Chapter 296: Banished to the Living Room
Micah swung the pillow at Clyde again, the fabric smacking against his shoulder with a full thud. Still, it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. The more he thought about everything Clyde had done, the more irritation boiled in his chest, thick and molten, like lava ready to erupt.
First, Clyde had known he was Asena and apparently had a good laugh over it, watching him struggle to pull off the act of a girl. Then, he had the audacity to trick him into confessing he had been switched. But that was not the end of it. Not even close. He had the nerve to go after his family. And as if all that wasn’t enough, he had pretended to be Aidan. Aidan!
Micah ground his teeth in anger. He could feel heat rushing to his face, his pulse throbbing against his temple. The pillow dangled in his hands now, but his glare was still as sharp as a blade.
He jabbed a finger toward the door, his voice sharp and clipped. "Get out! Go sleep downstairs. I can’t stand looking at you right now!"
Clyde didn’t flinch at the order. He just looked at Micah, his expression unreadable, though a faint shadow crossed his eyes. He didn’t argue. Truth be told, the punishment felt almost fair. Clyde knew that if he had kept his mouth shut about all of this, he would have been stuck sleeping in the adjacent room anyway. Now he was being banished to the living room. It wasn’t the worst sentence. The worst would be if Micah completely shut him out, cutting off any form of communication with him; that would be the definition of severe punishment. Yet Micah had just kicked him out of the room.
He gave a small, quiet nod and turned around without a word, heading for the door. His hand gripped the handle a bit too forcefully, then he left the room.
The click of the latch was soft, but in the silence between them, it sounded far too loud.
Micah stood in the middle of the room, breathing hard. Watching Clyde leave left a strange, uncomfortable pang in his chest, as if he had just kicked a big, loyal dog out into the cold.
His lips twitched. But he didn’t change his mind. No. He should be firm. This wasn’t the time for pity.
Clyde had ruined his plan. Made too many mistakes.
With a frustrated sigh, Micah headed into the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, washing the remnants of his tears. He brushed his teeth with quick, impatient strokes, spitting into the sink as if that could rid him of the lingering bitterness in his mouth.
****
Clyde closed the door behind him and moved slowly down the staircase, each step heavier than the last. The living room was dark and silent. He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his already tousled blond hair, making it stick up even more.
He went to the storage room, tugged it open, and pulled out a folded stack of blankets and an extra sheet. He carried them to the couch, setting them down, when a sharp, whispered sound cut through the dark.
"Pssst... pssst."
Clyde paused mid-movement, head turning toward the sound. His eyes narrowed until they adjusted to the dim light. There, a head peeking up from behind the kitchen counter.
Dylon waved him over in an exaggerated motion, fingers curling in invitation.
Clyde already felt a headache forming, but in the end, he walked toward the kitchen. As he rounded the counter, he saw Dylon crouched low, Lin Heye squatting beside him, and Mason squeezed into the narrow space, knees tucked up like teenagers hiding from trouble.
"What are you doing?" Clyde’s voice was low, but carried a thread of disbelief.
"Shush!" Dylon hissed, pressing a finger to his lips. "Are you alone?"
Clyde nodded.
"Our bedroom is right beside yours. We heard questionable noises... so we came here instead." Dylon whispered.
"Yeah," Lin Heye added quickly. "We didn’t want to... You know... overhear something we shouldn’t...."
"Well... with you here looking depressed, I guess we were wrong, huh?" Mason snickered.
Clyde pinched the bridge of his nose. "You can go back now."
"Wait, wait. Dude, what did you do?" Dylon asked, curious. He pointed out in the living room. "Why were you spreading sheets out there?"
"All that thudding earlier..." Lin Heye tilted his head. "Was that a fight or something?"
"What fight? He looks fine." Dylon argued. He stood up, squinting at Clyde as if checking for any bruises.
"Tell us what happened," Lin Heye urged. "Maybe we can help?"
Clyde shook his head, already turning slightly away. "That’s fine. Just go back."
"Oh! Come on. Didn’t we help you before?" Dylon said, flashing a grin. "You can tell us. Spill it." he clapped Clyde’s shoulder several times.
"I think you all are still drunk." Clyde moved away from Dylon’s hand. "And besides, this is something between Micah and me."
"Oh? Don’t tell me you finally gave in to your urges and Micah threw you out?" Dylon asked.
"Pfft... who? Him?" Mason chuckled, jerking his thumb at Clyde. "He is all about being proper and righteous. I feel sorry for Micah. I think it was the opposite. Micah wanted something, and this guy wasn’t able to... You know...." Mason’s eyebrows lifted, his smirk wicked. "...summon the captain to salute."
Dylon and Lin Heye both tried to stifle their laughter, their shoulders shaking.
"Oh, what’s so funny?" a cool voice cut in.
Clyde and the other three froze.
They all turned their heads toward the doorway, where the light flicked on with a sharp click.
Micah stood there, leaning lazily against the wall, one hand braced just above the light switch. His silver hair was dishevelled, dark shadows under his eyes hinting at a tired night. His smirk didn’t reach his eyes.
"Having a little meeting?" he asked lightly. "Laughing behind my back?" His gaze flicked over each of them in turn, lingering half a second longer on Clyde. "Go on. Don’t mind me. I won’t disturb you."
His tone was casual, but there was an edge in it sharp enough to draw blood.
Clyde’s gaze locked on Micah, but Micah didn’t return it. His eyes were guarded, unreadable. The tension between them was tangible.
Micah’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "By all means... carry on. Don’t let me stop the comedy show."
Without waiting for a reply, Micah pushed himself off the wall and turned on his heel, walking away. His bare feet made no sound against the floor, but every step felt like a closing door.
After Clyde had left earlier, Micah had tried to sleep. He had tossed the pillow aside, yanked the blanket over himself, and shifted from one side to the other. But his mind refused to settle. The image of Clyde walking out kept circling in his head. His chest felt tight, restless. Against his better judgment, he had gotten out of bed and walked down the stairs quietly. He hadn’t expected to find Clyde here, laughing, talking, surrounded by his friends like nothing had happened.
It made him feel like a fool. Like he was the only one still stuck in the aftermath of their intense argument, while Clyde had already moved on, leaving him hurt and alone upstairs with the echo of their words, not caring about him.