Micah coaxed Darcy back to his room after finishing the congee. Darcy grumbled a little, insisting he was feeling better, but halfway through the argument, he stumbled. Micah pushed him gently onto the bed and tucked the blanket up to his shoulders, smoothing it over his chest like an overly fussy nurse.
"Just rest for a bit," Micah murmured. "Your fever dropped, but I don't want it coming back."
Darcy gave him a look that said, 'You're overreacting,' but his body didn't have the strength to back it up. He sank into the pillow and let out a sigh in exasperation. "Fine. You win," he said, closing his eyes, staying put in bed.
When the door finally clicked shut, Micah pressed his back against it and sighed in relief. He stepped into the kitchen and whispered to Clyde, glancing over his shoulder toward Darcy's room. "Do you think he noticed?"
Clyde took a sip from his tea, unbothered by Micah's cautious acting. "Noticed what?"
