I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Zarius woke with a violent jolt, his heart pounding hard against his ribs. It wasn’t a gentle one, more like dragging himself up from something dark and suffocating. His neck ached with stiffness, and the couch creaked as he shifted.

Gods, the air felt awful. The half-empty bottle sat on the table, almost accusing. He’d done it again. Like always. He’d gone back to see it again, stood there staring at the family portrait until it felt like the dead were watching him. Then he came here to drink until the memories dulled.

He rubbed his face, his palms feeling rough against his skin. Every year, it was the same. The closer it got to that day, the same old feeling settled in, like it always did. It was a ritual now. A penance, perhaps? He wasn’t sure. He just knew that whenever the date of his parents’ death approached, he became a prisoner in his own home, reliving the blood, the screams, and the last look his mother gave him.

Zarius pushed himself upright, already preparing to face another day of duties he didn’t want. But as he shifted, he felt a strange, impossible warmth against his left side.

Oh...

He looked down, and for a terrifying heartbeat, he was certain he was still dreaming. It had to be a hallucination, a cruel trick played by a mind frayed by grief and alcohol. Because there, curled up on the very edge of the couch, was Cherion.

The morning sun was just beginning to bleed through the heavy velvet curtains, and in that dim, honeyed light, Cherion looked... soft.

Hell. He hadn’t gone back to bed. He’d vanished into the dark, leaving Cherion alone, only to wake up here like a common drunkard. Cherion must have been frantic.

Zarius stayed still. He just watched the boy breathe. It was a jarring, almost painful contrast to the cold, stiff faces that had populated his nightmares for the last six hours. In his dreams, everything was ash and poison.

Carefully, Zarius tried to untangle himself. He tried to move quietly, but his shoulder brushed against Cherion’s arm.

The spell shattered.

Cherion stirred, his eyelashes fluttering before he blinked against the sudden intrusion of the morning. He looked up, his eyes still unfocused from sleep.

"Morning," Cherion whispered.

"What are you doing here?" Zarius asked.

Cherion didn’t look intimidated. Instead, he propped himself up on one elbow, a stray lock of hair falling over his forehead, and arched an eyebrow. "I think I’m the one who should be asking that, don’t you? I woke up in an empty bed and had to go hunting for a missing duke in the middle of the night. You weren’t exactly easy to find."

Zarius looked away, focusing on a particularly interesting knot on the floors. "I apologize. I... had things to do. Matters of state that required my attention. I must have lost track of the hour and succumbed to fatigue."

"You’ve been here all night, Your Grace," Cherion said softly. He didn’t say it like an accusation. He said it like a fact, which was somehow much worse.

Zarius cleared his throat, the metallic tang of the alcohol still coating his tongue. "Did I startle you? My movements during the night... I assume I was restless. Why didn’t you just go back to the bedroom once you found me? This couch is hardly fit for two."

Cherion sat up fully then, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, a gesture so vulnerably human it made Zarius’s chest ache. "Because you were here," Cherion said simply. "And I didn’t want us to be alone."

Zarius opened his mouth to offer a reply, but the words died in his throat.

"Besides," Cherion added, his voice softening, "you looked so peaceful in your sleep. And it’s not like I could just drag you back to bed."

Peaceful.

The word hit him hard. Zarius almost laughed, but it would have come out wrong. He hadn’t been peaceful. He’d been trapped in that memories, watching his mother’s face go still as she cursed him.

Cherion shifted, his gaze drifting toward the door, then back to Zarius.

"I know what day is coming," Cherion said, his voice gentle but firm, refusing to let Zarius hide. "The anniversary. For the former Duke and Duchess."

Zarius felt his mask tighten. He forced a smile to his lips, the kind of expression that usually kept people at arm’s length. "My, your information network is truly impressive. I shall have to congratulate my aides on their efficiency in updating you on the family tragedy calendar."

"Your Grace." Cherion’s voice was a warning. "Are you okay?"

Zarius stood up abruptly, his knees cracking. He walked toward the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to let the blinding white light of the North flood the room. It hurt. It felt like an interrogation.

"Why wouldn’t I be?" Zarius asked, his back to Cherion. "Death is a part of life, especially in our line. Yes, it is not a happy memory, but it happened a long time ago. The wounds have already healed, Cherion. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Truly."

He was lying through his teeth, and he knew that Cherion could see every crack in his voice. He felt the weight of Cherion’s stare, like he was seeing right through him. Zarius turned, intending to make a grand exit, to find some reason, any reason, to be anywhere but this room with these feelings.

Cherion stood up too, smoothing his rumpled clothes. He looked tired, but there was a stubborn glint in his eyes.

Zarius started toward the door, his hand reaching for the cold brass handle. He needed to get out. He needed the air, the cold, the mindless routine of the duchy.

"Your Grace..."

The voice was soft, but it carried an urgency that stopped Zarius in his tracks. He froze, his hand hovering over the doorframe. He waited. He waited for the question he couldn’t answer. He waited for the pity that would make him shatter.

But Cherion didn’t continue.

Zarius stood there, the silence ringing in his ears. He just waited, his heart thudding against his ribs like a trapped bird.

Instead, he felt a warm, firm hand wrap around his own.

Zarius looked down as Cherion stepped into his line of sight. Cherion didn’t say whatever had been on the tip of his tongue. He simply grabbed Zarius’s hand and began to lead him out of the study, a small, bright smile playing on his lips.

"Come on," Cherion said, his voice light, almost cheerful. "I’m starving."

Zarius let himself be led. He followed the tug of Cherion’s hand, his eyes fixed on the back of the other man’s head. He saw the smile, the way Cherion’s eyes crinkled, and he knew, with a sinking, terrifying certainty, that it was a fake.