Chapter 766: The Place He Never Wanted to See Again (part two)

Micah remained utterly still as he stared at the pale face before him, his gaze steady and unyielding despite the tension in the car. Clyde’s complexion had lost much of its usual colour, leaving him pale, almost fragile-looking, which contrasted sharply with the intensity of his expression. His body trembled faintly, not violently, but just enough to betray the storm of emotion that he was clearly struggling to contain.

His hands, however, told an even clearer story. They were gripping Micah’s shoulders with a force that bordered on painful, his fingers pressed so hard that Micah was sure it would bruise. The pressure was undeniable, insistent, almost desperate in its urgency.

Yet Micah did not react. He did not flinch. He did not even so much as shift away.

Instead, he simply looked at Clyde in silence, his expression composed to the point of seeming almost detached, though beneath that calm exterior, his thoughts moved with quiet clarity.

Ah. So he had been right. The fear had not faded.

The trauma had not dulled with time, nor had it been buried as deeply as Clyde might have believed. It remained, vivid and raw, lingering just beneath the surface, ready to resurface at the slightest provocation.

Clyde’s lips parted once more, his voice emerging in a strained whisper that carried the weight of something far heavier than mere reluctance. "Don’t do this," he said again, the words trembling as they left him. "You can’t go there... You shouldn’t go there."

Micah’s gaze softened almost imperceptibly.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand and reached toward Clyde’s face. His fingers brushed the corner of his eyes gently, his touch careful and unhurried, as though he were attempting to soothe something unseen. Beneath his palm, Clyde’s eyelashes fluttered faintly, the small, involuntary motion showing how fragile his composure really was in that moment.

"It’ll be alright," Micah murmured, his voice quiet yet steady, carrying a reassurance that he forced himself to believe even as doubt lingered deep within him. "We can’t avoid it forever. Sooner or later, we’ll have to face it."

He paused briefly, his eyes lowering for a fraction of a second before lifting once more.

"Didn’t you see what happened to Darcy?" he continued, his tone gaining a subtle firmness. "That place... that bar... it was his trigger. It pushed him to the point where he lost control completely."

His fingers curled slightly as he withdrew his hand.

"I don’t want that to happen to us," he said softly. "I don’t want anyone to take advantage of what we’ve been through, to use our pain and our memories against us."

His gaze flickered briefly toward the window, though his focus remained inward.

"That apartment... it is ours," he added. "It means the same for us."

Despite the calmness of his voice, maintaining that composure required a significant effort. No one could truly remain unaffected when returning to a place that had been the site of repeated suffering, a place where death itself had been experienced more times than one could reasonably comprehend.

The memory of it lingered, not as a single clear image, but as fragments, echoes of pain, fear, and helplessness that refused to fully dissipate.

And yet, for Clyde’s sake, he could not allow himself to falter. He had to remain steady. He had to be the one who moved forward first.

Clyde’s grip weakened. Slowly, as though the strength had been drained from him entirely, he lowered his head, allowing it to rest against Micah’s shoulder. The motion carried a sense of quiet defeat, his resistance crumbling under the weight of emotion that he could no longer suppress.

His breathing had grown uneven, each inhale and exhale slightly unsteady, betraying the anxiety that continued to grip him tightly.

"What if you have another panic attack?" he asked in a low voice, barely above a whisper. "What if it triggers again?"

Micah did not hesitate in his response. "No," he said gently.

He shifted slightly, lifting his arms and wrapping them around Clyde in a firm yet comforting embrace, drawing him closer without hesitation.

"You’re here," he continued, his voice softening further. "Every time you came to me before, every time you stayed by my side, my panic attacks went away."

His words carried a quiet certainty, reinforced by memory.

"It was like that at the La Riviere Pharmaceutical building," he said, recalling the incident with a faint crease forming between his brows. "And it was the same on that night at the resort."

His hold tightened slightly. "With you here," he murmured, "I won’t be afraid."

Clyde fell silent. For a brief moment, his breath caught, his heart reacting instinctively to what he had just heard. The steady rhythm he had forced upon himself faltered, replaced by something softer, something more fragile.

Yes. He was Micah’s anchor.

That realisation grounded him, even as his fear continued to linger. If that was the case, then he could not allow himself to collapse. He needed to remain composed. He needed to be strong.

Even as he attempted to steady himself with that thought, the car came to a gradual stop.

They had arrived. The building stood before them, unchanged and yet entirely different.

