Micah tightened his hold on Clyde, arms wrapping around him with an instinctive protectiveness he didn't even try to hide anymore. Clyde's forehead was pressed into the crook of his neck, and the warmth there kept growing, too warm, too wet. Micah blinked, realising the crying didn't stop but had gotten worse. The overprotective, impossible, beautifully frustrating man was crying over him.
This man would be the death of him, Micah thought helplessly, his chest tightening. Out of all things, Clyde was crying because Micah saw in a dream that he would die. Just the idea of Clyde losing him, even in a dream, made this grown man unravel like this.
