Micah sat on the edge of the couch, still slightly damp from the shower. His hair clung in soft strands across his forehead, dripping occasionally onto the clean shirt Clyde had lent to him. The room smelled faintly of traditional Chinese medicine and warm steam, the lid of the herbal concoction cup still lying sideways on the table.
He hadn't argued, not even once. Clyde had stood in front of him, staring with that unreadable face that somehow held more worry than sternness, and Micah had surrendered instantly. He drank the dark brown concoction, swallowed the medicine, and didn't even dare complain about the bitterness at the end. His stomach was still a little sensitive from the incident earlier, and Clyde had made it clear he wasn't compromising.
"Drink all of it," Clyde had said, tapping his fingers on the rim of the cup until Micah finally obeyed.
