I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)-Chapter 76: The Boy Beneath His Notice

"I miss you."

Those were the words that greeted Philia the moment he opened the door and saw Yerel standing there.

The words were simple, soft even, but they carried that strange, resonant weight he always seemed to carry. Yerel didn’t wait for an invitation, he stepped into the room as if he owned the air within it. He looked tired, not the messy, disheveled kind of tired, but the sort of weariness that looked expensive. His hair was perfectly in place, yet there was a faint, sharp tension in the set of his shoulders.

Philia stepped back to let Yerel in, closing the door behind him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your Highness. I expected you to go straight to your quarters. You’ve been so busy today since the sun was at its peak, haven’t you?"

"I have," he admitted, closing the distance between them until he could look at him properly. "But the thought of resting before seeing your face... It felt like a waste of a perfectly good evening. I find the King’s advisors to be particularly draining today. They speak in circles, Philia. It’s like watching dogs chase their own tails, only with more gold braid and less honesty."

Philia’s smile widened, though he reached out to gently brush a stray speck of dust from Yerel’s sleeve. "All the more reason you need to rest, Your Highness. If the advisors are draining you, the last thing you should be doing is standing here in my chambers, humoring me. You look as though you’ve carried the weight of the entire palace on your back today."

Yerel narrowed his eyes, his expression shifting into a playful, mock-offense. He folded his arms across his chest. "Are you chasing me away already? Tell me, Philia, do you hate it so much that I’ve come here? Perhaps I am simply another ’draining’ voice to add to your evening."

Philia chuckled, the sound light and soothing. He met the Prince’s gaze without flinching. "You know better than that. I could never hate your presence. In fact," he paused, his voice softening into something more intimate, "it’s one of my favorite things. A quiet moment with you is the only thing that makes the rest of this palace tolerable."

Yerel’s mock-frown melted away, replaced by a look of quiet satisfaction. He let his arms fall to his sides and let out a soft breath, feeling the tightness in his shoulders finally loosen. "And what of you? What did you do to occupy yourself while I was being buried in paperwork?"

Philia chuckled, a light, melodic sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I had a small gathering this afternoon with the other nobles at Rose Pavilion."

"A productive afternoon filled with gossip, then?" Yerel asked, his lips curving into a shadow of a smirk.

"Is there any other kind?"

Philia moved to the table and said, "You seem like you need more than politics today. I’ll prepare some tea, that silver-leaf blend you like. The one that tastes like a fresh morning."

Yerel watched Philia move toward the low table, his hands already beginning their careful work. Yerel settled into a nearby chair, simply observing. The scene felt domestic, almost ordinary, yet fragile, as if any real warmth might crack it. Philia handled the porcelain with the precision of a clockmaker. For a long moment, the only sound was the soft clink of the spoon against the cup, a steady, measured heartbeat in the quiet room.

Philia offered him the cup, his fingers brushing Philia’s briefly. "The moon is so beautiful tonight... why don’t we move out to the balcony?"

Yerel accepted the cup, a small smile playing at his lips. "If that’s where you want to be, so am I."

They moved out onto the balcony. Below them stretched the palace gardens in full bloom, bathed in a silvery glow. Far off, the lights of the capital twinkled like fallen stars, but their focus was elsewhere. They leaned against the railing, the scent of night-blooming jasmine mixing with the herbal aroma of the tea.

Yerel took a slow sip, letting the heat ground him. He glanced sideways at Philia. "So, tell me. Is there anything new being whispered? Any scandals I should be aware of?"

Philia shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Nothing of great substance. The usual bickering over trade routes and marriage prospects." He paused, his expression softening into one of quiet concern. "But people are eager to talk about Cherion. It’s all anyone asks me about."

Yerel let out a short, dry chuckle and shook his head. "Cherion. Don’t they have any better topic? It feels as though the boy has become the sole focus of the capital’s imagination."

Philia’s brow furrowed with a touch of genuine sadness. "I find myself wondering how he’s faring. It’s a harsh land up there, Your Highness, and he was never built for the cold or the isolation. I worry it’s much too difficult for him in the North. I only hope the Duke is treating him with some measure of kindness, despite the circumstances."

Yerel let out a short, dry chuckle, but it lacked any real humor. He turned to Philia, his gaze searching. "I find it fascinating that you can still worry about him, Philia. After the way he treated you, the arrogance, the subtle cruelties he threw your way whenever he had the chance, you still speak of him with concern."

Philia looked down at his tea "He was... unhappy, Your Highness. People who are miserable often try to share that weight with others. I don’t excuse how he acted toward me, but I don’t wish for him to freeze in a drafty fortress just because he lacked a kind tongue. Besides, hating him would take more energy than I’m willing to give."

Yerel shook his head, a ghost of a smile appearing. "You are far too good for this palace, Philia." He sighed, his expression turning serious again. "Don’t talk about him for now. It feels out of place tonight."

Philia nodded, skillfully pivoting to spare Yerel any more frustration. "Forgive me. Tell me about your meeting instead. What did the council find so captivating?"

"Everything," Yerel sighed. "Taxation, border disputes... and the Subjugation. The march begins soon."

Philia’s grip on his teacup tightened slightly. "The Subjugation. I see." He looked out over the dark trees of the garden. "I truly wish the North can do their best, as they always do. The Duke has always been the kingdom’s shield."

"He has," Yerel agreed. "Though some people have their doubts. There is a persistent fear among the advisors that the Duke might be... failing. They worry he can’t lead the Subjugation this time. They fear the Shield is cracked."

Yerel let out a soft breath, his frame loosening slightly, yet his eyes held their usual darkness. He looked back toward the horizon, leaving a quiet, uncomfortable pause hanging between them.

"But I intend to send a gift to Duke Valtrane," Yerel said eventually, his voice returning to that smooth, measured cadence. "A gesture of... let’s call it ’Royal Solidarity’ before they march to do the Subjugation. A token to aid them in the coming struggle."

Philia’s eyebrows arched in genuine surprise, followed quickly by a look of profound amusement. "A gift? How very thoughtful of you, Your Highness. Truly, your heart is a bottomless well of charity. I’m sure the Duke will be deeply touched by such a nice gesture. And I suppose whatever you give will be... incredibly helpful?"

"Incredibly," Yerel echoed. He looked at him then, and for the first time that evening, a real smile touched his face.

Philia raised his cup, his eyes shining with reflected starlight. "Then to the Duke. May he receive exactly what he deserves."