medicine."

Clyde noticed the tremor in Micah’s voice, the way his lips trembled. His chest tightened, but he said nothing.

Finally, Darcy’s eyes cracked open, hazy and unfocused. Micah let out a shaky breath, helping him sit up against the pillows. "Good... that’s it," he murmured, coaxing him softly as he pressed the pill to Darcy’s lips. "Here, take this."

But Darcy didn’t comply. His jaw stayed slack, his lips barely parting. The pill just sat there, unmoving.

"He’s not taking it." Micah’s voice rose, choked with panic. His breath came fast and uneven, his eyes darting helplessly to Clyde. "He won’t swallow it!"

Clyde was caught off guard by Micah’s reaction. He pulled out his phone. "I’ll call our family doctor," he said, already scrolling through his contacts.

Another option was taking Darcy to the hospital, but Clyde was sure neither he nor Micah wanted that. With how tangled their families were and how strained the relationship had become... It would only cause trouble.

While Clyde spoke on the phone, Micah tried again to help Darcy drink. He lifted the glass with shaking hands, tilting it carefully to Darcy’s lips. "Please, Darcy... just a sip," he begged. But Darcy’s head looked to the side, his jaw clenching weakly as water dribbled down his chin. The glass slipped in Micah’s trembling grip, spilling onto the sheets.

Micah gasped, eyes wide in horror. "No...no, no..." His voice broke into a sob. "It is all my fault! Because of me! I knew he wouldn’t be alright after being underwater without a mask."

In his frenzy, he had spilled the truth.

Clyde’s grip tightened on the phone. He could see Micah was breaking down. He ended the call with a clipped tone and walked toward Micah who was now trembling uncontrollably.

"Hey, hey!" Clyde said quickly. "He’s going to be fine. It’s just a fever. Nothing more."

Yet Micah wasn’t listening. "No! It’s not just that! If he hadn’t rescued me...if I wasn’t there... He wouldn’t be like this!" His breathing turned shallow. "I am just a pain... how can I face Flora? Or my mum? I put their son in danger. If I haven’t be so careless and arrogant... none of this would have happened."

Micah clutched Darcy tighter in his arms, the dread spreading. His hazel eyes turned unfocused and teary. "It’s my fault!" he whispered over and over, "My fault! My fault!" like a broken record, he repeated it.

Clyde gritted his teeth. Micah’s knuckles were white, and Darcy’s body was pressed uncomfortably against him. He stepped forward, his tone firm. "Let him go. Micah!" he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "You are hurting him."

Micah shook his head wildly. "No! Get away from me. I won’t fall for that again! You all just wanna hurt him."

Clyde froze for a moment, realising something was very wrong. Micah’s reaction was not normal panic, it was something deeper, something fractured. His pupils were unfocused, his words spilling out in a fear that didn’t belong to this moment.

"Micah," Clyde said carefully, lowering his voice. "Breathe. No one’s gonna hurt him. You hear me? You’re safe. He’s safe."

"No, no..." Micah sobbed, his breath hitching.

Clyde cursed softly under his breath. His heart pounded as he watched Micah’s body shake violently. The way his fingers clawed at Darcy’s clothes, the way his eyes darted like he was trapped... it was all too familiar.

A realisation hit him like a punch to the gut.

He remembered. Not fully. Not clearly. Just fragments...

Clyde felt he was really foolish not to realise until now that if he could remember their past lives, why not Micah? Why had he ever believed it was just a dream for Micah? Those suppressed memories had been surfacing as panic attack, obsession, dreams...

And those memories... they were nothing but pain for Micah.

Clyde’s heart sank. No. He couldn’t remember. Not like this.

He never wanted Micah to remember their past lives. They were all torture for Micah. He would surely break down. He shouldn’t let that happen. He needed to calm down Micah quickly.

He knelt beside him and softened his voice. "Micah, listen to me. Darcy needs to change his clothes. You can help him, okay?" He tried to distract Micah from the past, let him think he was in charge.

Micah’s blurry eyes flickered at those words, and he looked down. The sheets and Darcy’s clothes were soaked.

With Clyde’s help, Micah managed to change Darcy’s damp clothes. It wasn’t easy. Darcy’s body felt hot and heavy, his limbs limp like soaked fabric. Micah’s hands trembled as he wiped Darcy’s sweat-soaked skin and slid a clean shirt over his shoulders. During the process, Darcy didn’t even flinch or stir.

Clyde watched, exhaling in relief as Micah’s panic started to fade. But he had let his guard down too quickly. Micah sat again beside Darcy and held him tightly, mumbling apologies and pleading for the unconscious boy to open his eyes.

Clyde’s temple throbbed, feeling helpless. Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He quickly stood up and left the room to answer the call.