From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 198: Caught Red-Eared

Two hours passed before Micah stirred.

His lashes fluttered, brows pulling together like he was waking from a restless dream. His hand groped around for his glasses out of habit, but didn’t find them. He blinked at the ceiling, then around the room, eyes narrowing in confusion. "Am I still dreaming? Why would I be in Clyde’s place?" he muttered.

It took a second, but then it hit him. The memories of this morning came rushing to his head.

The La Riviere Pharmaceutical. The panic attack. Clyde wrapping his coat around him. Clyde picking him up...

Micah let out a groan and buried his face into the pillow. Oh God! What a disgrace! First panic attack in front of Clyde, then he was carried like a girl...

He punched the pillow a few times, releasing all of his pent-up frustration.

Thank God Clyde had covered his face with his coat otherwise, he would have had to murder Clyde and all others who had seen him!

He stared at the sheets, unmoving. His eyes were open, but unfocused, like he wasn’t seeing what was in front of him. His thought drifted to that restroom. He had let the man hug him. Not just a brief, awkward pat or casual arm around the shoulders, he actually leaned into it. Stood there, completely still, and let Clyde wrap him up like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight.

No one could hug him like that. Not outside his family. Right. The only people who had hugged Micah were his family.

He didn’t know how to feel. Why hadn’t he pushed the man away? His breathing had already settled down once Clyde arrived. It wasn’t like he had still been choking or gasping or trembling all over. He had just needed a moment. Just a few more minutes sitting and he would have been okay.

But instead... he had buried his face into Clyde’s chest, letting the man’s warmth engulf him.

He clenched the sheets tighter in his fists, knuckles pressing white against the fabric.

What was wrong with him? Why did Clyde’s presence make something inside his chest unclench, even if just a little?

Micah let out a slow breath, eyes narrowing. Somehow, despite everything, despite how complicated and confusing things were, he had come to see the man as what? Reliable? Safe?

He didn’t know when that shift had happened. Maybe it was the little things. The way Clyde always waited for him to speak first. The way he never pushed him too hard, never said too much. The way he looked at Micah sometimes, like he was something fragile, even when Micah was being at his most difficult. Or maybe it was the silence, how it never felt heavy when Clyde was there. Just quiet. Just calm.

Micah blinked, burying his face into the pillow. He didn’t want to think about this heavy stuff. Not when he could still feel the ghost of that hug, still remembering that faint warm scent that made him feel...

No. Stop.

He shook his head quickly as if he could scatter the thoughts.

He didn’t want to analyse it.

Right now he just wanted to disappear from embarrassment. Clyde had seen him in that state. Panicked, fragile, total mess.

"How am I going to face Clyde?" he mumbled, dreading it.

No, no, no... he should just run!

He sat up slowly and looked toward the door, scanning the room. He grabbed his glasses and put them on. Then he tiptoed to the door, pressing his ear against it, listening. No footsteps. No voices. Nothing. freewebnøvel.coɱ

He opened the door inch by inch and peeked outside.

No sight of Clyde. Good.

He snatched up his shoes and blazer from the chair and stepped out of the room. With one last cautious glance down the hallway, he slipped out and padded toward the front door on silent feet. He made it halfway when...

"Dining and dashing? No, or is it hit it and quit it? Is that the phrase for this?" Clyde’s voice came from behind him.

Micah froze, feeling mortified. The shoes slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a soft thump. He turned his head like a slowly turning puppet, stiff and robotic. Behind him, leaning against the doorway to study with crossed arms, stood Clyde.

Clyde’s mouth curled into an amused smirk. One eyebrow arched, and those pale blue eyes were glittering with mischief.

Micah’s ears turned red. His neck too. He looked away, flustered.

"Wh-What nonsense are you spouting?" he snapped, voice higher than usual. "That-that phrase is for...!"

He choked, his face going redder. He was tongue-tied. He wasn’t about to explain what the second phrase meant. Damn it! How could he utter that was for one night stand and sex? "Anyway, it’s not that!" he shouted instead.

"Oh? You ordered me around, used me as a chauffeur, crashing at my place, making me carry you like a prince twice, then now you were trying to sneak out without even a thank you? What would you call that then?"

Micah gritted his teeth and spun around to face him. "That’s completely different, you ancient fossil! If you don’t know what it means, don’t use it!"

"I’m out! Goodbye!" Micah said, pulling the door handle down. But the door didn’t budge.

He blinked. Yanked again.

Nothing.

"It’s locked," Clyde said casually, strolling toward the kitchen. "Come on, I made food. Eat before you run away."

Micah stood there, hand frozen on the doorknob. That jerk! Ugh! Of course, he had locked the door in advance, knowing Micah would bolt away the moment he woke up!

He ground his teeth and stomped into the kitchen. He sat down in a chair with a loud huff.

Clyde set three different kinds of dishes on the table. All of them were light and easy on the stomach.

Micah stared at the food, lips pressed together. He didn’t want to be here. He was still embarrassed. But his stomach grumbled.

He grabbed his fork, stabbing the food in anger. He didn’t even look at Clyde and began eating in annoyance.

Clyde sat across from him, resting his chin on his palm, watching him quietly with soft eyes. Yes. This version of Micah? Embarrassed, red-faced, full of energy, eyes blazing? He liked it better.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freewe(b)nov𝒆l