The moment Micah stepped into the elegant halls of the Royal Dragon Pavilion, a familiar warmth and quiet sense of ease wrapped around him like a well-tailored cloak. The establishment, known not only for its refined cuisine but also for its impeccable service, had long since become a place where he was not merely a guest, but someone they remembered.

The attendants stationed near the entrance recognised him almost immediately. Their posture straightened ever so slightly, and their expressions softened with polite familiarity as they greeted him with respectful nods. Without requiring any explanation, they understood his preferences and intentions.

"Welcome back, young master," one of them said gently, gesturing with an open palm. "Please, this way."

Micah offered a small smile in return, his steps light as he followed them deeper into the pavilion. The soft glow of lanterns illuminated the intricately carved wooden panels along the corridor, and the faint scent of incense mingled with the rich aroma of freshly prepared dishes drifting from distant kitchens. Every detail of the place exuded care and tradition, and it was precisely that atmosphere that made Micah feel at ease.

Soon, they arrived at the lotus room.

The door was slid open with quiet precision, revealing a private dining space adorned with delicate floral arrangements and subtle decorative elements inspired by lotus blossoms. The room was tranquil, almost meditative, with a low table set neatly at the centre and plush cushions arranged for seating.

"Please enjoy your time," the attendant said before withdrawing.

Micah settled himself comfortably onto one of the cushions, letting out a soft breath as he relaxed. Without hesitation, he reached for a small plate of pastries that had already been prepared. Selecting one of the delicate sweets, he began nibbling on it absentmindedly, savouring its subtle flavour while his thoughts wandered.

It did not take long before the stillness of the room was broken.

The door slid open once more, and a familiar figure stepped inside with an energy that seemed to brighten the entire space.

"Ah, look who finally showed up!" Lin Heye exclaimed with cheerful enthusiasm. "Now that’s a surprise."

Micah’s face lit up immediately. "Brother Heye!"

Lin Heye approached without hesitation, his expression blooming with genuine happiness. There was nothing restrained about his reaction; his joy was open and unfiltered, as though he were greeting someone he truly cherished. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Without ceremony, he reached out and gave Micah a firm yet affectionate pat on the back. "How have you been, little brother?" he asked, his voice warm and lively. Then, as though a mischievous thought had just occurred to him, his grin widened. "Oh, a little birdy told me something interesting. Should I start calling you sister-in-law from now on?"

The words struck with immediate effect.

Micah’s composure crumbled as a vivid flush spread across his face, turning his cheeks a deep shade of red that betrayed his embarrassment. "Brother Heye," he protested, his voice tinged with both helplessness and amusement, "please don’t tease me like that."

Lin Heye laughed, the sound rich and genuine, clearly delighted by Micah’s reaction. There was no malice in his teasing, only an unmistakable happiness for someone he considered family.

"Fine, fine," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I’ll let you off for now. If you go snitch to Clyde, I’m done for, he would come after me with his pitchfork for sure. Come, sit down."

His eyes scanned the room briefly before returning to Micah with mild curiosity. "Right. Did you come here by yourself? How strange. I thought after his proposal, he’d be glued to you, wouldn’t leave your side for a second."

Micah shook his head slightly, his expression softening as he spoke. "He’s swamped with work. But Darcy’ll be here soon."

Lin Heye nodded thoughtfully, clearly pleased. "That’s good. I was considering staying to keep you company since you were alone, but now I feel reassured," he said and put a freshly made appetiser in front of Micah. "Help yourself. This is my new recipe."

Micah took one and bit into it, eyes narrowing in delight. "This is so tasty! Brother Heye, I’ve missed your cooking so much. As soon as I arrived in Isatis City, I came running here immediately. You don’t know how I’ve been suffering through bland food this whole time."

Lin Heye patted his shoulder and gestured casually toward the table. "Order anything you want. Even if it’s not on the menu, I’ll prepare it specially for you."

Micah’s smile grew warmer at that. "Thank you, Brother Heye. You’re the best."

With a satisfied nod, Lin Heye turned and made his exit, leaving the room once again wrapped in quiet calm.

Time passed gently. It was not long before the door slid open again, this time revealing Darcy.

The moment Micah saw him, his expression shifted subtly. The change was slight, but it carried a weight of concern that could not be hidden.

Darcy looked... exhausted.

There were dark circles beneath his eyes, stark against his otherwise composed appearance, and his posture carried a faint heaviness, as though the burden of several sleepless nights rested upon his shoulders. Micah’s gaze lingered, taking in every detail.

Then his attention moved to Darcy’s hands.

