From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 586: The Man Missing From the Story

Micah sat on the edge of the couch, still slightly damp from the shower. His hair clung in soft strands across his forehead, dripping occasionally onto the clean shirt Clyde had lent to him. The room smelled faintly of traditional Chinese medicine and warm steam, the lid of the herbal concoction cup still lying sideways on the table.

He hadn’t argued, not even once. Clyde had stood in front of him, staring with that unreadable face that somehow held more worry than sternness, and Micah had surrendered instantly. He drank the dark brown concoction, swallowed the medicine, and didn’t even dare complain about the bitterness at the end. His stomach was still a little sensitive from the incident earlier, and Clyde had made it clear he wasn’t compromising.

"Drink all of it," Clyde had said, tapping his fingers on the rim of the cup until Micah finally obeyed.

And Micah had. He felt guilty, honestly. He should have known better than to gulp a random glass at the Ramsy mansion, especially when he knew something like this had happened in the novel. It was stupid. He knew that. He didn’t need Clyde’s reprimand to feel the shame.

But now that the fuss had passed, Micah sat straight on the couch, waiting for the lecture.

Yet, Clyde had grabbed the hairdryer and stood behind him. He gently ran his hand through Micah’s damp hair and dried it. Micah’s tense body relaxed a little. It meant Clyde had let him off in some way.

After Clyde put away the hairdryer and walked toward the master bedroom, Micah belatedly realised another problem.

It was a completely new headache. The sleeping arrangements. The last time he had stayed here, Micah had ended up sleeping in Clyde’s arms, thinking nothing of it. But now...

Micah looked at the half-open bedroom door, hesitating. The quiet hum of the heater filled the space. The lights were dim, tinted warm, casting long shadows across the floor.

Clyde was already inside, having finished drying his hair with a towel. Now, he sat on the bed, scrolling through his phone with the same serious expression he used for a business meeting.

Clyde turned his head, frowning. He stood and pulled the door fully open. "Why are you standing there?" He asked, puzzled.

Micah’s eyes drifted to Clyde, swallowing the words of refusal sitting on his tongue. He walked toward the doorframe but stopped, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt.

He was in a dilemma. One side of him desperately wanted to sleep beside Clyde, wanted the comfort, that warmth, that sense of safety he only felt with this man. But on the other hand, Clyde’s offhand remark earlier about his wife/ Du Pont Madam made his insides burn from embarrassment. If he slept next to him tonight, wouldn’t that mean he had accepted the role of being his wife willingly?

His mind wouldn’t stop spiralling. Until now, Micah had not dwelled on the meaning of his eagerness to sleep with Clyde. He just felt comfortable sleeping beside the man. Aside from occasional morning reaction, Micah felt the most at ease when he was lying beside him. But now after Clyde had teased him in the parking lot, he felt over-conscious.

Since they got together, everything had happened so fast. Too fast. They shared some kisses, some hugs, but neither had gotten the chance to settle into anything normal. Not even going on a few dates. They barely had time to process their feelings before chaos swallowed them whole. The switched-baby scandal had exploded. Darcy learned the truth. Micah ran away from home. Then he lived with Darcy, then Clyde hid some things from him, Darcy had a dream about the future...

Nothing about their situation had ever been calm.

Micah wasn’t complaining, but he was beginning to question everything he had done with Clyde. Was he too fast? Too emotional? Too dependent? Would Clyde think he was too forward?

He stood there silently, overthinking everything to death, the tips of his ears turning red from remembering his past actions, while Clyde watched him.

The man lifted a brow and let out a quiet questioning sound. "Hmm?"

Micah racked his brain on how to refuse sleeping with the man without hurting Clyde’s feelings. "Well, um..." He lifted a hand to scratch his cheek, eyes darting everywhere except at Clyde. "I have a block nose recently. I might snore. Maybe it is better I sleep..." his voice died down as Clyde reached forward, grabbed his hand, and tugged him inside.

"That was it?" Clyde asked flatly. "You snore all the time."

Micah was taken aback, ready to deny the accusation. But Clyde continued with another round of attack. "And you do much worse in your sleep. Kicking and clinging like an octopus..." Clyde said, locking the door behind him without looking away from Micah’s face.

