Chapter 767: Micah’s Questionable Therapy Methods

The moment the door creaked open, both Micah and Clyde froze in place as though an invisible force had seized them, locking them in place.

The faint sound of the hinges echoed far louder than it should have, stretching unnaturally through the hallway. Neither of them stepped forward immediately. Neither of them spoke.

Inside, the apartment revealed itself slowly, piece by piece, like a memory that had been buried for far too long and was now being forced back into the light.

The furniture was different. Old, worn, and mismatched, but not the same as before.

A small, square living room occupied most of the visible space, its layout simple and unremarkable at first glance. A narrow kitchen extended from one side, its counters aged and scratched, bearing the marks of years of careless use. Toward the back, a faded wooden door separated the bedroom and bathroom from the rest of the unit, its surface chipped and discoloured, as though it had endured countless hands pushing it open and slamming it shut.

Everything appeared ordinary. And yet... It was not for them.

Micah’s breath caught. A wave of nausea rose abruptly within him, so sudden and overwhelming that it forced his body to tense. His stomach churned violently, his throat tightening as if something unseen were pressing against it.

For a fleeting, horrifying moment, the present blurred. And in its place...He saw it. Himself. Lying on the cold, unforgiving floor. Still. Unmoving.

The image flickered, not entirely clear, yet still painfully vivid, as though the space itself remembered and refused to let him forget.

Clyde reacted instantly. His hand rose without hesitation, covering Micah’s eyes at once, shielding him from the sight that only he seemed able to see.

"Don’t look," Clyde whispered, his voice unsteady, laced with a desperation he could not conceal. "Please... don’t."

His palm pressed more firmly, as though he could physically block out the past, erase it, protect Micah from everything that had happened within these walls.

But Micah reached up. His fingers closed gently yet decisively around Clyde’s wrist, pulling it away.

"It’s alright," he murmured, though the faint tremor in his voice betrayed the effort it took to maintain that calm.

Before Clyde could stop him again, Micah stepped forward. He crossed the threshold. The air inside felt heavier, thicker, as though something still lingered in it.

At first, the impact hit him sharply. A lingering echo of fear. A fragment of pain. But then... Nothing. The sensation dulled quickly, fading into something distant, something muted.

He realised, with a strange clarity, that he no longer felt the same overwhelming dread. Perhaps... he had grown accustomed to it. After all, how many times had he died here? How many times had his body collapsed onto this very floor?

Repeated exposure had stripped the memory of its sharpest edges, leaving behind only a faint, hollow echo. Numbness settled in. It was not comfort. But it was manageable.

Micah exhaled slowly before turning his head toward the woman, who stood near the doorway, watching them with a mixture of curiosity and professional restraint.

"We’ll take it," Micah said calmly, his tone steady despite everything. "The whole building. My lawyer is already waiting outside to handle the formalities."

For a brief second, the woman stared at him, her eyes widening slightly as his words registered. Then her entire demeanour shifted. Her face brightened instantly, her earlier hesitation replaced by unmistakable excitement.

"Yes, yes, of course!" she said quickly, her voice rising with enthusiasm. "I will contact the owner immediately!"

Without waiting for further confirmation, she turned and hurried out of the apartment, already pulling out her phone as she began speaking rapidly.

The door remained open behind her. And just like that, they were alone.

Silence filled the space once more. But this time, it felt different.

Clyde moved first. He stepped forward abruptly and pulled Micah into his arms, wrapping him tightly, almost fiercely, as though afraid that if he loosened his grip even slightly, Micah might disappear.

His embrace was not gentle, just desperate. His arms tightened further, drawing Micah closer, pressing him firmly against his chest.

He needed to feel it. The warmth. The life. Because all he could remember were the times when there had been none. How many times had he arrived here, only to be too late? How many times had he knelt on this very floor, holding Micah’s body, feeling the coldness seep into his own skin? How many times had regret consumed him, crushing him under its unbearable weight?

His vision blurred. His eyes burned. The redness spread slowly, betraying the emotions he could no longer suppress. His grip tightened further, almost painfully so.

