Micah felt the faint pressure of Clyde's lips against his forehead, a touch so soft it almost didn't feel real. Yet the impact it had was immediate and brutal. His heart gave a sharp tremor, pounding against his ribs as if startled. His eyes went wide, and his lips parted automatically, ready to spill out something sharp, something mockingly. His fingers twitched, curling inward, as if to push Clyde away.
But he didn't. He couldn't.
The look in Clyde's eyes held him there, pinned in place. They weren't the eyes of a man playing a game or wearing a mask. There was no sly curve to his mouth, no hungry gleam, no smugness. Just pure, unyielding fondness, fierce in its honesty, yet chaste to the point of aching.
It wasn't the gaze of a parent doting on a child, nor the heated stare of someone fueled by lust. No. There was something else entirely. Something Micah had never experienced, never been prepared for.