Micah’s ears turned scarlet. Truthfully, he also knew he wasn’t a peaceful sleeper.

Clyde used this opportunity to push him down the bed gently. Micah toppled backward onto the mattress with a small startled noise, bouncing lightly.

"Sleep," Clyde said simply. "Don’t overthink everything."

Micah pressed his lips together, cheeks puffing slightly in protest, but he didn’t fight it. He curled on his side, pulling the blanket over his body like a retreating turtle. He could feel through the mattress the shift of Clyde sitting next to him, then lying down. A moment later, the lights dimmed to near darkness.

Then an arm slid around his waist. Micah stiffened instantly.

Clyde’s voice came soft, low, right against his ear. "I’ll do whatever you say. If you’re uncomfortable with this arrangement, I’ll find another way to protect you."

Micah’s throat tightened. He shut his eyes, feeling the warmth of the hand on his waist seep through the fabric of his shirt. He breathed in slowly, trying to steady himself.

"It’s not that I’m uncomfortable," he whispered, voice barely audible. "I just... don’t know how to say it."

Clyde stayed quiet, waiting.

Micah swallowed, searching for courage. His fingers twitched restlessly against the blanket.

"Like you..." He started, then paused, cheeks burning. "I also... want to tell everyone you’re mine."

Clyde inhaled sharply, not loudly, but enough that Micah felt his chest press closer to his back.

"But I’m scared," Micah continued, eyes trembling shut. "The future I dreamed about..." He hesitated, breath catching. "There wasn’t even a mention of you."

Clyde’s hand stilled.

Micah pushed on, voice shaking slightly. "What if I drag you into a mess? What if I change your fate? What if our fates weren’t supposed to align...that’s why you weren’t there?" He gripped the blanket tightly, knuckles pale. "What if something awful happens because of me...?"

He had never voiced this to anyone, not even to himself. It felt too much, too raw. But lying here, with Clyde holding him, the fear spilled out.

In the novel he dreamed about, there was no Clyde. Not in the main plot. Not in the side plot. Not even as a passing extra.

Dean was mentioned. The four scum male leads were obviously there. But Clyde? Nothing.

A man like Clyde, handsome, powerful, capable, should have outshone all of them. Yet the author didn’t even give him a name.

How was that possible? Why didn’t he exist?

And now that Clyde was beside him... What if being involved with him put him in danger? What if it altered his fate? Bringing misfortune onto him?

Clyde’s earlier grievance, that Micah hesitated at the door, that Micah wouldn’t sleep with him tonight, vanished instantly. It disappeared like smoke. In its place came something else entirely.

Clyde felt Micah’s body tremble faintly within his arms. He felt the tension in his fingers, the uneven breaths he tried to hide. Every word Micah whispered hit him like a strike to the chest.

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly against Micah’s hair. So that’s what it was. Not rejection. Not regret. Not fear of closeness.

Micah had been trying to protect him. Clyde’s throat tightened. He had pushed too hard earlier. He realised it now. The way he joked about his "wife." The way he cornered Micah emotionally. The way he rushed forward was because he was impatient, afraid, desperate not to lose the young man.

Clyde couldn’t take it anymore. Every day, he felt he might lose Micah. Every new person... every new encounter... might put him in danger. Not to say those four scumbags lingered in the dark. Even if Darcy was disgusted by them, guarded as he was, Clyde’s past repeated failures had made his mind too fragile to bear the possibilities. Now that even Silas had held Micah in his arms at the hospital, what if something worse happened? He couldn’t wait for Micah to get ready to announce their relationship.

He thought Micah hesitated tonight because he didn’t want him. Because the talk of marriage, of a future, scared him away. But Micah wasn’t rejecting him. Micah was terrified of harming him.

Now, in bed, Clyde regretted his earlier push. He couldn’t see Micah conflicted. Couldn’t see him mull over something like this. He could wait. He could tolerate anything if it made Micah at ease. His earlier rushed words put Micah on the spot and made him second-guess every little thing.

Clyde opened his eyes, staring at the faint outline of Micah’s back in the dimness. He slowly tightened his arm around the young man, pulling him closer until Micah’s spine met his chest fully.