From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 659: Public PDA → Private Panic

Micah sagged with relief the moment Darcy shut Emile up by forcing a steamed bun straight into his blabbering mouth. He exhaled slowly through his nose, like someone who had just narrowly avoided a car crash.

Then he lifted his head and glared at Emile with the intensity of a betrayed emperor.

Emile, completely unaware he was seconds from death, smiled innocently and kept chewing.

Across from them, Clyde wasn’t reacting at all. At least, not the way Micah expected. He wasn’t annoyed or jealous. He looked...Wrong. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

His shoulders had slumped back against the chair. His eyes weren’t focused on anyone, just distant, like he was staring through the room instead of at it. There was a faint crease between his brows, and his lips had lost some of their colour.

Micah noticed it a second too late.

Clyde blinked slowly. The overhead lights felt too bright. Voices sounded like they were coming through water.

Emile’s cheerful rambling blurred into noise, words without shape. Clyde tried to follow the conversation, but sentences slipped past him before he could catch them.

His head throbbed. Not a sharp pain but a heavy one. Like something was pressing from the inside. Red specks dotted the edges of his vision. He blinked, but they didn’t go away. He inhaled. Even that felt like work. He pushed a hand against the chair and stood up.

The chair legs scraped softly against the floor.

Micah snapped out of his death glare. His head whipped around, instantly alert. "Where are you going?" His voice came out too fast.

He stood so quickly his braced ankle protested, and he had to steady himself on the armrest. Still, he reached out and caught Clyde’s wrist before he could take another step.

His fingers wrapped around warm skin. Micah frowned. It was not just warm but hot.

Clyde paused, turning his head slightly, eyes half-lidded but still gentle. "Hmm? I’m just going to the restroom."

Micah stood up fully now, ignoring the pull in his ankle. "I’ll go with you."

Clyde’s lips curved faintly. "Okay... lean on me."

Which was ridiculous. Because he was the one swaying.

But he still shifted closer, steadying Micah carefully, one arm around his back, the other ready to catch him if he slipped. His movements were slower than usual, like he was walking through thick air, but he didn’t loosen his hold.

From the waiting chairs, Elina, Jacob, and the others watched the two of them shuffle off together. Their lips twitched.

When the pair were far enough away, Elina tilted her head toward Darcy. "Is he always like this?" she asked quietly. "Clingy?"

Darcy didn’t hesitate. He nodded. Yes. Absolutely.

Emile beamed. "Aunty, Micah is fine. My uncle is the one who has it bad."

Jacklin rubbed her forehead like she was developing a migraine.

Dean had positioned himself two seats away from Aria, but his eyes had not left her once. Not even during the chaos.

The rest of the Ramsy family looked between Emile and the retreating figures with expressions that ranged from disbelief to deep, philosophical confusion.

The Du Pont patriarch was head over heels for a nineteen-year-old boy who had the emotional stability of a lit firecracker.

Micah was not sweet. He was not obedient. He was not mild.

He was bold, sharp-tongued, reckless, and had the temper of someone who’d been personally offended by the universe.

His mouth was a Pandora’s box , every time it opened, something unpredictable flew out.

The family loved him. But strangers? Strangers usually needed a recovery period after meeting him.

Emile, still completely unaware he was dancing on thin ice, continued cheerfully, "He can’t stay away from Micah for a second. Buying places near wherever Micah lives. Staying in dorms or his Apartments..."

Jacklin cut in sharply. "Emile."

He blinked.

"Why don’t you go get some sweets for the kids? They didn’t like the meal."

Emile turned instantly to Jemima and Arlo, who did, in fact, look betrayed by the bland food. "Sure! Kids, what do you want?"

Cora stood up at once. "Let’s go together."

Emile grabbed Arlo’s hand, while Cora took Jemima’s, and the little group headed off.

********

By the time they reached the restroom hallway, Micah’s worry had fully settled into his chest. Something was wrong.

He glanced sideways at Clyde’s face. His steps were steady out of habit, not strength. His jaw looked tighter than usual. There was a faint sheen on his skin.

Micah slowed. "Wait." He shifted closer, reaching up without thinking, pressing the back of his fingers against Clyde’s forehead.

His breath caught. "Hey... you have a fever."

Clyde gently caught his hand and lowered it. "Don’t worry. It’s not a fever."

Micah stared at him as if he’d just said the sky was green. "Your face is hot enough to cook an egg."

"I’m fine."

"You are not fine."

"We’re in a hospital," Micah continued, already turning serious. "We’re getting your temperature checked."

Clyde wanted to brush it off. He really did. But he looked down and saw the way Micah’s brows had drawn together. The way his lips pressed tight like he was trying not to panic.

Clyde hesitated. Then sighed. "Fine."

Micah didn’t waste another second. He steered him straight to a nurse’s station, expression switching instantly into polite, earnest, slightly desperate.

He spoke softly, explained, smiled, and asked. Sweet-talking them to check Clyde’s condition.

Five minutes later...

"39.8°C."

Micah’s heart dropped straight to his stomach. Everything moved fast after that.

They quickly got an IV in, cool fluid and medicine sliding into Clyde’s vein.

Clyde lay back against the pillow, eyes half closed, breathing slowly but heavily.

Micah sat beside him, hands clenched in his lap, shoulders tight, looking miserable.

Clyde’s fingers shifted and found his hand. He squeezed gently.

"What is it?" Clyde murmured. "Why the long face?"

Micah’s voice came out low. "It’s because of me, isn’t it? If you hadn’t wandered in the rain... You wouldn’t have gotten sick..."

Clyde huffed softly. "How do you know that’s why? You were soaked too. You’re fine."

"Don’t try to make me feel better."

"It’s just a fever," Clyde said quietly. "Not an incurable illness."

"But I don’t ever remember you getting sick before," Micah whispered.

Clyde’s thumb brushed his knuckles. "Sorry. You already have enough on your plate. And... Now I’m keeping you from your grandma."

Micah looked at him like he’d lost his mind. "You’re kidding, right? She needs rest. I can’t sit there talking nonstop. Stop talking nonsense and sleep."

Clyde smiled faintly and closed his eyes.

Micah watched his face. The exhaustion and the paleness were evident there.

Guilt twisted deeper. After their little talk last night, Micah could not shake the guilt for Clyde’s situation.

He couldn’t even imagine Clyde looking at another person, let alone being with them in the past.

Did Clyde feel insecure? About their relationship?

Until now, they had never ended up together. How could he take his insecurities away?

Micah’s chest hurt. How was he supposed to fix that? How was he supposed to make Clyde feel safe?

Micah lowered his head. His grip tightened around Clyde’s hand. As if he held on hard enough... Clyde wouldn’t slip away. As if nothing would be able to separate them.