Micah closed his eyes, allowing himself to lean into the embrace, to feel the tremor running through Clyde’s body, to understand the depth of what he was carrying.

Then he opened his eyes again. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze lifting to meet Clyde’s. "I’m not going anywhere," he said softly, his voice steady yet warm. "Never."

His hand rose, resting lightly against Clyde’s back. "No one can separate us, okay?"

There was no hesitation in his words. Only certainty.

"I’ll make sure I live longer than you," he continued, the seriousness in his tone lingering just long enough to make the promise feel real. "Oh, you’ll grow old first anyway." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "You’re ten years older, after all." The tension eased... just slightly.

"And if you don’t take care of yourself..." he added, his voice shifting, teasing now, light and playful, "then perhaps I’ll have no choice but to find someone younger and more handsome."

At first, Clyde went completely still. The emotional weight of Micah’s earlier words had barely settled before the meaning of the latter statement struck him. His expression darkened instantly. "You would dare?" he said, his voice low, edged with something dangerously sharp.

Before Micah could react, Clyde leaned forward and captured his lips in a sudden, heated kiss. The movement was impulsive. Possessive. Driven by something raw and unfiltered.

Micah let out a soft laugh against his lips, the sound muffled as he pushed lightly against Clyde’s chest, breaking the contact.

When he pulled back, his eyes were bright, filled with unmistakable amusement. Seeing Clyde like this, alive, reactive, emotional, eased something within him.

This was what he wanted. Not the past. Not the pain. But this.

A future. A different ending.

Without another word, Micah reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box. He pressed his thumb against the edge and opened the lid.

Inside, nestled against the soft lining, lay two signet rings.

They rested side by side, perfectly aligned, as if they had always belonged together.

Each ring held a piece of yellow jade at its centre, the stones smooth and polished to a gentle sheen. The jade was remarkably clear, its surface catching the faint light in a way that made it glow softly, almost as though it carried warmth within it. There was something quietly radiant about it, neither overly extravagant nor dull, but balanced, refined, and deeply meaningful.

The bands themselves were crafted from dark, washed gold, their muted tone providing a striking contrast to the brightness of the jade. The metal bore a subtle texture, giving it a slightly weathered appearance, as though it had endured time and trials yet remained unbroken. On the inner side of each band, their names had been carefully engraved, the letters precise and intimate, hidden from the world yet permanently etched into the metal.

Micah reached inside the box and lifted the larger of the two rings.

He held it between his fingers for a moment, his gaze lowering briefly to the stone before lifting again to meet Clyde’s eyes. There was a quiet sincerity in his expression, something deeper than his usual teasing demeanour.

"I chose yellow jade," he began, his voice calm yet carrying a softness that was difficult to miss, "because it reminded me of the yellow jasmine you gave me the very first time."

As he spoke, his fingers shifted slightly, turning the ring so that the light brushed across its surface.

"It symbolises happiness," he continued, his tone steady, "and joy. Something... I want us to have more of."

He stepped a little closer, reaching for Clyde’s hand without hesitation. His touch was gentle but certain, as though there was no room for doubt in this gesture.

"These are Couple rings," he added quietly. "The band belonged to my grandparents. I modified them, wanting something like what they had."

He guided Clyde’s hand upward, his fingers brushing lightly against his knuckles before positioning the ring. "You should wear it on your right hand."

With careful precision, he slid the ring into place. The motion was slow, deliberate, almost ceremonial. Micah gently brushed the jade on Clyde’s hand.

Clyde’s breath caught. His throat tightened as he watched the ring settle against his skin, the cool metal contrasting sharply with the warmth of his body. He understood the importance of these matching rings. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out immediately. He swallowed hard instead.

Clyde’s thoughts went into a frenzy. For a second he had thought Micah was going to propose! His poor heart nearly stopped.

His gaze dropped on the ring again.

At least it wasn’t on the ring finger. Good. There was still hope. He could still salvage this. Maybe Micah was just waiting for his proposal. Yes. That had to be it. Clyde reassured himself quickly.

