Chapter 441: Not the B-Word, Micah!
By the time the sun reached its peak, Micah’s energy slowed. With a sigh of satisfaction, Micah declared that he had bought enough.
"Lunch," Micah announced, tugging Darcy toward the end of the street. "I know a place... you’ll love it."
He led Darcy to a well-known seafood restaurant located near the waterfront. The restaurant was lively, the sound of clicking dishes and chatter rising above the scent of grilled fish and garlic butter. They were guided to a balcony where the sea stretched out before them, waves glittering in the sunlight.
They sat down at a small wooden table draped in white linen. Dishes soon filled the surface: a platter of streaming clams with ginger and scallions, golden fried shrimp, grilled fish with lemon slices, and a bowl of fragrant rice. Micah’s eyes lit up at the spread, and he dug in eagerly, chopsticks clattering as he reached for the shrimp.
Darcy leaned back in his chair, resting one hand on the edge of the table. He wasn’t as hungry, his attention straying more to the boy across from him than to the food.
It was then that a voice interrupted.
"Oh, Micah, is that you?"
Micah paused mid-bite and looked up. His eyes widened in recognition. He quickly pushed his chair and stood, a smile blooming across his face. "Aunty Arsham! What a pleasant surprise."
The woman who approached them was elegant, clearly well into her fifties, but carrying herself with the poise of someone who had long been accustomed to wealth and influence. Her hair was swept into a neat bun, streaked with silver, and a string of pearls rested against the high collar of her navy silk blouse. Her sharp eyes sparkled with curiosity and warmth in equal measure.
Mrs Arsham painted lips curved into a smile as she gave Micah a once-over. "My, you have grown so much. A fine young man now."
Micah laughed sheepishly. "Haha, it has been a few years, Aunty. You look as beautiful as always."
"Flatterer," she chuckled. "Are you here on holiday by yourself?"
"No. My grandma is here too," Micah replied.
Her face brightened. "Seriously? That’s wonderful. I must pay her a visit soon." Her eyes shifted toward Darcy, who sat quietly at the table, watching. "And who this young man might be?" her eyes full of gossip. "Do I interrupt you on a date?" she whispered.
Micah scratched his cheek in embarrassment. "Don’t tease me, Aunty. He’s... my brother."
Darcy’s finger tightened into a fist beneath the table. His tongue burned with an urge to shout that it wasn’t true, that he was not his brother. But he swallowed it back, jaw clenched. The two were talking easily, and he had no business to meddle.
"Brother?" Mrs Arsham repeated, blinking in surprise. "Since when? Oh my god, I must have missed so much while I was out of the country... did your father have a?"
"Aunty!" Micah cut her off quickly, waving his hands. "What are you talking about? That’s not it. He is truly the son of my mum and dad."
Mrs Arsham froze, her mouth parting slightly. "How is that possible?"
"Well, it’s a long story. My grandma probably will explain better if you ask her more." Micah said.
Darcy’s eyes darted toward him. There was no embarrassment on Micah’s face, no hesitation in admitting it. He had implied openly that he wasn’t fully a Ramsy, and he seemed at peace with it.
Darcy didn’t like it. The casual way Micah distanced himself made something inside him twist. He wanted to stop him, to tell him not to introduce him as his brother. Or as a Ramsy son.
He thought being labelled as a friend sounded so much better than this.
Meanwhile, Micah said goodbye to the woman and sat down again. "Sorry, she was one of grandma’s old friends. She used to be very close with our family before they moved overseas a few years back."
Darcy listened quietly. "Why did you introduce me like that?"
Micah blinked. "Like what?"
"As your brother." Darcy’s gaze sharpened, his fist curled.
Micah tilted his head, then leaned back in his chair. "Then how should I have introduced you then?"
Darcy didn’t speak; his expression hardened.
Micah stared at him. "Would you rather I told her you are just my friend? Covering the truth?"
Darcy finally met his eyes.
"You know I can’t do that," Micah continued. His voice was calm, almost gentle, but there was firmness beneath it. "Don’t make me. Don’t indulge me. Because if you let me, I’ll believe it... and that will become my reality." He gave a warm smile, small and sincere. "I am glad to say you are my brother."
Darcy’s chest tightened. His voice came out rougher than he intended. "What if I don’t want to? What if I don’t want to be your brother?" Darcy said, holding his gaze.
Micah’s smile faltered, his hands on the table curling slightly. "Then... I’ll move out. I can change how I call you..."
"You know that’s not what I mean," Darcy snapped, eyes burning. "How long are you going to keep ignoring it? Closing your eyes like nothing’s there? Like nothing happened?"
Micah lowered his gaze, and his shoulders sank. "You know I’d give you anything you ask for..."
"I don’t want your guilt. I don’t want your pity answer. It’s your heart... "
"Stop it," Micah said, lifting his head sharply, eyes shimmering. His voice broke with strain. "Please... don’t."
Darcy froze, his chest heaving.
Micah swallowed hard, his throat working as he forced himself to hold back tears. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He could read the emotions in Darcy’s eyes too clearly. He knew what Darcy wanted, what he was asking him to face.
But if those words were spoken aloud, if that wall broke, Micah wasn’t sure what would be left of them.
He felt his heart being torn apart if he had to say the words. He didn’t want to. He was happy with the way things were. He could not flatly reject Darcy. But neither could he give him what he wanted without destroying his own heart.
He knew he was selfish. Greedy even. He wanted everything to stay the way it was, to keep Darcy by his side without naming the truth, to cling to the warmth without daring to define it.
Yes. He didn’t want to lose Darcy.