Chapter 771: One Is Guilty. One Is Delusional

The next morning arrived quietly, sunlight slipping through the curtains in thin, pale strands that stretched across the room. The stillness felt almost deceptive, as though it were trying to hide the chaos that had taken place only hours before.

Micah stirred beneath the sheets.

At first, his consciousness returned slowly, drifting upward in fragments rather than all at once. His eyelashes fluttered, and he blinked several times, trying to gather his thoughts. For a brief moment, everything felt normal, or at least close enough to normal that he did not question it.

Then he tried to move. The moment he shifted even slightly, a deep, overwhelming ache surged through his body, sharp enough to force a breath out of him. It was not localised to one place. Instead, it spread everywhere, his waist, his legs, his back, even his arms felt sore in a way that made no immediate sense.

Micah froze, his brows knitting together as confusion replaced the remnants of sleep.

It felt as though an enormous weight had crushed him repeatedly, as though his entire body had been subjected to something far more intense than he could immediately recall. The comparison that came to mind was absurd, yet strangely fitting: like being run over by an eighteen-wheeler truck.

He blinked again, staring blankly at the ceiling. This did not make sense.

He lay there quietly, attempting to retrace his memories from the previous night. Everything came back in fragments, moments of closeness, tension, warmth, and intensity, but nothing that, in his mind, justified this level of physical exhaustion.

Aside from a brief, sharp discomfort in that place where he chose not to think about, everything had seemed... manageable last night.

So why did he feel like this? His thoughts grew more tangled the longer he considered it. Was his body always this fragile?

That idea alone felt almost offensive.

Micah had never considered himself weak. On the contrary, he had always been confident in his physical condition. He enjoyed movement, thrived on activity, and had spent a significant portion of his life maintaining flexibility and strength. He liked challenging himself, whether through exercise or more demanding forms of recreation.

And yet, here he was, barely able to shift without feeling the consequences ripple through him.

It did not add up. He remained on the bed, staring upward, questioning everything he knew in increasingly frustrated silence.

After a moment, he turned his head. His gaze landed on Clyde.

The man was already awake, positioned at the foot of the bed in a way that immediately struck Micah as strange. Clyde was not sitting casually, nor was he moving about as one might expect. Instead, he was kneeling.

Not just kneeling, but doing so with a posture that seemed overly formal, almost ceremonial in its stillness. His back was straight, his hands resting neatly, his entire demeanour composed in a way that felt oddly out of place in the relaxed setting of a bedroom as if he were a eunuch awaiting the emperor’s command.

Micah stared at him for a moment before speaking. "Tell me," he said, his voice still slightly rough from sleep, though laced with suspicion. "Is there something wrong with me?"

Clyde reacted immediately. He shifted slightly on his knees, his composure faltering just enough to reveal his unease. His head shook quickly, almost too quickly, as though he were trying to deny the possibility before it could fully form.

"No... no, there is nothing wrong," he replied, though his voice betrayed a hint of hesitation.

He stumbled slightly over his words, feeling at a loss about how to coax the young man without offending or bruising his ego.

Only a short while earlier, Clyde had woken up before Micah. What he saw had frightened him greatly.

There had been faint redness and swelling along Micah’s wrists and knees, subtle but noticeable against his pale skin. It was not severe, but it was enough to leave an impression, enough to make Clyde pause and reconsider everything that had happened last night.

He had tried to be careful. And yet, somewhere along the way, it seemed he had lost control. Clyde closed his eyes briefly.

There had been more. Micah’s lips, too, had shown signs of strain, slightly swollen and discoloured in a way that made Clyde’s chest tighten. Not because of anything Clyde had done directly, but because Micah himself had held back, biting his lips constantly, suppressing his reactions in ways that left visible traces.

The overall image had left an impression that Clyde could not easily dismiss.

Micah had looked... thoroughly worn. Perhaps more than he should have been. It was enough to fill Clyde with a quiet sense of guilt.

So before Micah had even fully awakened, Clyde had already positioned himself like this, waiting, ready to apologise, ready to accept whatever reaction came his way.

And yet... Micah was not reacting the way he had expected. Instead of anger, there was only confusion.

Micah’s eyes narrowed slightly as he continued to observe him."...Why are you sitting like that?" he asked, his tone shifting from suspicion to mild bewilderment.

Clyde hesitated, then lifted a hand to scratch the side of his nose, his earlier composure slipping into something more sheepish. "I thought...You might be upset," he admitted quietly, his gaze drifting toward Micah’s knees and wrists.

The implication was clear.

Micah followed his line of sight, lifting his arm slightly despite the discomfort. He examined the faint marks with a casualness that contrasted sharply with Clyde’s concern.

"Oh, this?" he said, almost dismissively. "My skin has always been like this. It bruises easily. It used to give my mum a heart attack every time I got hurt."

He lowered his arm again, unconcerned. "The only advantage is that it heals quickly," he added.

There was no accusation in his voice, no hint of blame.

Clyde felt something in his chest loosen. Relief, subtle but undeniable, spread through him.

Micah, however, was not finished. He shifted slightly, only to wince again as the soreness reminded him of its presence.

"Still..." he muttered, frowning. "Why do I feel this weak? This is ridiculous."

There was a brief pause before determination replaced his frustration. "Starting tomorrow, I am going back to the gym," he declared. "My head injury has already healed. There should not be any lingering effects at this point."

Clyde let out a quiet breath, tension easing from his shoulders.

At least Micah was not blaming him. That alone felt like a victory. But before he could respond, Micah spoke again.

"I have to pee," he said, his tone shifting abruptly. "But moving hurts." He paused, then continued, his thoughts veering into something far less grounded.

"Wouldn’t it be convenient if there were some kind of portal catheter? A device that could empty the bladder without getting up?" he mused aloud. "Something like those advanced systems in science fiction. How do astronauts manage in space? Surely they have some kind of efficient solution."

Clyde blinked. The sudden shift in topic caught him off guard. His brows furrowed slightly as he watched Micah continue, clearly spiralling into a chain of increasingly impractical ideas.

His heart ached. From his inability to face his shortcomings, the young man had totally detached himself from reality and drowned in ridiculous fantasy.

He sighed inwardly. Micah was clearly avoiding the situation again.

Clyde stood up without another word. Before Micah could react, he moved closer and carefully lifted him into his arms, holding him securely.

Micah barely had time to process what was happening before he was carried toward the bathroom. Clyde set him down gently on the toilet seat, his movements efficient and purposeful.

Then, without hesitation, he knelt again.

Micah stared at him. "...What are you doing?" he asked, suspicion returning.

Clyde did not answer immediately. Instead, he reached forward, clearly intending to help.

Micah reacted quickly, placing a hand against his shoulder to stop him. "There is no need for that," he said firmly. "I can manage on my own. I was just thinking out loud earlier."

Clyde remained unmoved. "No," he replied simply. "No need to be shy." 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

His tone was calm, leaving little room for argument.

Before Micah could protest further, Clyde continued with what he had intended to do, his actions careful and precise.

Micah stared at him for a moment, then let out a quiet breath.

At this point... what was the point of resisting? Any sense of dignity he might have clung to earlier felt distant now, worn down by exhaustion and circumstance.

If Clyde wanted to take care of him, then so be it. Arguing would only waste energy he did not have.

So he leaned back slightly, allowing it to happen, his earlier resistance fading into reluctant acceptance.