From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 663: Side Effects of Loving Micah Ramsy

When they arrived at Flora’s apartment building, the trio walked inside. The elevator doors slid open with a soft mechanical sigh, and Micah stepped in carefully, favoring his injured ankle. Still a flicker of pain passed across his face. He paused, glancing down at the swelling beneath the brace, then lifted his eyes toward the tall, masked man standing beside him.

Clyde’s posture was straight, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his coat, but his gaze was fixed entirely on Micah, as if ready to catch him the second he stumbled.

Micah’s shoulders sank, the fight draining out of him. His fingers curled around the coat, and he exhaled slowly. "Sorry, we can’t come in. With his cold and my ankle like this..." he said, voice softer than usual, tinged with reluctance. "Do you think your mum would be upset?"

Darcy, who had just stepped out of the elevator doors, shook his head gently. His hand lifted in a small dismissive wave, though his eyes were warm. "No, I think it’s better this way," he said. "Mum will only worry more if she sees you limping around. I’ll come up to your place later."

Micah nodded, watching Darcy’s figure disappear as the metal doors slid shut.

And just like that, they were alone.

Micah leaned back against the cool wall beside the elevator, tilting his head slightly as he let out a long breath. He stared at the floor, his thoughts a mess he didn’t know how to sort. Before he could speak, a hand reached for his.

Clyde’s fingers slipped around Micah’s, warm and firm, the contact quiet but deliberate.

Micah looked down at their joined hands, then up at Clyde’s masked face. He didn’t pull away.

They walked together down the corridor and into the apartment. The door clicked shut behind them. They made their way to the couch, their movements slow, both clearly exhausted .

Micah lowered himself onto the cushions with a tired sigh. He slumped back, head tipping against the cushion, one arm draped loosely across his stomach. Though they were getting along like usual, their words back to their normal rhythm, Micah still felt it...that invisible barrier between them, thin but unbreakable.

Clyde sat close, pulled off his mask, and set it aside.

Micah peeked at him from the corner of his eye. Clyde hadn’t been clingy before. He always kept some distance, trying to respect Micah. But after that fever, Clyde had changed in small, quiet ways. He stayed nearer. His fingers reached for Micah’s more often. He leaned into him. Sometimes he even acted spoiled, murmuring about jealousy in a half-serious tone. It was new. Softer. Almost childlike.

And yet... that wall remained.

Micah dragged both hands up to his face and rubbed his cheeks hard, as if he could scrub away the frustration.

Clyde shifted closer on the couch. Then, without saying anything, he lowered his head and let it rest against Micah’s shoulder. The weight was warm and solid, the side of his face pressing lightly into Micah’s collarbone. His breath fanned through the fabric of Micah’s shirt, steady, quiet, and familiar.

Micah stilled at once.

He turned his head, their temples nearly brushing. His brows pulled together, concern flashing across his face before he could hide it. "Are you unwell?" he asked, voice softer than he intended, eyes scanning Clyde’s posture like he was searching for hidden signs of fever or pain.

Clyde didn’t move away. If anything, he settled more comfortably, cheek angling against Micah’s shoulder as though he had found the perfect spot. "No," he murmured, voice low and slightly muffled. "But I want to stay like this."

Micah’s fingers twitched against his own thigh. He tried to shift his shoulder subtly, testing if Clyde would lift his head on his own. When he didn’t, Micah raised a hand and pushed lightly against Clyde’s temple. "You’re heavy," he complained, though there was no real force behind it. "My shoulder’s starting to ache."

But the truth was, it wasn’t just the weight.

This version of Clyde, quiet, clingy, and openly seeking comfort, made something in Micah feel off-balance. It was unfamiliar territory, and that unfamiliarity made him uneasy.

Clyde didn’t budge. His lips curved faintly, and he spoke near Micah’s ear, voice almost a whisper. "Who was the one bragging about being tough before?"

Micah’s lips pressed together, annoyance flickering across his face. He stopped pushing, his hand falling back to his lap. Darcy’s voice echoed faintly in his mind: communication.

He swallowed, hesitating. The words felt clumsy in his throat. "What’s this about?" he asked at last.

The shift in tone was small, but Clyde felt it. His body went stiff against Micah’s shoulder.

Micah drew in a breath, fingers curling into the hem of his sleeve. "Why are you acting like this?" he continued, struggling to shape the mess in his chest into sentences. "You always teased me before, yes, but it never felt like this... I don’t know how to explain it." His brows furrowed deeper. "It’s like you’re putting on a show. Like you’re performing something for me."

