Chapter 418: The Edge of the Water
A few hours ago:
Darcy’s heart had been pounding since the plane had taken off, but by the time it touched down, the urgency that had driven him here had begun to waver. His chest felt hollow. The need to rush to Micah, to confront him or simply see him, began to diminish, slowly at first, then completely dissolved until all that remained was fear.
Stepping out of the airport, the humid breeze rushed at him, slapping his face like an open hand, filling his lungs with warmth that only made his skin clammy. His body, chilled from the over-air-conditioned plane, tingled as the heat wrapped around him. He blinked against the dim light of the setting sun reflecting off the pavement, the sound of rolling luggage and distant car horns buzzing around him.
During the flight, he had nothing to do but think. His mind wandered endlessly, remembering every detail from the first time meeting Micah up to the last time they had spoken. He wanted to believe, with every piece of himself, that Micah’s kindness had been real. That his understanding, his help, and his constant presence had been genuine. But in the deepest corner of his mind, a voice whispered otherwise. A small dark seed that had been buried for so long sprouted.
It wasn’t real. None of it was. He wasn’t kind. He was acting.
He swallowed hard, but the whisper only grew louder. Those rich families... they would do anything to secure their birthright, their inheritance. Micah had been just keeping him in check all along. Maybe all that care was nothing more than chains disguised as kindness.
The thought made Darcy’s hands tremble.
The voice grew so loud he bit his tongue, hard enough that the metallic taste of the blood spread across his mouth. The pain made the voice stop. But fear stayed. It had been planted in his heart.
He knew it was impossible. Even when Micah had been drunk, his words had been soft, calling him little brother... could someone really act that convincingly while intoxicated?
Could someone really throw their body without a second thought in front of a knife? He protected Nora even before he and Darcy met. He always stood up for him, putting him first... again and again. Not all of it could be an act. Not all of it could be a ploy.
Darcy raked a hand through his dark hair, tugging a little at the strands. He had finally understood why Micah had been so tense every time he had to meet someone from the Ramsy family, why he had tried so hard to keep Darcy from attending that birthday banquet. Someone that transparent, that anxious... How could he be a schemer?
And yet, the fear in Darcy’s chest refused to lessen. Because now, something worse had taken root: the dread that he might be the one to hurt Micah. With his words, with his accusations, with his actions. The fear of losing him. Fear of Micah distancing himself from him, feeling he would make him uncomfortable. Wasn’t that why Micah had run away in the first place? Because he couldn’t cope with Darcy’s reaction.
If Micah had been okay with everything, wouldn’t he have just taken Darcy’s hand, pulled him into Ramsy’s family with a wide grin on his face?
Darcy felt his head might explode at any minute. Thoughts circled around from pessimistic to expectancy. The result had been that when he reached the villa, he got cold feet. He couldn’t step in closer. He lingered in the dark instead.
Through the trees, he saw a light spill from an open balcony door. A figure stood there, Micah, leaning against the railing. From a distance, he looked lifeless, shoulders slumped, his silhouette ready to evaporate.
Darcy’s heart thumped so loud it echoed in his ears. A selfish part of him, the part he hated, felt almost satisfied. Micah was not out there enjoying himself. He wasn’t playing around, not caring about him or the truth. He was suffering too.
It was evident his family had taken Micah’s side. He understood the moment Micah’s mother, Professor Palmer, had avoided him. The moment Albert Ramsy had tried to assure him, it wasn’t Micah’s fault, his tone protective, almost defensive. When none of Ramsy’s family had approached him, while they obviously knew the truth.
And yet... Micah looked haggard. Dark circles shadowed his eyes even from this distance. It was 2 am, and Micah was still up, struggling to sleep at night... it showed he wasn’t that unaffected. He had known for more than two months, and still he looked this troubled...
Darcy gripped the strap of his bag, staring at that blurry figure on the balcony.
He had nowhere to go. He had come here on impulse, without a plan. Even if he had one, he knew he wouldn’t just leave. He needed to talk to Micah, to see him, to clear the air. But in the middle of the night, it wasn’t the time for that, was it?
So he lingered, waiting for the next day, but an hour later, Micah stepped out of the villa unexpectedly.
Under the pale glow of a streetlight, Darcy got a chance to take a good look at the distraught boy. Micah looked thinner, like he had lost weight. The shirt on his back hung loosely on his body, shifting in the ocean breeze to show the line of his waist. He walked in flip-flops, and the sound of the dragging softly against the pavement echoed in the quiet night. His hair was messy, nothing like the stylish young man Darcy had seen back in Isatis city. His eyes were glossy, dark circles etched beneath them like bruises.
Darcy’s chest ached at the sight. Micah walked like a muted, drained person, as if he was moving through water, heavy and slow.
Darcy just watched as the boy sat on a wooden bench near the shore, his knees folded into his chest, his head bowed.
His whole aura was so depressed, so dejected, like a person with no will to live. The thought made Darcy’s heart jump. He was ready to run to him, to talk to him, to tell him everything would be okay, to promise him that he would do anything for him. Anything.
But before he could take a step, the boy suddenly stood up and walked toward the water. Slowly, as if drawn to it. Then he took off his shirt. Darcy didn’t think anymore. He just ran, a fear gripping his heart. Sand crunched under his shoes.
He wouldn’t do something reckless, right? Darcy thought in panic. All those studies he had read came to his mind; most suicides happened at this hour. When the mind was exhausted, the emotions frayed, and the hormones were at their peak.
He reached Micah just as the boy’s toes touched the edge of the water. Without hesitation, Darcy seized his shoulders and yanked him back, hard enough to make them both stumble.
"Micah!" Darcy’s voice cracked.
Micah twisted in his grip, startled. His wide eyes snapped to Darcy’s face. "Why... why are you here?"