Darcy sat motionless on the couch in the villa's living room, waiting for Micah's arrival. The ticking clock filled the silence, every second dragging longer than the last. His fingers drummed once against his knee before stopping. He hated waiting, but this was different. He wanted to see Micah with his own eyes.
And at last, the faint click of the door broke through the stillness, and the door slowly swung open.
Darcy lifted his gaze immediately. A figure stepped in, white-silver hair catching the soft light spilling through the door. His steps were casual, his posture relaxed, yes, that same familiar carelessness that made Darcy's eyes narrow. Even after all this time, he could recognise him with just a glance.
Those same round hazel eyes, the faint curl at the corner of his lips that always looked like the start of a smirk, that loose, almost lazy posture that made him seem comfortable in his own skin.
Micah looked up and paused when he spotted him there.