Clyde lifted his head then, sitting up straight. The warmth left Micah’s shoulder, replaced by cool air. "I’m not acting," he said immediately. "My feelings are real."

"I know!" Micah snapped, the words bursting out sharper than he meant. His hands came up, frustrated. "I’m not doubting your feelings. I just... I feel awful lately." His voice wavered, then hardened again. "You said I didn’t trust you, that I hide things. But... You’re the one who thinks I can’t handle things."

Clyde turned his head sharply toward him. "When did I say that?"

Micah laughed once, short and disbelieving. "You didn’t need to say it. Your actions did. You never told me you were feeling unwell!" His voice rose. "I’m supposed to be the person closest to you. I shouldn’t find out right before you faint in front of me!"

His chest rose and fell faster now. "I told you I’m not a kid. Stop treating me like one! Deep down, you think I’m useless. You never rely on me!"

The last words came out almost like a shout.

His resolve for a serious chat was thrown out of the window in a second. Micah knew, even as he spoke, that this wasn’t the calm conversation he’d meant to have, that his explosion would not help his case. But the frustration of Clyde dodging his earlier question had made his emotion going astray.

Clyde stared at him, stunned, before his gaze dropped. His shoulders lowered slightly. "It’s not like that," he said quietly. "It’s the opposite." He brought both hands up and covered his face, fingers pressing into his temples.

Micah’s chest heaved as he waited, anger and hurt tangling together.

"It’s not that I don’t want to rely on you," Clyde continued, voice muffled behind his palms. "I’m scared." His fingers tightened. "If I show my flaws... if I complain... if I say I’m sick while you’re already hurting over your grandma... you might get fed up with me.... what if you get tired of me? Finding me annoying?"

Micah blinked, caught off guard. "What? That doesn’t make sense," he said, voice dropping. "Why would that bother me?"

"It wasn’t this bad before," Clyde went on, slowly lowering his hands but keeping his gaze down. "But when I remembered you once had four men in love with you..." His jaw tightened. "I started thinking... if I act the same as before, if I show insecurities...you’ll leave like the first life."

His voice grew rough. "What do I have besides being dependable? Someone you can lean on? If I show weakness, wouldn’t that make me less appealing? So I hide it." He swallowed. "Then I saw how touchy-feely you were with Darcy. I thought maybe... if I act like that, clingy, like a jealous boyfriend, you’d at least like it better. But even that makes you unhappy."

He lifted his head then. His eyes were red, rimmed with unshed tears.

Micah’s breath caught. He saw for the first time the vulnerability in Clyde’s face, so raw and obvious. Yes. He had seen Clyde cry before. But this time was different. This time felt as if Clyde had peeled a layer of himself voluntarily for Micah to see the real him underneath.

His heart ached. Clyde’s past was always a sore spot for Micah.

Clyde had never been loved unconditionally. Not by his parents. Not by his siblings. Not by the man who raised him as father. None of them put Clyde first.

Then came Micah. The first person Clyde fell in love with. He was rejected ruthlessly as Micah picked four other men over him. Then he died saving Micah.

And after the first life, Clyde never had a chance to be with Micah, even though Micah was single. Losing him every time by being late...

It was tragic.

And now that they were together... Clyde had remembered the first life and that little bit of confidence he had left was shattered.

Micah suddenly realised how childish and foolish he had been.

Instead of making Clyde feel safe, he’d been sulking, pushing him away. He moved closer without thinking and wrapped his arms around Clyde, pulling him in tightly. His forehead pressed against his shoulder, his grip firm, almost desperate.

"I’m sorry," Micah whispered, his voice trembling. He licked his dry lips. "I had no idea. I always knew I could be self-centered... but I never thought I’d hurt you like this."

His hand slid up, fingers threading gently into Clyde’s hair, stroking.

"I’m never leaving you," he said, voice hoarse. "You’re the one holding me together. I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Even if you pushed me away, I wouldn’t let go." He drew back just enough to look at him. "You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. You don’t have to act or hide your worries. Be yourself with me. I love you... flaws, fears, everything."

His thumb brushed lightly over Clyde’s cheek.

"I’d be happy if you relied on me more. Ask things from me. You’ve done enough. You deserve to think about yourself too." His lips curved faintly through the emotion. "And honestly... I think it’s time I start chasing you instead."

He tilted Clyde’s face gently and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Then, slowly, he kissed his lips.