I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)-Chapter 75: A Crack in the Ice

"I won’t let you get anywhere. Not tonight, dude." 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

Cherion was fairly certain that if he moved his left pinky toe, his entire skeleton would simply disintegrate into a pile of disgruntled ash. "Annoyed" didn’t even begin to cover it. He was basically a walking, whining emoji. His body felt like it had been run over by a freight train, reversed over by a semi-truck, and then, just for spice, thrown through a car wash full of jagged bricks.

Every time his boot hit the floor of the Duke’s wing, a fresh bolt of lightning shot up his shins. God, I’d kill for an Advil, he thought, his internal monologue spiraling into a frantic, caffeinated rant. Two Advil. No, the whole bottle. Maybe a shot of numbing stuff and a time machine back to when "working out" didn’t feel like getting repeatedly slammed by a rogue tree branch.

He was done. Finished. Kaput. He’d reached his limit after hearing Elios and Flio’s conversation..

Oh, finally. He could see Zarius’s bedroom door. It was exhausting. It was also, frankly, getting a little old. Cherion reached the massive oak that guarded the Duke’s private quarters and didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t even pause to look dramatic or smooth his hair. Nope. He just started punching that door like it owed him money.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Each blow sent a jolt of agony through his bruised knuckles and his shredded shoulder muscles. He winced, his face scrunching up in a way that was definitely not "noble," but he didn’t stop. He was a man possessed. He was a man who had tasted dirt for three hours a day and was now ready to spit it back.

The door creaked open. Just a sliver. That tiny gap said it all: Zarius was going to do the same thing again like before, and he was loving it.

"Cherion," the voice came, cold and serious. "I am occupied. Go back to sleep. Do not..."

"Uh, nope," Cherion said. "Not happening, Z."

He didn’t wait for an invitation. He didn’t ask nicely. He planted his shoulder against the wood and shoved. It was a clumsy, desperate heave that involved a lot of undignified grunting, but the sheer shock of the assault worked. Zarius, who had clearly been leaning his weight against the door to keep the world out, stumbled back as the oak swung wide with a heavy thud.

Zarius regained his balance with that infuriating, feline grace, his brow furrowed like a storm cloud about to text someone passive-aggressively. "Have you actually lost your mind?" Zarius demanded, voice dropping like he was trying to sound scary but mostly sounded grouchy. "You barge in here like a common rogue in the middle of the night."

"Out of my mind? No, that would be you, Your Grace," Cherion bit back, the sarcasm dripping off him like slush off a boot. He marched into the room, his limp making him look more like a vengeful pirate than a consort, but he didn’t care. "Me? I’m perfectly sane. I’m just a guy who’s tired of living in a Gothic novel. Stop it. Just... stop."

Zarius straightened his silk robe, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, obsidian light. "I do not know what you think you are doing, or what are you even saying, but..."

"I know exactly what I’m doing!" Cherion yelled, and then immediately lowered his voice because his throat hurt. He stepped into Zarius’s personal space. "Stop with the excuses. ’I’m afraid I’ll drain you.’ ’You need to rest more.’ Blah, blah, blah. You’ve been playing this hide-and-seek nonsense with me for forty-eight hours, Your Grace! I know the curse is wrecking you. You’re not fine. Not at all!"

Zarius opened his mouth to argue, probably some nonsense about ’duty’ or ’protection’, but Cherion didn’t give him the chance. He’d had enough of the distance. He’d had enough of the walls.

He lunged. It was a bit of a wobble, really, because his left calf chose that exact moment to cramp up like a seized engine, but he made it. Smacked right into Zarius’s bubble like a hurricane with bad timing.

Cherion reached up and grabbed him.

His hands, red and calloused from the practice sword, cupped Zarius’s jaw. He didn’t do it gently. He gripped that stubborn, aristocratic jawline with a desperate, furious strength, forcing the taller man to tilt his head down. Forcing him to look.

Zarius froze. His entire body went rigid, his breath hitching in a way that was entirely too loud in the silent room.

"Look at me," Cherion commanded, his voice trembling not with fear, but with the sheer weight of his frustration. "Don’t you dare look away."

They were so close that Cherion could feel the scorching heat radiating from Zarius’s skin. They were sharing the same air, their breaths mingling in a frantic, uneven rhythm. Cherion got a close-up on Zarius’s red, bloodshot eyes, seeing the way his pupils were blown wide with a mix of hunger and absolute, soul-deep terror.

"You think you’re being a hero?" Cherion whispered, his thumbs tracing the line of Zarius’s cheekbones with a sudden, fierce tenderness that felt like a bruise. "You think suffering silently is a gift to me? It’s not. It’s an insult."

Zarius’s hands came up, hovering uncertainly near Cherion’s waist, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to pull the boy into his bones or push him out the window. "Cherion... Step back now."

"Step back for what?" Cherion countered. "So you can do that thing where you shove me out the door, lock it, and then go back to pretending you are fine the next morning? No thanks."

"Don’t you remember what happened to you last time? Go and rest. Before I have the guards carry you back to your wing."

"Oh, please. I’d love to see them try. I’ll dead-weight it," Cherion retorted. He shifted his grip, his eyes narrowing. "And let’s be clear: I am fine now. That day was a fluke. A sudden burst. It won’t happen again. Probably. Maybe. Look, the point is, I can swing a practice sword for three hours until I taste copper."

"I am ensuring your safety, as is my job."

Cherion’s grip on Zarius’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping to a low, fierce whisper. "If you want to protect me, then do your job as a partner. Stand still and let me do mine. Because the only version of this story where I’m ’safe’ is the one where you’re alive and stable. You think you’re being a hero by keeping me away? No. You’re just being a coward who’s afraid to admit he needs this little Omega to keep him from exploding."

Zarius flinched as if Cherion had actually slapped him. The scary, piercing look in his eyes blinked out like a faulty lightbulb, vibe fizzling out to just... tired guy energy. He opened his mouth, probably ready to lecture about rules or something, but nothing came out.

For a long, heart-stopping moment, Zarius didn’t move. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down at a sea he didn’t know how to swim in.

And then, slowly, the granite started to crumble.

Cherion felt it first in the Duke’s jaw, the way the muscle finally stopped jumping under his palms. He felt it in the way Zarius’s breath hitched and then released in a long, shuddering sigh that smelled of cedar and old iron.

"You are..." Zarius rasped, his eyes finally softening into something raw and vulnerable, "...too bold for your own good."

"Well, I’m too tired to be polite," Cherion grumbled, his fingers tangling in the dark hair at the nape of Zarius’s neck. "Get used to it. I’m not leaving until the job is done."