Micah stared at Clyde's shaken eyes, his own brow furrowed with deep concern. There was something uncharacteristically fragile in Clyde's gaze. Something that made Micah's stomach twist. Clyde always seemed like stone: steady, unreadable, unshakable. But now… now he looked like something inside him had cracked.
Micah reached out, placing a hand gently on Clyde's arm. His touch was light, uncertain, but firm enough to feel the muscle under it stiffen. "Can you tell me now what happened?" he asked softly, voice edged with frustration.
Clyde's pupils trembled. He inhaled sharply, then turned his head away, avoiding Micah's eyes. The shame burned him from the inside. He couldn't bring himself to speak. His fists rested in his lap, clenched, knuckles pale. The memory of losing his temper was still too fresh, too humiliating.
"Oh, come on!" Micah yelled, full of irritation. "I've put up with you this long! Don't give me this crap now!"
