CHAPTER 553: SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH HIM TONIGHT (PART TWO)

Micah was sitting on Clyde’s lap in an embarrassing, compromising position, his knees planted on either side of Clyde’s thighs. The moment he realised how close they were, how his bare skin brushed against Clyde’s pyjama pants, his face heated instantly.

Clyde’s hands rested at his waist, fingers hovering above the curve of his hips, not high enough to be innocent and not low enough to be ignored. The towel around Micah’s waist, already loose from the earlier struggle, had slid even lower, clinging to him only by grace and friction.

Micah jolted when one of Clyde’s hands started to wander. He swiftly caught Clyde’s wrist, squeezing it hard before glaring at the man.

"Knock it off. What’s gotten into you?" Micah hissed, forcing his voice to stay steady even as his body betrayed him with a shiver.

But Clyde didn’t stop. Even with Micah holding one hand hostage, the other continued its slow exploration, stroking along the bare skin of his side. His palm slid over the dimple on Micah’s waist, thumb brushing the edge of his hips that made Micah’s stomach tighten.

Clyde’s eyes weren’t helping either. They were glued to Micah’s chest, his gaze dark and heavy, as if he was trying to burn every line of Micah’s body into his memory.

Micah felt electrified under the touch and naked stare. His breath hitched in his throat. "Hey... stop it," he said again, but this time his voice trembled, barely even sounding like him.

Micah was exhausted. His whole body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry. From last night until now, he had taken blow after blow, emotionally, physically, mentally. Darcy’s collapse, the rush to the hospital, those ominous words about the future that Darcy uttered, his own blackout, meeting Grandpa Lin afterwards, then going straight to the shooting... each event stacked on him like heavy stones.

He was tired, really tired. He hadn’t even had time to breathe. To think. To process.

And adding to all of that, Clyde had made him misunderstand and act jealous like an idiot. Everything was a mess in his head, a storm he couldn’t sort through.

And now, Clyde was acting too forward, too un-Clyde!

Micah swallowed, heart pounding. He was scared. Scared of what this man had dreamed, what he had seen. Clyde knew Micah would die; that much was obvious. Otherwise, Clyde would not have broken down crying in the car this morning. The memory of Clyde’s trembling hands and wet eyelashes flashed across Micah’s mind, tightening his throat.

If Clyde knew his death in the novel... then what else had he seen? What else was the issue? He had not been this touchy before.

He definitely wasn’t acting normal. In the bathroom, Clyde had been tense and a bit on edge, yes, but still recognisable. He had been jealous, snippy, and annoyingly composed. That was normal Clyde’s behaviour.

Yet, the moment they stepped out of the bathroom, it was like something snapped inside him. The man was behaving as if he was possessed by a vengeful ghost, touching him, pulling him close, staring at him like he was afraid Micah would vanish.

Clyde never touched his bare skin like this. Something was up. Perhaps Clyde had gotten a new hint about the future? Micah knew that the way he understood the future was different from these two. Micah knew this world was just a novel. But Darcy and Clyde didn’t. They probably dreamed, or received some kind of visions, assuming they were premonitions of something awful that might happen in the future.

Micah was not sure. But he assumed Clyde had seen something. Something bad enough to make him behave like this. Because why else would there be the sudden change?

Meanwhile, Clyde dropped his head backward against the sofa cushion, looking up at the angry and embarrassed young man above him. Micah’s damp silver hair had fallen on his forehead, his hazel eyes full of sharpness. The tips of Micah’s ears, along with the back of his neck, were flushed a deep red.

Clyde thought Micah looked lovely. Adorable and pretty. The way Micah’s chest rose and fell quickly, his lashes trembling from frustration, the soft flush painting his cheeks, Clyde drank in every detail greedily.

He liked seeing Micah work up like this, lively and expressive.

But then the text message Clyde had received earlier popped into his mind again. The content. The implication. The threat.

His fears skyrocketed.

His hold on Micah tightened. He hooked an arm around Micah’s waist, pulling him into his chest.

Micah blinked, dumbfounded. "Eh? Are you a toddler? I tell you to stop, and you do the exact opposite?"

Clyde buried his face slightly against Micah’s collarbone. "Just...Let me stay like this."

Micah raised his fist, ready to punch the man, but the pleading tone in his voice made him freeze. Slowly, the fight left his raised arm. His fingers softened, dropping gently onto Clyde’s damp blond hair instead. He threaded them through the strands, patting lightly.

"What’s wrong?" Micah asked, his voice lowering. "Can’t you tell me?"

Clyde’s lips grazed his shoulder, and the hot breath brushed his skin. "I got a message."

"And?"

"It was about Silas Durant’s maternal family," Clyde said. "You know the Francis family? They are snooping around us."

Micah’s eyes widened just a little. His fingers stilled in Clyde’s hair.

Clyde’s jaw clenched. In countless lifetimes, he had faced off with those four scumbags. The most annoying one was first Silas, then Aidan. Dealing with them had always made him lose the Du Pont wealth and power. In the end, he had got rid of them only by sacrificing everything, until nothing remained except a hollow shell hell-bent on revenge.

Every lifetime, he had lost Micah. Lost him completely. That version of him had been a rabid beast, lashing out at everything. He had stopped caring about consequences. He had stopped caring about himself. He had bitten down on every enemy in sight until there was nothing left to lose.

But this life was different. Right now, Micah was alive. And Micah, softhearted and warm Micah, was now his biggest weakness. What if someone used Micah?

He couldn’t act rashly.

If the Francis family was snooping around them... It meant they were paying attention. It meant they had a plan, something shady, underhanded, cruel. They always resorted to dirty tricks. What if he put Micah in danger with a careless move? What if he could not protect Micah?

He was terrified.

And now that he knew Micah was aware of how he would die, by the hands of those four, Clyde was worried for Micah’s mental health. What if he could not cope with the pressure? What if he broke under the sight? What if Silas’s crazy schemes frightened him?

What if Clyde lost him again?

He remembered several times Micah had encountered Silas and Aidan. What did the young man feel at that time? In front of his killers?

Archie and Leo were not as ruthless as the other two, but they were still part of the group that had harmed Micah in other lifetimes.

Clyde’s heart ached thinking Micah knew what they had done to him and still faced them, even helped them.

He realised Micah had shown them some degree of kindness. And that made him feel shitty as hell. Why should they receive help from Micah? The very person that they had hurt countless times?

Why was Micah this soft-hearted toward them? Why did they, of all people, deserve anything from Micah?

Clyde pressed his forehead against Micah’s shoulder, fingers clutching at Micah’s waist with a helpless tightness, as if he couldn’t stop himself.

He realised then... Micah’s heart had always been too soft. Soft enough to forgive. Soft enough to help people who didn’t deserve it. Soft enough to walk toward danger just because someone needed him.

And that softness... terrified Clyde.