When the stables came into view at the bottom of the hill, Micah finally spoke, his voice a bit shaky. "Wait."
The sudden word broke the quiet rhythm of hooves over grass.
Clyde pulled Onyx to a halt, glancing down instinctively at the boy sitting in front of him. Micah's posture stiffened, his back snapping straight.
"What is it?" Clyde asked, keeping his voice even, though his fingers tightened slightly around the reins.
Micah hesitated, eyes fixed ahead. His ears had gone a deep shade of red, the flush slipping down the sides of his neck like spreading ink. "I don't want others to see us like this…" he mumbled.
Clyde blinked. For a moment, he said nothing. His gaze dropped lower, lingering on the small freckles scattered across the nape of Micah's neck, exposed between the damp collar of his shirt and the edge of his curls. His eyes were glued to Micah's back, tracing every inch of it, his slender neck, the curve of his shoulder blades, the faint line of his spine.