In their memories, it had always been associated with darkness, overcast skies, relentless rain, and shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly across cracked pavement and broken structures. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

But today, the sky was clear. Sunlight poured down without obstruction, illuminating the worn exterior of the apartment complex in a way that felt almost unnatural. Under the bright afternoon light, the faded walls, chipped paint, and signs of neglect looked completely exposed, stripped of the shadows that had once concealed their decay.

"It’s empty," Micah said quietly, his voice steady as he stepped forward. "I checked it earlier with the real estate agency."

As though responding to his words, a woman approached them hesitantly from a short distance away. Her movements carried a slight uncertainty, though her expression quickly shifted into one of polite professionalism as she drew closer.

"Excuse me," she began, her English halting but understandable. "Are you the one who contacted our agency?"

Beside her stood a large man, his presence silent yet imposing, as though he had been brought along for reassurance rather than conversation.

Micah inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Yes," he replied. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

The woman waved her hand quickly, her expression brightening."No problem, no problem," she said, her tone eager. "We are very happy you want to buy this building."

Her gaze shifted briefly toward Clyde and lingered. It was not that she had never seen an attractive man before. Rather, it was the situation that caught her attention.

The tall, striking man beside her client was clinging to him with an unusual degree of closeness, his head resting against the younger man’s shoulder in a manner that felt both intimate and entirely unconcealed.

It was... difficult not to notice.

Micah offered a polite smile, though his attention remained focused. "Are the other tenants prepared to vacate?" he asked.

The woman quickly redirected her attention. "Yes, yes," she replied, nodding eagerly. "The owner has wanted to sell for a long time. The tenants were informed early."

Micah’s gaze shifted toward the building once more. In his previous life, no one had purchased this place for nearly a decade. And for good reason.

The location itself was problematic, situated in an area that lacked proper security, surrounded by individuals who existed on the fringes of society. Those who rented here were often burdened by addiction, violence, or instability, creating an environment that discouraged any form of long-term investment.

Even if ownership changed, nothing would truly improve. No respectable tenant would choose to live here.

And any attempt to redevelop the property would require an investment far greater than any potential return. In simple terms, it was worthless. A liability. A burden no one wanted to claim.

The neighbourhood was full of thugs and gangs. This land and building had no use. And those gangs were not wealthy enough to buy such a huge property.

It had become a hot potato. So the arrival of a customer wanting to buy it had made the owner and the agency go into a frenzy.

Micah had ended up in here in the past because it was too cheap. Actually, he had to flee the country because those four were constantly after him. But he didn’t know that even in this place he was not safe. They had cornered him, forcing him to donate stem cells.

Micah shut his eyes, locking away the painful memories. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and met the doubtful eyes of the woman. He offered a small nod and stepped forward, with Clyde following closely beside him, their hands still loosely intertwined.

As they entered the building, Clyde’s grip tightened once more, his unease evident in the subtle tension of his movements. A faint sheen of cold sweat had formed along his back, and his steps, though controlled, lacked their usual stability.

The woman began describing the building enthusiastically, though her efforts were hindered by the obvious state of disrepair surrounding them.

The stairwell was worn, the paint faded, the air carrying a faint, unpleasant scent.

Suddenly, a door opened. A man stumbled out, a bottle loosely held in his hand. His face was flushed, his eyes unfocused, his entire demeanour unmistakably that of someone heavily intoxicated.

He let out a low whistle upon seeing the group. What followed was crude, offensive, spoken in a language Micah understood all too well. Of course, he could as he had lived here countless times. If he didn’t learn the language, he should have questioned his own intelligence.

"Look what we have here," he spoke in a foreign language. "Hey wench, trying to rip off these two faggots this time?"

He tried to grab the woman’s butt but it was futile as the woman stretched out her long leg and tripped the man discreetly.

Her subtle move threw off his balance, sending him crashing down to the ground.

"Oh my, are you alright?" she exclaimed in her broken English, feigning surprise.

The large man accompanying her stepped forward immediately, handling the situation with efficiency.

The woman smoothed her clothing, her smile returning as though nothing had happened. "As you can see," she said lightly, "the stairs need repair. Very easy to trip."

Micah did not expose the lie. He simply continued walking.

At last, they reached the floor. Micah slowed to a stop. His gaze fixed on a familiar door.

"May we look inside this unit?" he asked, gesturing toward it.

The woman hesitated briefly, caught off guard by how he knew it was empty.

But she didn’t want to offend them or make them displeased. So she quickly nodded. "Yes, of course," she said, unlocking the door. "What a coincidence. This one is currently empty."

The door creaked open. And the past waited quietly inside.