Chapter 313: Darcy vs. Clyde: The Sprout Wars
Darcy ended the call and let the phone slip from his fingers onto the couch cushion beside him. His shoulders sagged as he leaned back, feeling exhausted.
The quiet hum of the small apartment surrounded him, a stark contrast to the noise of the other day. His birthday had been strange, stranger than he had wanted to admit. His mother had smiled, spoken in that gentle, careful tone she often used when she didn’t want to worry him, while her mind was elsewhere. Darcy had seen it, but he hadn’t wanted to press her. Instead, he had carried the atmosphere, faking cheer as best as he could.
Now, sitting in their cramped living room, he exhaled slowly, staring up at the cracked ceiling. He had come back full of motivation, determined not to let the strangeness of the day drag him down. His heart had been racing with plans he had carried for years, but never pursued; he hadn’t had the resources or the connections. Not until now.
He wanted to bide his time, to wait for the right moment. But after what Clyde told him, waiting felt dangerous. He had to get stronger quickly, before someone else decided to crush him while he was still crawling.
He drummed his fingers against his knee, restless. His years of tutoring spoiled rich kids had at least left him with one small advantage: connections.
Most of those people had been unbearable, bragging about yachts, cars, or whatever new toy their parents had thrown at them, but hidden among the arrogance were a few rare individuals with actual ability. He had started reaching out to them, carefully planting seeds. He had shown them his simple gaming app, a project he had developed with the help of two classmates. The memory of those sessions came back to him now: long hours spent huddled over library computers, coding while his classmates provided him with character sketches and interface layouts. Darcy had done everything, writing every line, building the bones and muscles of the game.
It had been meant as a backup plan for his two classmates if they didn’t make it into their dream universities, but for Darcy, it was something else entirely: proof that he could create something real.
He rubbed his palms together, trying to work out the tension. He had been staying up late last night coding another game, refining mechanics until his vision blurred. His laptop was still on the table, its faint light glowing against the walls. Beside it sat a messy pile of printed proposals and notebooks filled with scribbled ideas. He had been researching stocks, scrolling through endless articles and guides he barely understood at first, teaching himself the basics because he had to. He didn’t have money to invest, but he had thought maybe he could start small, managing accounts or giving advice to some of the rich kids he once tutored. Maybe he could scrape together enough to climb higher.
He hadn’t done that until now because it held huge risks. And he had no one if something went terribly wrong. But now he knew Micah would protect his sister and mother if he failed, would make sure they were safe. He hated himself for even letting the thought comfort him, but it did. He shifted uneasily on the couch, running a hand through his hair. He was selfish; he knew it. But a small part of him whispered that Micah would never abandon him. That belief warmed him, even as guilt gnawed at the edges.
Darcy straightened, clenching his fists on his knees. He wanted to be strong enough not to need Micah’s protection. He wanted to stand beside him, not behind him.
If he had to be a bad person for a while, someone who used Micah’s kindness to build his own strength, so be it. Shame didn’t matter. Pride didn’t matter. What mattered was that he wouldn’t let Silas or anyone else target Micah because of him being weak.
He shivered and rubbed at the back of his neck. Silas, that creep, would come for him eventually. Darcy was certain of it.
He sighed and pressed his palms against his eyes. When he lowered them, his gaze drifted to his phone on the couch. Micah was with Clyde again... and apparently alone in some enormous mansion.
Darcy scoffed under his breath. Bold of him, dragging Micah into his family’s home. What was he trying to prove? What was his intention?
Micah... was he now in a relationship with that man? The question rose, stabbing through his heart.
The idea made his throat close. He shifted forward, elbows digging into his thigh as he buried his face in his hands.
If that were true... what should he do? Should he hide his feelings for the rest of his life? Swallow them down until they poisoned him from the inside? Would that mean Micah chose Clyde over him, silently, without ever saying a word?
Darcy dragged his fingers down his face, leaving faint red marks on his skin. Micah had never said anything. Maybe this was just his overthinking. Maybe Clyde was nothing more than...
But Clyde wasn’t nothing. Darcy could not lie to himself.
The man knew Micah well. Too well. He cared about him enough to bring Darcy into his home, enough to tolerate him.
If it had been someone like Archie or some jerk, Darcy would have interfered immediately, cutting them off without hesitation. But Clyde Du Pont...
Darcy pressed his lips together tightly. Clyde was different, mysterious, frustratingly polished, and untouchably perfect in a way Darcy could never hope to match.
Forcing Micah to choose him when he didn’t like him... that would be just pure selfishness. And Darcy... he didn’t want to be that selfish.
His hands trembled slightly. He reached across the couch cushion and picked up the two small exercise balls he kept nearby, rolling them slowly in his palm.
He needed to know what Micah truly felt for him. He needed certainty, or he would go mad. Darcy set the balls down and grabbed his phone again. His thumbs hovered over their chat record, and the familiar ache in his chest returned.
Earlier, he had already scrolled through their messages again and again. He wanted to talk to Micah, to hear his voice, to see his face, but Darcy knew he was out of town. But then he noticed Micah’s account showed typing for five minutes before any message was sent. Five minutes of hesitation. Five minutes of thought. That small delay had been enough to mend the hole in his heart. It meant Micah had been thinking about him.
But then came the sting. When Micah had mentioned cooking, Darcy had known immediately. It wasn’t for himself. No, it was for Clyde.
Darcy squeezed his phone until his knuckles whitened. Seeing the mansion afterwards had been the final confirmation. Of course, it was Clyde.
Still, when he read through Micah’s words again, something didn’t quite fit. Micah seemed normal, too normal. He had complained about the mansion, called it a ghost house, and said he didn’t like it. That wasn’t how someone sounded when they had just started a new relationship. Darcy let out a shaky laugh, the tension easing just a little. Maybe it wasn’t what he feared.
But what was surprising was Clyde’s attitude toward him. It hadn’t been warm or like the time Micah was drunk. No. It had still been cold, distant, sharper-edged like in the hospital. And now, though the chill hadn’t melted, there was something else beneath it. A tolerance, almost begrudgingly. As if Clyde looked at him the way one might look at a food you hated but knew you had to eat for the nutrients. Like Brussels sprouts, smelly, unappealing, yet somehow tolerated. The thought popped into Darcy’s head suddenly, and he snorted despite himself.
"Great," he muttered aloud, dragging a hand down his face again. "I’ve gone mad. I’m Brussels sprouts now."
The ridiculous image almost broke him into laughter, though it quickly faded into silence. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. If Clyde had truly shifted his attitude, even slightly, that was something. Darcy had no desire to fight him. Not when Micah was caught in between.