Micah quickly washed up with hot water, scrubbing the rain and grime off his skin until his fingers felt numb. The steam fogged the mirror, blurring his reflection, and for a moment he just stood there, hands braced on the sink, breathing slowly. His ankle throbbed relentlessly. When he finally turned off the tap and stepped out, the limp was obvious.
He made his way to the bed and sat down heavily, letting out a long, tired sigh.
Emile was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Is your ankle alright?" he asked, eyes flicking down immediately. "How did you even hurt it?"
Micah grabbed a towel and began drying his hair, rubbing at the damp silver strands without much care. His thoughts were still stuck on Clyde…on the way Clyde hadn't come back to him, choosing instead to wander into the rain…on everything that still hadn't been said. They needed to talk. Properly. Micah still did not know why Clyde had behaved like that.
