Clyde stumbled a step back as the furious silver-haired boy shoved him. Confusion crept across his face, deepening with every second that passed.
Why was Micah angry?
He replayed the conversation in his head, carefully going through every word he had said and every reaction Micah had shown. He examined it like someone studying a puzzle with a missing piece. Nothing stood out. Nothing seemed wrong.
From Clyde's perspective, everything had been perfectly reasonable. He had asked, and Micah had given his consent. Yet the man in front of him looked like he was about to explode.
Micah stood a few steps away, practically radiating irritation. His cheeks were still flushed from the hot shower he had just taken, a faint pink colouring his pale skin. The bathrobe draped loosely over his body, the belt barely keeping the soft fabric together. Damp strands of silver hair clung to his forehead and temples, still dripping slightly. A faint scent of soap and steam lingered around him.
