Clyde sat on the edge of the bed, watching Micah's sleeping face. The boy's lashes trembled faintly with each breath, his silver hair messy against the pillow. Even asleep, a faint smirk lingered on his face.
He reached out and poked the boy's cheek. "How can you sleep so soundly after giving me a heart attack with your carelessness?" he mumbled under his breath.
His fingers lingered there, the warmth of the boy's skin seeping into his hand.
Micah's brows knitted together in response.
Clyde's expression softened.
He wanted to pull him close, to feel his heartbeat against his chest, sleep with him in his arms until morning.
But he stopped himself.
But first, he was drunk, too drunk to trust his own restraint. The alcohol still hummed in his veins, making his thoughts blur and his emotions sharpen.