The scratches that had once marked them were mostly healed now, leaving behind only faint redness around the knuckles. It was a sign that time had passed, yet the memory of how those injuries had come to be remained vivid in Micah’s mind.

This was their first meeting since that chaotic night.

Despite the distance Darcy had placed between them afterwards, Micah did not feel hurt. If anything, his concern had only deepened.

Darcy moved forward and lowered himself onto the cushion with a quiet exhale, the motion carrying an unmistakable fatigue. His nerves had been stretched thin over the past few days, leaving him in a state of constant tension.

Sleep had not come easily to him. Part of his unrest stemmed from memories he could not silence, fragments of the past that resurfaced without warning. The other part, however, was far more immediate and far more complicated. His own actions.

The impulsive embrace he had given Ilyas replayed in his mind again and again, each recollection bringing with it a mix of regret and something he could not quite name. He knew, with painful clarity, that he had frightened the young man. The realisation weighed heavily on him.

And yet... He could not simply pretend that it had not happened.

There had been something in that moment, something fragile and fleeting, that he found himself unwilling to discard. A small, solitary light in an otherwise controlled and carefully structured existence.

What unsettled him further was Ilyas’s reaction afterwards. Avoidance. Distance. Questions began to take root in his mind, growing with each passing hour.

Did Ilyas resent him? Did he feel repulsed, believing that Darcy had taken advantage of him in a moment of vulnerability?

The uncertainty gnawed at him, relentless and unforgiving. Yet, at the core of it all, Darcy understood one undeniable truth. He had no right to demand answers. No claim. No justification.

And so, he had left the apartment as soon as he was certain that Ilyas was safe, choosing distance over confrontation.

Micah, observing him quietly, reached for the teapot and poured a cup with careful precision. He extended it toward Darcy with a gentle motion.

"Here," he said softly. "This should help. It’s good for relaxing."

Darcy accepted the cup, his fingers brushing lightly against the porcelain as he brought it to his lips. He took a measured sip before murmuring, "Thank you."

Micah watched him for a moment, as though weighing his words carefully. Then, without preamble, he spoke. "I got engaged."

The statement landed with quiet gravity.

Darcy’s hand trembled almost imperceptibly before he set the teacup down. For a brief moment, his expression stilled, as though he were processing the information.

Then, he inclined his head slightly. "Congrats," he said, his voice steady. "I’m glad things worked out for you." Then he poured Micah’s tea cup, lifting it. "Here, let me toast to you, wishing you and Clyde a long and happy life together."

Micah smiled, accepting the toast. They clicked their teacups together and took a sip.

After putting down the teacup, Micah studied Darcy closely, searching for something beneath the surface. "You... don’t resent us?"

Darcy’s fingers curled lightly around the handle of the teacup as he regarded the question. "Why would I?"

Micah hesitated before answering, his voice quieter now. "Because I was able to move on... to leave the past behind and be happy."

A faint chuckle escaped Darcy, though it carried no bitterness. "Do you really think that little of me? That I’m so narrow-minded and petty?"

Micah shook his head quickly. "No, that’s not what I meant..."

"Micah," Darcy interrupted gently, his tone calm yet firm. He lifted his gaze, meeting Micah’s eyes directly. "The part of me that felt that way before... it’s not the same. It doesn’t define me now."

He paused briefly before continuing, his voice steady yet tinged with quiet honesty. "Now, I see you differently. As my brother. As my friend. As someone who stood by me through everything, against the injustices, against fate."

There was no hesitation in his words, only clarity. "And to be completely honest," he added, "I don’t think I’m capable of that kind of love. I’ve accepted that about myself."

His expression softened, though there was a certain finality in it. "I’m okay being alone. You’re not like me. You deserve better, and I’m genuinely happy that you have found it."

He leaned back slightly, exhaling. "So please, stop treating me like I’m fragile. There is no need to walk on eggshells around me."

Micah fell silent. His gaze drifted slowly toward the corner of the room, where an orchid rested in quiet elegance. Its petals were pristine, its presence dignified and composed.

For reasons he could not fully explain, it reminded him of Darcy. Beautiful, resilient, and distant. And perhaps... destined to stand alone.

A faint sense of melancholy stirred within him at the thought. It felt like a quiet tragedy, the idea that someone like Darcy might never experience the depth of connection that others took for granted.

Yet, there was nothing he could do. Respect was all he could offer. Respect, and perhaps... gentle nudges.

If he could place the right people in Darcy’s path, individuals worthy of his trust and capable of understanding him, then perhaps, one day, something might change.

Perhaps, someday, that solitary orchid might not stand alone.