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Third Person POV

Ryder couldn’t sleep. First, because he wasn’t tired, and second—because he found himself watching Clyde.

Damn... he looks so pretty. Ryder thought as his eyes traced the sleeping boy’s silhouette.

The room was dim, but faint moonlight filtered in through the small window above, casting a soft glow across Clyde’s face. The light caught the gentle curves of his cheekbones and the slope of his nose, making him appear almost ethereal. Ryder stared, mesmerized. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve being cared for by someone so kind, someone who looked like that.

His thoughts drifted to the bruises and cuts scattered across Clyde’s body. They were fresh. Untreated. Painful just to look at. Ryder clenched his jaw, the memory of those marks stirring something unpleasant in him. No one gets those wounds by accident. Someone had hurt Clyde. Repeatedly.

And still... the boy had helped him.

That thought tangled Ryder’s mind in knots. Clyde’s skin was pale, untouched by the sun, and soft-looking—almost too fragile. He had delicate, feminine features, from the long lashes to the soft curve of his lips, and eyes like frozen oceans. Blue, calm, and quietly haunting. Ryder’s heart raced just remembering them.

But looking wasn’t enough.

Slowly, carefully, Ryder shifted closer. He reached out, hesitant at first, and gently brushed his fingers across Clyde’s cheek.

To his surprise, Clyde leaned into the touch, even in sleep.

Ryder felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. His chest warmed unexpectedly. This boy—this stranger—had treated him without hesitation, offered him kindness without a name. Ryder couldn’t explain it, but it felt like he’d known Clyde longer than just a few hours. Like he’d been searching for something, and now he’d found it in this quiet presence beside him.

A pure soul, Ryder thought. Unlike mine.

Clyde stirred suddenly, curling into a ball, shivering slightly. Ryder hesitated—but only for a moment. Slowly, he slid his arm beneath Clyde’s slim waist and carefully lifted him off the cold floor. He was surprised by how light Clyde was—too light.

Does he even eat?

He gently laid Clyde down on the bed beside him, making sure not to jostle him. Clyde instinctively curled up again—this time, pressing into Ryder’s chest—and the contact made Ryder freeze for a second, caught off guard.

Warmth bloomed in his chest.

He closed his eyes.

And for the first time in days, he felt peace.

•

Morning came with faint light streaming through the dusty window. Clyde stirred, blinking slowly—only to realize he was in Ryder’s arms.

His breath caught.

He was resting against the man’s chest, using his arm as a pillow. Heat flushed up Clyde’s face in full force. How did I get here? he wondered, heart racing.

Carefully, he sat up, not wanting to wake Ryder. The man needed as much rest as he could get for his wound to heal quickly.

Tiptoeing out of bed, Clyde gathered his work clothes and slipped quietly out the door. Once in the hallway, he made his way to the shared workers’ bathroom for a quick wash. The cold water was shocking at first, but it helped clear his head.

After dressing, Clyde headed to the kitchen.

The other maids were already busy preparing meals, chatting among themselves. Clyde walked toward his usual seat when he overheard something that made him pause.

"Have you seen the blood near the back door?" one maid asked.

"No, why?"

“It was all over the place yesterday. I went out to throw trash and saw it. I wonder whose blood it was…”

The other shrugged, uninterested.

Crap, Clyde thought. I forgot to clean it up.

He sat down in silence, mind racing, when he suddenly remembered Ryder might be hungry once he wakes up. The thought made Clyde stand up and approach the cooks—his heart pounding. He rarely made requests like this.

He waited until one of the cooks wasn’t busy, then gently tapped his shoulder. The man turned with a sharp glare, but Clyde quickly pointed at the food and mouthed a request for an extra plate.

The cook eyed him, then wordlessly handed him one.

"Yes, sure. Here."

Clyde smiled shyly and nodded in gratitude before hurrying back toward the dungeon with the food.

He opened the door quietly, peeking inside. Ryder was still asleep, his breathing even. Clyde placed the food carefully on the small table beside the bed. He paused, then pulled out his notepad and pen.

*“I’m going out to work. Here’s some food in case you’re hungry when you wake up. Please rest well.”*

He tore the note and laid it beside the plate.

His eyes flickered toward Ryder’s bandaged side. No blood. The wound was healing.

Clyde smiled—just a little—before silently exiting the room, closing the door behind him. He would now return to the kitchen, eat his own breakfast, and begin the day’s work.

But as he walked away, the memory of Ryder’s warm chest and the feel of being held stayed with him like a secret he didn’t know what to do with.

To be continued.

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