Micah stirred, his cheek pressed against something firm that didn't quite feel like a pillow. His brows knitted, body wriggling slightly as if he could burrow deeper into the cushion and make it softer. But the "pillow" refused to yield, too uncomfortably solid. A faint sound rumbled above him, and then a hand came down, steadying his head before it slid further.
The touch wasn't rough...no, just large, warm, and careful. It jolted his half-sleep mind awake. Micah's lashes fluttered, brushing against the inside of Clyde's palm. He blinked up, eyes hazy with sleep.
"What are you doing?" Micah's voice came out rough, still thick with drowsiness.
Clyde looked down, his expression unreadable, though there was a dangerous glint in his eyes as if Micah had wandered somewhere he shouldn't. His thigh had long since gone numb under the boy's weight, but he hadn't dared move for fear of waking him. Now, face-to-face, Clyde's patience was clearly at its limit.
