From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 599: Closer Than Before (part one)

Micah leaned against the balcony railing, both forearms resting on the cold metal as he looked out at the sky. Thick clouds still hung low above the city, layered and heavy, as if the rain had merely paused to catch its breath. The storm had passed, but it left traces everywhere, darkened pavement, dripping eaves, and shallow puddles that reflected the dull grey light. The scent of wet soil rose from below, earthy and sharp, clinging to the air. It reminded him of mud on shoes, of rain-soaked clothes, of things that refused to dry completely.

A chilly autumn wind swept across the balcony, brushing his cheeks and slipping beneath the collar of his clothes. Micah barely reacted. The cold numbed more than just his skin; it dulled the constant ache pressing against his chest. Even though it was midday, the world looked as though it were sinking toward evening. The clouds stole the sunlight, leaving the streets dim and colourless. Normally, a Saturday would be filled with movement, cars, chatter, and laughter drifting up from the sidewalks. Today, the city felt strangely hollow, as if everyone had retreated indoors to wait out the lingering gloom. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

It suited him too well.

Micah let out a quiet breath and stared at nothing in particular. He had lived too many lives. Even now, even after living in this world with warmth around him, with a family that laughed and argued and worried over him, the weight of everything before still sat heavy in his bones. He had joked with his parents, teased his siblings, and acted as if he belonged easily among them. And in many ways, he did. But the memories did not disappear just because he smiled in this world, because everything was alright now.

Betrayal. Abandonment. Loneliness that stretched across years and lifetimes.

Those feelings clung to him like damp clothes that refused to dry. He knew where they came from. He understood the rules of this world, the cruel pull of the plot, the moment he lost the so-called protagonist’s aura. He could name the reason, analyse it, and explain it to himself in calm, rational words.

That did not make it hurt any less.

Micah lowered his gaze to the street below. His reflection stared back at him faintly from the glass door, older eyes set in a young face. Hazel, once bright and careless, now layered with things that no nineteen-year-old should carry. He clenched his fingers against the railing until the cold bit into his palms.

Through everything, there had been only one constant.

Clyde.

Clyde had never changed. Not across timelines, not under the pressure of the plot, not when the world twisted people into versions of themselves that Micah barely recognised. Clyde had never stopped loving him. Never hesitated. Never turned away.

And Darcy.

Darcy, too, had never hurt him. Not once. As if some instinct deep inside him knew that Micah would never raise a hand against him either. That their bond existed outside of the cruel rules that governed everyone else.

Aside from them...

Micah’s thoughts drifted, slower now.

There was his grandmother, Zhou Ruyan. Gentle, sharp-eyed, warm. She had always died before the story even began, like a fixed point the world refused to change. He never got enough time with her. Never enough words.

And his grandfather, Albert Ramsy.

He had not abandoned Micah, not truly. But grief had hollowed him out. After losing his wife, Albert withdrew from everything and everyone, retreating into silence and distance. He had watched from afar, unable, or unwilling to interfere.

Before, Micah might have had a slight resentment toward him.

Now, understanding love the way he did, Micah found he could no longer bring himself to resent the old man. Loss changed people. It broke them in quiet ways that outsiders never saw.

If one day he lost Clyde...

Micah’s chest tightened sharply.

He shook his head, as if the motion alone could scatter the thought before it took root. He refused to follow it further. Some futures were too painful to even imagine.

The soft sound of the balcony door sliding open broke the stillness. Warmth brushed his shoulders as a blanket was draped over him, careful and slow. The fabric settled around his frame, heavy enough to ground him.

Micah turned his head slightly.

Clyde stood close behind him, one hand still hovering as if to make sure the blanket stayed in place. His blond hair was a little damp from the lingering humidity, his expression calm on the surface, but Micah knew him too well to miss the tension in his eyes.

"Aren’t you cold?" Clyde asked quietly.

Micah curled his fingers into the blanket, pulling it closer around himself. The warmth seeped in gradually. He nodded once. "Yeah," he said softly. "Thanks."

Clyde stepped beside Micah, resting his hands on the railing as well, his gaze following the skyline. The city stretched endlessly before them, muted and grey. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Clyde said, "You remember, don’t you?"

His voice was steady, almost casual. Too steady. It was the tone he used when he was holding something back with everything he had.

Micah let out a short breath that was almost a laugh. Clyde had asked matter-of-factly, as if there was no doubt about it.

He glanced at Clyde from the corner of his eye. The man didn’t look at him, but his fingers had curled tightly around the metal rail.

"That obvious?" Micah asked, his voice lighter than he felt.

Clyde’s jaw tightened. "You didn’t exactly try to hide it."

From the moment Micah had opened his eyes after losing consciousness, Clyde had sensed it. The change had been subtle, but unmistakable. The way Micah looked at him, full of unspoken emotions, far beyond the depth of a young man...

And his eyes... Clyde swallowed.

Those hazel eyes held too much. Emotions layered and tightly restrained, nothing like the straightforward gaze of a carefree nineteen-year-old. There was maturity in him now, even when he smiled.

Since last night, Micah had tried to maintain the boundary between them, and Clyde had noticed it. And yet, every small, unconscious movement betrayed how close he wanted to be, how his body leaned in with just a push.

And the way he had spoken to his father earlier. Calm. Controlled. With a hint of detachment even. Understanding in a way that felt painfully adult.

It was too obvious. Micah was no longer the same.