Chapter 272: The Dragon and The Prince, Moby Dick and the White Whale
Darcy stood in the hospital restroom, hands placed on either side of the porcelain sink. His reflection stared back at him, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
Earlier, he had felt like the world was closing in on him.
Before he called Micah, he had been completely lost. Not the kind that just made your chest tight, but the kind that made you feel hollow and raw all over.
He didn’t want to be someone who needed saving. He hated the thought of being someone people had to worry about, or someone they pitied. And worse, he didn’t want anyone to feel confined to helping him, like they were trapped in his mess.
And even if he had wanted to ask for help, there was no one. No close relatives, no real friends, not even neighbours.
Even that old man from their block, the one with the crooked nose and the permanent scowl, was out of the question. He used to be some kind of thug, always bragging about his past. That man’s idea of helping would have been to beat Silas to a pulp.
Darcy could even picture what the old man would say. "You gotta show ’em who’s boss, kid. Fist to the face, problem solved."
As if it were that easy.
That was exactly why he hadn’t gone to him. That old man would have definitely gotten involved. And if he so much as laid a finger on that doctor, Darcy was sure Silas would twist it into something else, something worse. Another chain around his neck. Another reason to tighten the leash.
So Darcy had endured all that humiliation. All that disgust. Thinking one day he could stand against Silas without worrying about implicating his family and friends.
Darcy let out a shaky breath and dragged both hands through his hair, yanking at the roots in frustration. His scalp stung, but he didn’t stop until he was gasping for breath, hunched over again.
He had been so desperate that when someone powerful reached out, he had grabbed on, never thinking that instead of being lifted from the mud, he would drag his saviour into his dark, filthy world.
Micah’s help was that precious.
It had been at that time that Darcy realised he had left Micah with his mother and sister alone.
His fingers had searched for his phone, thumb swiping at the screen. Notifications blinked to life. Missed calls. A few texts. But the one that stood out was Micah’s name, highlighted in blue.
He quickly tapped on his name, eyes scanning over the words. Micah said he had left. He knew about the argument with Clyde. And instead of getting mad or asking questions, Micah was trying to soothe him. He even said that he had beaten Clyde up for it.
Darcy chuckled under his breath. Micah was... really something else.
He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He exhaled slowly, then dialled Nora first.
"I’ll be right there in a few minutes," he said the moment she picked up. No time for greetings.
Once he ended the call, his fingers hovered again. He needed to apologise to Micah.
So he had taken a deep breath and called him.
Just hearing Micah’s voice on the other end calmed something in him, like cool medicine dousing the fire in his chest. His grip on the phone loosened. As they talked, he realised Micah had been one step ahead of him. He was not just some naive, brave prince jumping in front of the dragon, rescuing him from that lonely tower, no, Micah had fully known about Silas and had stepped forward well prepared.
Darcy had leaned against the tilted wall, head tilted back, one foot propped against the sink’s base, listening to Micah’s instruction like an anxious guardian. He didn’t say much. He was too overwhelmed by Micah’s benevolence. It felt sacred, almost like Micah was some kind of holy priest offering absolution unconditionally.
By the time they hung up, the storm in his chest had dulled to a low hum.
He returned to the sink, cupped water in his palms, and washed his face again.
It was time to grow up. Time to stop flinching every time things went wrong. If he wanted things to change, he had to stop waiting. He had to put his plan on the line.
He had wanted to wait two years, until things settled, until he was ready. But now, he saw how naive that was. He needed power. He needed freedom. And both of those started with money... and visibility.
He stared at himself again in the mirror. No more hiding.
****
Far from the city, on the dusty outskirts where trees bent in the breeze and sunlight filtered through the leaves, Clyde stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him. Gravel crunched under his shoes. The wind brushed through his blonde hair as he walked toward a group gathered near the first jeep.
Dylon was the first to spot him. He jumped out of the car with a grin that spread across his whole face. "Hey hey! I see you were successful!" he called out, voice filled with teasing.
"Don’t talk nonsense," Clyde said flatly, his mood already sour.
"Why? It was so obvious you two had made up. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here..." Dylon mumbled, looking at Lin Heye and Mason in confusion.
"It’s not what you think." Clyde shot him a warning glare. "So don’t open that big mouth of yours."
Dylon mimicked a zipping motion on his lips in response.
Lin Heye crossed his arms, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Fine. But earlier, when we arrived, you were glued to him, smiling. That told us everything."
"Yeah. No more brooding like some sea captain chasing his white whale ..." Mason said, coughing behind his hand.
Clyde’s forehead lines wrinkled. He pinched the bridge of his nose. His temples throbbed.
"Why did I invite you all again?"
Maybe this was a mistake. Letting these idiots tag along. But Micah liked liveliness, liked being around people. And two days out here in the middle of nowhere, with just the two of them? That was dangerous. Too quiet. Too intimate.
He needed buffers. Distractions. Anything to stop him from blurting out things he couldn’t take back.
Yeah. With people around, he wouldn’t be tempted to confess his feelings.