Clyde's gaze shifted back to him, soft—unguarded in a way it rarely was.
"Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to lie to you."
His hand came up to cup Ryley's cheek, gentle, almost trembling. Fear crept into his eyes, slow and honest. "Did I hurt you?"
Ryley didn't answer right away. He took Clyde's large hand instead, turning it over and pressing a deep kiss to the inside of his palm.
"No," he said quietly. "You didn't hurt me."
Then his voice softened even more. "But please…" A small sigh slipped out as his eyes dimmed with worry. "Please don't hurt yourself."
Clyde broke.
He pulled Ryley into his arms again, holding him tight, as if that was the only way to keep himself together.
He pressed a kiss to the top of Ryley's head, lingering there—no words, just a promise he couldn't yet say out loud.
***
That evening, Vincent walked straight down the corridor, a brown envelope clenched tight in his hand.
