Micah stepped out of the bathroom, finding Clyde standing in the centre of the room.
"Want me to dry your hair?" Clyde asked, raising the hair dryer in his hand.
Micah blinked, caught off guard. His anger and embarrassment from earlier melted away instantly. He nodded slowly.
Clyde pointed at a couch. "Sit here then."
Micah obeyed, trying to keep his movement natural. He sat down and let the man work his magic. The last time this happened, he had been at Clyde's place, still uncertain, still guarded. But even then, he man's gentle touch had been steady, gentle, like he was handling something fragile.
This time wasn't any different. The warm air hummed softly. Clyde patiently moved the hair dryer through Micah's damp strands, pausing now and then to run a hand through his hair, smoothing it down. His fingers were careful, not hesitant, as if memorising the texture of Micah's silver hair.
