Chapter 446: He Should Get Used to This
Micah felt unusually uneasy after meeting Darcy that afternoon. He couldn’t pin down why. Maybe it was because of that confrontation at lunch. Maybe it was the look in Darcy’s eyes a few minutes ago. Or maybe it was just his own guilty conscience. Whatever the cause, the unease wouldn’t leave his chest. It sat there like a giant stone, pressing down with every breath.
So instead of going down, he stayed holed up in his room. He opened up his wardrobe, pulled clothes from the drawers, folded them neatly, and stacked them into his suitcase. His hands moved mechanically, but his mind was far from the act. Every now and then, Micah would pause, staring blankly at the open suitcase. Darcy’s blank expression from earlier replayed in his mind, tightening something deep in his chest. Something about him was off. But he shoved the thought aside by busying himself again.
By the time evening rolled around, he had packed his belongings completely. Feeling a bit hungry, he finally decided to head downstairs.
When he entered the dining room, the smell of warm dishes greeted him, but only Zhou Ruyan sat at the head, chopsticks in her hand.
Micah blinked. "Where is Darcy, Grandma?" he asked, hesitating.
Zhou Ruyan glanced at him, frowning. "I thought you two were still out."
Micah shifted on his feet. "No. We came back ages ago. Let me check his room."
He turned quickly, long legs carrying him down the hall and up the stairs in a few brisk strides. He arrived in no time at Darcy’s room. He raised his hand and knocked on the door.
There was no response. He knocked again, a little louder this time. "Darcy? Are you in there?" he called.
Micah’s hand reached into his pocket, already thinking he should call Darcy’s phone.
But just as he pulled out his phone, the door opened.
Darcy stood there, leaning against the frame. His complexion didn’t look good. "What?" he asked, voice sharp and irritated.
Micah’s heart gave a little jolt. He parted his lips, but words stumbled on the way out. "Uh...Come down for dinner," he said finally, voice hesitant.
Darcy rubbed his temple, gaze hooded. "I’ve got a headache. I’ll pass." Without waiting for Micah, he shut the door firmly.
Micah stood frozen, staring at the wooden panel inches from his nose while the rest of his words died in his throat. Darcy had never behaved like that! Not to him!
A sharp ache twisted in his chest, and he felt a sense of loss. His expression dropped, but he forced himself to swallow it down. He had no right to be upset. Of course, Darcy would be cold toward him. After all, hadn’t he trampled over his feelings earlier? Hadn’t he treated him like it didn’t matter? It was all his doing.
Micah bit down hard on his lower lip, drawing in a shaky breath. His hazel eyes dimmed, but he quickly smoothed his expression to neutral. He couldn’t let Zhou Ruyan notice anything.
Slowly, he descended the stairs again, but this time his steps were heavy, dragging, so different from the brisk way he had gone up.
Back in the dining room, Zhou Ruyan glanced at him in question.
"He has got a headache. He wants to rest. Later, I’ll bring him some medicine and a light meal." Micah said.
"What about your friend, Mr Du Pont?"
"Oh... he had some work to catch up on, so he went back earlier."
Zhou Ruyan studied him for a second, then gave a short nod in understanding. "Let’s eat then."
She gestured to the butler to bring Micah’s meal and then instructed him to prepare accordingly for Darcy.
Micah began eating, though he barely tasted a thing. Each bite of food felt like chewing sand, scratching down his throat.
After he finished, the rice porridge was also ready. Micah grabbed the tray filled with a steaming bowl and medicines, his fingers tightening around the edges. He walked upstairs again, his pulse quickening the closer he got to Darcy’s room.
He stopped in front of the door. Raised his hand and then paused. His knuckles hovered in mid-air. Courage drained out of him all at once, leaving his hand trembling faintly. What if this time Darcy said something more hurtful to him? He didn’t think he could handle it. Not from Darcy.
His breath caught. He lowered his hand. He paced in the hallway, the tray in his hands. After pacing a few times, he turned toward the stairs, intending to ask the butler to send it instead.
But before he could take a step, the door behind him opened. "Hey," Darcy said, voice hoarse. "Stop pacing!"
Micah jerked around. "Are you better?" he asked, stepping closer, taking a better look at Darcy’s face.
The sight of him, dishevelled, eyes bloodshot, shoulders tense, made his chest twist with worry.
Darcy stared at him, eyes looking exhausted.
Micah moved quickly, setting the tray aside on the desk. He reached out without thinking, taking Darcy’s wrist gently. "Come on, lie down," he urged, tugging him toward the bed. His voice softened, coaxing. "Sorry, I thought maybe you were asleep. This is just a light porridge. Grandpa Sunny made it for you. Oh... and here, I brought some painkillers." He picked up the small blister pack and held it out, then hesitated. "No, wait, you probably have nausea too, right? Maybe you should take this pill first, then..."
Darcy blinked slowly at the young man, his head throbbing worse with every rushed word. The noise of Micah bustling around him, talking nonstop, only made the pounding behind his eyes intensify. He pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. "Shut up," he growled, voice low.
Micah froze, hand still half-extended. His hazel eyes widened, disbelief flashing in them before something softer, hurt, raw and flickering, settled there instead. His throat bobbed, heart aching.
He closed his mouth firmly, then he straightened. Micah turned away, shoulders tight. First, he crossed the room to draw the curtains shut, blocking the pale spill of moonlight and streetlamps outside. Then, he set a glass of water on the nightstand, his movements stiff.
Finally, he stepped back, gaze flickering once toward Darcy before turning and walking silently to the door. His hands lingered on the knob for a heartbeat, but he didn’t look back. He left.
Downstairs, he found the butler. His voice was clipped, his fingers curled faintly against his side. "Grandpa Sunny, can you call the doctor? Darcy’s got a severe headache. Maybe a migraine. He doesn’t look good."
The butler nodded immediately. "Of course, young master."
Micah mumbled a thanks and turned away. His steps carried him through the villa and out into the cool night air.
On the porch, he stopped. The night breeze brushed against his face, but his hands were trembling. His gaze turned distant as he drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly.
He should get used to this. He had no right to expect anything else. He should not lead him on if he never intended to be Darcy. It was good, in a way, that Darcy was cold to him. Better to cut it off now before it becomes unbearable.
The rumble of an engine drew his attention. A car pulled up in front of the villa, headlights washing over the drive. A man hurried inside with a black medical bag in hand.
Micah lifted his gaze toward the second-story window. An IV infusion would treat Darcy’s headache sooner. His eyes turned glossy as he bit the inside it his cheek, remembering those words.
Darcy... Had he already lost him?
What he had feared had not come true after all. He always thought that Darcy knowing the truth would lead them to a breakup, but now... it happened because he had treated Darcy’s feelings as though they were dirt beneath his shoes. It was unbearably frustrating. And yet, he deserved it.