Clyde lay flat on his back, eyes tracing the dark outlines of the ceiling. But his gaze darted subconsciously toward the figure beside him.
The faint glow of moonlight crept into the room, just enough for him to make out the soft rise and fall of Micah's back a few inches away. That small curve of his spine, the barely there movement with each breath, it was strangely calming, almost hypnotic. Heat radiated from Micah's body like a low-burning heater, warm enough that Clyde could feel it even without touching.
He was out of his element. Completely.
He had never shared a bed with anyone, no siblings to pile up with on cold nights, no close friends, no nephews clamouring for attention, not even a nanny who stayed the night when he was young.
His personal space had always been his own fortress. It wasn't just his preference. Those strange nightmares had made him keep everyone at arm's length.
Yet here he was, lying just close enough to imagine Micah's warmth on his skin.
