Chapter 469: The Art of Coaxing a Drama Queen
Darcy stood outside the building, his gaze flickering toward the entrance as the seconds dragged by. The early morning air was beginning to warm, brushing lightly against his skin, but the faint impatience in his chest kept growing heavier. He turned his head toward the stairwell again, expecting to catch a glint of silver hair in the dim light, but there was nothing.
His eyelid twitched slightly in irritation. He exhaled loudly, running a hand through his dark hair before turning fully toward the staircase. His voice echoed faintly as he called out. "Hey, what are you doing up there? Come down already!"
No response. No sound of footsteps.
Annoyed, he started up the stairs. After a few steps, his eyes caught a glimpse of a figure. Micah sat on one of the middle steps, body curled inward, arms locked tight around his legs, head buried against his knees. The faint light from the corridor above brushed across the pale silver hair strands, making them stand out against the dull, grey concrete. The sight stood out like a lonely, fragile flower blooming in the middle of a dry desert.
The whole scene radiated gloom. Even the air seemed heavier here. Darcy paused a step below him, lips parting slightly. "Hey, did you trip? Did you hurt your ankle?" he asked finally, softening his tone without even realising it.
Micah’s response came out muffled against his knees. "No."
Darcy frowned. "Then what?"
There was no answer. Micah didn’t lift his head, didn’t even speak. His whole body seemed to shrink further inward, as if retreating deeper into his turtle shell.
Darcy hesitated for a moment, watching the boy sulking without any apparent reason. He let out a short sigh, then slowly bent his knees and crouched down in front of him. "Are you upset because of what I said?" Darcy asked, expression a mix of guilt and confusion. "I wasn’t criticising you, you know. You are free to live however you want. I was just worried about my mum and sister." His brows furrowed as he tilted his head, trying to catch even a flicker of Micah’s reaction. "Since when did you become this sensitive?"
Micah let out a short huff. "Ha! I’m not upset because of that," his voice stayed muffled.
Darcy reached out and smoothed a strand of Micah’s hair. "Then what? If you don’t tell me, I won’t know." Unknowingly, he was using on Micah the same method he often used to coax Nora when she was younger.
Micah didn’t look up. He just tapped his foot lightly against the concrete, a steady repetitive sound filling the quiet. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground, where a line of ants crawled along the edge of the step, weaving between the edge of his shoes. "I hated it when people spoke in a roundabout way," he muttered. His fingers curled into fists on his knees. "If you hate me, just come and say it to my face directly. What was with the fancy talk? Just say you’re still upset about what I did!"
Darcy paused mid-motion, his hand hovering in the air. His brows drew together as he replayed the conversation in his head, trying to pinpoint which part Micah was referring to. The realisation made him let out a short, exasperated breath. "Why did you assume it was about you?" he said, his tone sharp but not angry. His fingers reached out almost automatically, finding Micah’s ear, and he gave it a small tug, forcing the boy to finally lift his head. "Idiot!" Darcy muttered, though his voice carried a faint trace of fondness beneath the irritation. "If I really had a beef with you about how you hid the truth, I wouldn’t waste time playing a nice guy. I would have cut you off completely and then crushed you without hesitation. You have no doubt about that, do you?"
For a brief moment, silence stretched between them. Darcy’s eyes met hazel eyes filled with guilt and pain.
Micah squirmed slightly, trying to pull his ear free from Darcy’s grip. "So, if not me..." he started, his tone soft but still laced with agitation. "Who betrayed you? Who hurt you? Is it Silas?" His voice rose a little, a hint of anger breaking through. "Don’t tell me you really believed his fake consideration. That bastard! I should go and beat him up!"
Darcy couldn’t help the smile. His hand dropped from Micah’s ear. "Easy now," he said with a quiet chuckle. "It wasn’t him. I never felt comfortable with him."
He really was glad that Darcy of this world never had a good impression of Silas and never had been close to him. The thought of sharing the same naive trust as his past self made something twist inside him. He couldn’t bear the idea of repeating that same mistake again.
"If not him, so who?" Micah insisted, almost leaning forward now, unable to let it go.
"What’s the use you knowing it?" Darcy raised his eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
"Hey! Of course, to kick his ass for hurting you!" Micah replied seriously as if it were the most obvious reason in the world.
Darcy shook his head slowly. He pushed himself to his feet and stood up. "You don’t know them. And I don’t need you to get revenge for me. I just think dealing with them...well, they are not worth the shit or the time."
Darcy took a small step backward, then glanced down at the silver-haired man. "If you’re done moping, come on, let’s go."
Micah didn’t move at first. He just stared at Darcy, his mind in disarray. It wasn’t him. Not Silas either. So who?
His mind refused to settle. What exactly was Darcy talking about? Who had hurt him this badly, bad enough to make him give up on people altogether? The idea made his chest feel tight, uncomfortable.
For someone as thoughtful as Darcy, losing that faith in others... it must have been something drastic, something that turned his whole world upside down. What could that be?