Clyde and Micah sat stiffly in the Maple room, the silence stretched longer than either of them liked. The soft rustling of Micah's fingers playing with the edge of Clyde's coat was the only sound in the room.
Micah didn't seem to notice what he was doing. He tugged gently at the thick fabric draped around his shoulders, fiddling with the hems. His eyes lowered, staring blankly at the polished table in front of him. Every now and then, he shifted slightly in his seat, his damp hair brushing against the collar of the coat.
Clyde tried not to look, but his eyes kept sliding sideways. From the corner of his eye, he caught glimpses of Micah toying with the coat, his coat. Something about that sight made the back of his neck heat up. He cleared his throat quietly, hoping the sound would shake off the strange feeling crawling up his chest.
