Clyde blinked in clear surprise when Micah leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. Micah's earlier confession had shaken his core, throwing him into a state of euphoria. Hearing the person he loved declaring he would never let him go, that he deserved to want more, to stop holding back, felt as if a jar of honey was poured straight into his chest, warm and overwhelming. It was sweet enough to make his chest feel too full.
For a second he didn't move at all, like his mind had stalled, like his body hadn't caught up with what had just happened. Then instinct kicked in. He lifted his hand and gently but firmly covered Micah's mouth, palm warm against his skin, fingers brushing the curve of his cheek.
"You'll catch my cold," he murmured, voice low and hoarse, breath still uneven.
