At 2.00 am, the living room was steeped in darkness. The only light came from the faint glow of the fridge. Clyde stepped out of his study, rubbing his temple, and paused. A subtle movement near the kitchen caught his attention.
He narrowed his eyes. "Micah? What are you doing?"
The figure by the fridge turned slowly. Under the faint glow of the open refrigerator, Micah stood with one hand pressed against the cake box, the other already smeared with a bit of frosting. His hair was messy, and his shirt was half untucked. His eyes blinked, slow and a little unfocused.
"Isn't this my cake?" Micah asked in a sluggish mumble, licking frosting from his finger.
Clyde's heart skipped a beat. "Yes," he said gently. "It is. Sit down. I'll get you a fork."
Micah didn't move right away. He just stood there, reaction delayed.
