Darcy stood behind the corner of the hallway wall, his back pressed against the cold plaster. His breathing grew shallow, quiet enough not to give himself away. He shouldn't have been listening. He knew that. But as the voices of Micah and Clyde's conversation reached him, he couldn't tear himself away.
Every word struck him with disbelief.
From the memories that didn't belong entirely to him, the fragments of the Darcy of this world, he knew Micah had treated him really well with kindness, concern, and patience. But he never imagined that Micah would place him above Clyde.
Something inside Darcy stirred, something he didn't expect. It was not gloating. It wasn't satisfaction either.
No, it was as if a hole he hadn't realised existed in his heart had been filled.
For so long, he had lived with suspicion. He had convinced himself Micah's kindness was a facade, or a calculated move. But hearing that trembling honesty in Micah's tone now… it made him waver.
