Micah lay stiffly on the mattress, the blanket pulled halfway up his chest. His eyes slid toward Clyde, careful, cautious, watching him through his lashes. The man hadn't moved for a while. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, each breath slow and calm, his eyes shut as though he were already asleep.
Micah didn't know why he felt frustrated. His body was restless. His thoughts were worse. He wanted Clyde to reach out, to touch him, to pull him close the way he had before. Yet at the same time, the thought of Clyde actually doing that made him panic. What if Clyde noticed? What if he realised what was going through Micah's head? That he was just some nineteen-year-old boy whose mind was consumed with shallow physical thoughts, unable to control himself? Like he was some animal in heat or something. Until now, he had already shown Clyde how immature he was. If he noticed this… wouldn't he think he didn't want a serious relationship? Just superficial physical intimacy?