Then a faint, complicated smile appeared on his face, though there was a trace of something bittersweet lingering beneath it.

"You always..." he began, his voice quieter than usual, almost uneven, "manage to beat me to it."

The words slipped out more like a murmur than a statement.

Micah blinked, tilting his head slightly as he tried to catch what Clyde had said. "Hm?" he responded, his brows knitting together just a little.

Clyde shook his head almost immediately, dismissing it before Micah could press further. "It’s nothing," he said, forcing a lighter tone into his voice as he straightened slightly. "Thank you."

His gaze softened as it returned to the ring. "They are beautiful," he added, more sincerely this time. Then, as if unable to resist, a familiar note of affection slipped into his words. "As expected of my baby," he said with a faint smile. "So talented."

Micah’s expression shifted instantly. He rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked any real annoyance. "That was so cheesy," he replied dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

Clyde let out a quiet chuckle before reaching into the box himself and lifting the second ring.

His movements were slower now, more deliberate, as though he was fully aware of the significance of what he was about to do.

He took Micah’s hand, turning it slightly, his fingers brushing against his skin with a lingering touch before guiding the ring into place.

Once it settled, he did not let go. Instead, he intertwined their fingers, holding on firmly, as though grounding himself in the sensation.

His expression shifted again, the softness fading into something more serious as he glanced around the apartment.

"This place..." he muttered, his nose wrinkling slightly, "it smells terrible."

His grip tightened. "Let’s get out of here."

There was no hesitation in his voice this time.

Before Micah could respond, Clyde tugged him gently but insistently toward the door, his pace quickening with each step. It was not merely discomfort driving him, it was urgency, a need to put distance between themselves and everything this place represented.

The moment they crossed the threshold and stepped outside, the change was immediate. Sunlight flooded their vision, bright and unyielding.

Clyde blinked rapidly, momentarily overwhelmed as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling as though he had been holding his breath without realising it.

The air felt different. It was lighter, brighter and real.

He lifted his hand, wiping the thin layer of sweat that had gathered on his forehead, his fingers brushing through his hair as he exhaled slowly. Then he turned.

Micah stood just behind him, bathed in sunlight, his eyes reflecting the light in a way that made them seem almost luminous. Alive. Warm. Present.

Something inside Clyde shifted. A tight, invisible string that had been pulled taut for far too long finally loosened, the tension easing in a way he had not even realised he needed.

And in that moment...He understood. He understood why Micah had brought him here. How deeply the shadows of the past had rooted themselves within him, lingering quietly, influencing his thoughts, his fears, his reactions.

He had not noticed the full extent of it until now. Until this moment.

Without another word, Clyde stepped forward and grasped Micah’s hand again, more firmly this time, and led him toward the car.

His movements were quick, almost hurried, as though he feared that lingering any longer would allow those shadows to catch up again.

He opened the door and guided Micah inside before following immediately after.

The door slammed shut behind them with a sharp, decisive sound.

And then, Clyde moved. He leaned forward without hesitation, closing the distance between them in an instant, his hand rising to cradle the back of Micah’s head as he pressed his lips against his.

The kiss was not gentle. It was urgent. Demanding. Filled with an intensity that spoke of something deeper than mere affection.

It was as though he needed to confirm it, to reassure himself that this was real.

That Micah was truly here. That he was alive.

Micah did not resist. Instead, he responded naturally, allowing himself to be pulled into the moment. He could feel the tension in Clyde’s movements, the underlying desperation woven into every second of contact. He did not pull away.

Minutes seemed to blur together before Clyde finally broke the kiss, his breath uneven as he leaned back slightly.

His gaze dropped to Micah, taking in the sight of him, flushed, breathless, undeniably alive.

For a brief moment, he simply stared. Then he pulled him into another embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around him, holding him as though he never intended to let go.

Yes. This time was different. No one could get their hands on Micah, on his treasure. Micah was his. Micah was alive. Micah was in love with him.

This time... their ending wouldn’t be a tragedy.