CHAPTER 543: BREAKFAST WITH THE UNINVITED CHORUS (PART ONE)

Micah tightened his hold on Clyde, arms wrapping around him with an instinctive protectiveness he didn’t even try to hide anymore. Clyde’s forehead was pressed into the crook of his neck, and the warmth there kept growing, too warm, too wet. Micah blinked, realising the crying didn’t stop but had gotten worse. The overprotective, impossible, beautifully frustrating man was crying over him.

This man would be the death of him, Micah thought helplessly, his chest tightening. Out of all things, Clyde was crying because Micah saw in a dream that he would die. Just the idea of Clyde losing him, even in a dream, made this grown man unravel like this.

"Seriously, why are you crying?" Micah murmured, his hand sliding up Clyde’s back, fingers brushing the trembling muscles beneath the coat. "It was at best just a premonition, not some carved-in-stone prophecy." He tilted his head slightly, lips brushing Clyde’s temple. "Didn’t I change things that were supposed to happen to Darcy? Like Silas?" He pulled back just a little to look at Clyde’s face, though Clyde stubbornly kept it buried. "Didn’t I get rid of his hold on Darcy and Flora? Didn’t I fix it? I can change my end too."

Clyde didn’t respond. He simply pressed closer as if Micah was the only anchor left holding him together.

Micah let out a quiet exhale, but he didn’t push him away. Clyde’s silence wasn’t cold but desperate. And Micah felt it. Felt the fluttering, chaotic warmth in his chest, butterflies throwing a festival inside him. All because this man was crying over him.

This fuzzy warm feeling spread more when Micah realised the man could not even bear the idea of losing him. Even if it was just in a dream.

Thank god he had never mentioned the novel to Clyde. That would make this whole situation so much worse. Clyde already cried over a dream; if he knew what Micah knew, he would probably break.

He could still fix this. He could coax the man, telling him it was just a baseless dream.

Micah shifted beneath the man’s weight, exaggerating a dramatic wince. "Come on, you’re heavy. My shoulder... ow, ow..." he groaned, twisting his lips into a forced pout.

He wanted to see the man’s face so badly, wanted to look into those eyes and confirm he was okay. But Clyde didn’t budge.

At last, after a minute or two, Clyde inhaled shakily and pulled back.

Micah didn’t waste a second. His hands rose immediately, cupping Clyde’s face as if it were something precious he needed to inspect. His thumbs brushed under Clyde’s eyes, wiping the remnants of tears. He stared intently. "Wow... even after crying, you’re still stupidly beautiful! Tsk, how is that fair? If I cried that long, I would look like an ugly pufferfish!"

Micah clicked his tongue as if genuinely offended by the injustice, but his eyes... they were glued to Clyde’s face. He couldn’t look away. Not from those pale blue eyes that still shone with moisture. Not from the delicately curled lashes that clung together, darkened at the roots. Not from the slight, trembling pout of Clyde’s lips.

He gulped loudly, too loudly. The knot in his throat bobbed up and down, painfully obvious. Oh shit! Something stirred in him. Something low, something warm, something that curled in his stomach and travelled downward with dangerous intention. This look, Clyde, like this, vulnerable, eyes glossy, breath uneven, was lethal. No one should ever be allowed to see him like this. It felt like an unveiling Micah wasn’t worthy of, yet couldn’t tear himself from.

Without thinking, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Clyde’s cheeks. Then another one onto closed eyelids. And then, gently, hesitantly, on Clyde’s lips. "I’m not leaving you, okay?" he whispered against them. "I promise. I will stick to you like glue. To the point you’ll get annoyed and wish you could escape me."

Clyde blinked at him, lashes heavy with damp. Something in his throat bobbed too, a shaky swallow that sounded like relief fighting with heartbreak. Then Clyde reached forward, slipping a hand behind Micah’s neck as he closed the distance and deepened the kiss.

Micah closed his eyes, purring softly. He melted into it, enjoying the passionate kiss when a sharp, rapid knock against the window scared the hell out of him. He jerked, teeth clamping down by accident.

He bit Clyde’s lip.

Clyde groaned both in pain and annoyance, pulling back. He touched his bruised lip, his brows twitching downward as he shot the fiercest glare imaginable at the window.

Another knock, louder this time.

"Hey, Mopey Dick." A familiar voice chimed. Mason. "Come out."

Clyde cursed under his breath, low and vicious.

Micah pressed a hand to Clyde’s chest before he could reach for the door. "Wait. Stay here. I’ll deal with him."

Like hell he let those unscrupulous friends of Clyde see him like that.

Micah shoved the door open and stepped out, slamming it shut behind him.

Mason stood outside with Dylon beside him.

Both flinched at the sound. Then they froze under the way Micah shot daggers toward them with his eyes.

"Hello, misters," Micah said, injecting the address with blades. "What brings you here on an early Sunday morning?"

Dylon elbowed Mason, hissing. "I told you to leave it. Look, you made this big Buddha walk out at us. Calling us misters...have you forgotten what happened last time?"

Mason didn’t lose his momentum. His lips twitched upward. "Hi, little brother. Did we interrupt something?" he said, looking meaningfully at Micah’s lips.

Micah smirked. "Yeah," he said sweetly. "I was enjoying my breakfast. But something ruined it. If you two don’t need anything from me, I’ll go back eating."

Dylon blinked, not getting the underlying meaning of the sentence. "Oh... sorry, go on. We’ll wait inside then."

Mason inwardly facepalmed, hearing Dylon’s answer. He threw Micah another look before Dylon dragged him inside.

Micah watched them disappear, then climbed back into the car.

Clyde had wiped his tears, face calm again, expression composed, too composed. It was as if the last ten minutes had been erased from existence. Micah felt a pang of disappointment and cursed those two for ruining the moment for him.

A silence settled over the car.

Eventually, Clyde broke it. "Sorry," he murmured, voice low. "I...I lost my composure. I should be the mature one, being older and all...I should handle things better, but the moment I heard you..." He paused, choking off the rest.

Micah reached over immediately and grasped his hand. "Hey," he said lightly. "Don’t start talking all serious and proper now. The fact that you cared enough to cry... that alone made me glad. You are allowed to show emotions. I won’t judge you. Actually, I kind of like it when you do." He laughed, softening his voice.

Clyde’s fingers trembled as he clasped Micah’s hand between both of his, holding on like he feared it would vanish. Micah had no idea how many times Clyde had lost him like that. How many times had he held a fading pulse, or a cooling body? Always arriving late...

Of course, Micah wouldn’t be serious about that dream. But the fact that Micah always knew he would meet his demise like that and still not say a word... that made him heartbroken.

He wanted to shield Micah from everything, especially from the tragedy of their past lives. But it seemed Micah knew most of it. And by hiding it, Clyde had even made Micah more stressed.

He sighed loudly. His emotions had gotten out of hand the moment he realised Micah knew. He never imagined he would cry in front of Micah, breaking his persona. He prided himself on being steady and calm, standing like a pillar behind Micah, protecting him. But in reality, he was far more fragile than he ever admitted.

The trauma of losing Micah countless times had broken him. Clyde knew he was damaged, but still, even broken, he could not let go of Micah.