After lunch, Micah stood with his arms crossed, watching Lin Heye awkwardly stuff the very drunk Dylon Parisi into the backseat of Clyde's car like a sack of flour. Dylon's head rolled against the window, one arm dangling outside until Lin Heye shoved it and slammed the door shut.
Micah exhaled softly, almost amused. His eyes drifted to the man standing beside him.
Clyde stood with his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, posture straight. His expression didn't shift much as he glanced at the car, then looked away, clearly not caring about the whole affair.
Micah tilted his head. "Aren't you going to drop him off?"
Clyde's face shifted slightly into distaste, the bridge of his nose wrinkled. "No," he replied, voice flat. "My driver would be enough. I don't like the smell of alcohol in the car, let alone a drunk one in it."
Micah nodded slowly, not surprised by his answer. "Okay… Thanks for your help. I'm going now…"
