CHAPTER 268: ALMOST MINE, ALMOST ME

Micah stared at Clyde’s shaken eyes, his own brow furrowed with deep concern. There was something uncharacteristically fragile in Clyde’s gaze. Something that made Micah’s stomach twist. Clyde always seemed like stone: steady, unreadable, unshakable. But now... now he looked like something inside him had cracked.

Micah reached out, placing a hand gently on Clyde’s arm. His touch was light, uncertain, but firm enough to feel the muscle under it stiffen. "Can you tell me now what happened?" he asked softly, voice edged with frustration.

Clyde’s pupils trembled. He inhaled sharply, then turned his head away, avoiding Micah’s eyes. The shame burned him from the inside. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. His fists rested in his lap, clenched, knuckles pale. The memory of losing his temper was still too fresh, too humiliating.

"Oh, come on!" Micah yelled, full of irritation. "I’ve put up with you this long! Don’t give me this crap now!"

He smacked Clyde’s arm, the sharp sound echoing in the tense space between them. His patience had worn thin.

Clyde didn’t move, didn’t even glance at him.

Micah gritted his teeth. "Alright, fine," he muttered and unbuckled his seatbelt. He shifted in his seat, leaning closer. In one bold motion, Micah leapt, grabbing Clyde’s face, one hand on either cheek, and turned it toward him.

Clyde’s body stiffened like dry wood, his shoulders locking as if Micah had just pressed a switch. Their faces were far too close. Clyde could feel Micah’s breath across his face. Pale blue eyes met hazel, and the air thickened with unspoken tension. The position was... ridiculous. Embarrassing. Suggestive, even.

"There we go. Now, you are looking at me," Micah said with a smirk. He squeezed Clyde’s cheeks together, squishing his lips into an unflattering pout. "There," he teased, tilting his head, "you look like a fish."

He let out a chuckle, clearly amused, and started playing with Clyde’s face like a child poking fun at a grumpy cat. His thumbs pressed gently at the corners of Clyde’s mouth, fingers sliding along his jaw in exaggerated motions.

Clyde’s brows drew together in visible agony. "Micah..." His voice was muffled and distorted by the pressure on his cheeks. "Get off, please."

Micah, oblivious or pretending to be, didn’t move. His knee rested on Clyde’s thigh, pinning him in place. The contact made Clyde go stiff all over again, the heat rising from his neck to his ears.

"If you say why," Micah said simply, "I will."

Clyde stared at him, lips still awkwardly squished between Micah’s fingers. After a long pause, he mumbled, "I learned you... You might be in danger, because you helped Darcy’s mother..."

Micah’s expression changed in an instant. The mischief drained from his face. He released Clyde’s cheeks, leaning back slightly, his head touching the roof. "Huh?" he said, stunned. His eyes dropped to the soaked sleeve. It clicked. His stomach dropped. "Don’t tell me..." he muttered, tone sharp. "Did you fight with Darcy? You didn’t hit him, did you?"

Micah’s expression hardened. "If I find even a single bruise on him, I swear I’ll give it back tenfold!" he hissed, grabbing Clyde’s collar. His fingers trembled from sheer anger.

Clyde’s eyes widened slightly, stunned by Micah’s aggressive move.

Micah exhaled through his nose, furious at himself. How could he leave the hospital like that? What if Darcy were hurt?

"Start this damn car and bring me back to the hospital," Micah demanded, his grip tightened.

Clyde’s heart sank. Was Darcy that important to him? Why? The question repeated in his mind, ripping apart his heart. Yet, he didn’t ask.

"No, I didn’t fight," Clyde said, voice flat. "I didn’t even touch a strand of his hair." He stared at Micah, feeling ice-cold.

Micah let go of his collar slowly, his mind blanking the moment he imagined Darcy getting hurt because of him.

He adjusted his glasses on his nose and cleared his throat. "Oh... I thought..."

Before he could finish his words, Clyde interrupted. "Even though I didn’t lay a hand on him, I did warn him. I was angry. Angry that he didn’t tell you the full story. That he let you get involved without telling you the risk..."

Micah tilted his head. "What risk?"

Clyde looked at him, searching his expression for any sign of doubt. "Do you know why he had such a hard time accessing the medicine for his mother?" he asked slowly, cautiously.

"Yeah. I know. Her attending doctor is a psycho." Micah admitted it.

Clyde grabbed Micah’s shoulder, his face shadowed by disbelief. "You knew? And you still helped him?"

Micah didn’t flinch. His hazel eyes hardened with conviction. "So you mean I should just have stood aside and watched someone misuse his position to make a poor boy suffer?"

"No, did you know he is..." Clyde moistened his dry lips. "The doctor was interested in Darcy..."

Micah’s expression softened. He understood why Clyde had gotten this worked up. Anyone had heard it would be shaken. He lifted his arms and gently pushed Clyde’s hand away from his shoulder.

Then, he lowered himself back into the passenger seat. "Yeah," he said after a beat. "I met him. He was the resident doctor when I had a concussion."

Micah leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the dashboard. "He creeped me out," he admitted. "Then I overheard two nurses gossiping about him... That’s how I figured it out. That he was really a pervert. So I discharged myself as soon as I could."

Honestly, he couldn’t just blurt out that he had known from the novel, could he? The most believable explanation would be that he had heard about it accidentally.

Clyde’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Why were you in Queen hospital?" he asked suddenly. "Even though it has a VIP wing... shouldn’t you have been in the private one we went to earlier?"

Micah rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, I was out drinking with my classmates, got really drunk and hit my head. They panicked and called an ambulance. Then, the paramedics took me to the closest ER," Micah added with a shrug.

Clyde stared at him. He didn’t know it was the truth or one of those lies covering up the Ramsy family’s dismissive behaviour. He shook his head. "I still can not comprehend why, even knowing the truth, you shielded Darcy openly. You just made yourself a target."

"I didn’t know at first," Micah said quietly. "When I heard the rumours, it was just some strangers. But when I met Darcy, I realised he was the one they were talking about. The boy that the doctor had his eyes on." He paused. "So I just helped him... because if I were in his shoes... I’d want someone to help me, too." His voice trailed off.

Micah couldn’t say the rest, that, technically, he was the one who should’ve lived Darcy’s hard life. That in some twisted irony, that life should have been his. Not Darcy.