I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

”Stu...pid... Yerel...”

The words drifted through the room, low and fragile, but with a bite that made the hair on Zarius’s arms stand on end.

Zarius had already been awake for some time. He lay perfectly still, red eyes tracing the shadows above while every sense stayed tuned to the soft, steady pulse of the man beside him. Cherion had been stirring for a while, tossing, his brow furrowing as if he were trying to outrun a ghost in the dark, and Zarius remained still, their hands entwined, holding the steady current of healing energy like a lifeline.

Morning light drifted across the room, Zarius had found himself looking down at Cherion’s sleeping form. The red sapphire he’d given the boy the previous day rested against his throat, catching the light just so. It looked... alright.

Then the name fell.

Zarius’s jaw locked so tight he could feel the bone grinding in his skull. In the hollowed-out silence of the room, that single name somehow felt like a betrayal.

Zarius stayed frozen, but his blood felt like it had slowed, thick and sluggish.. As he listened to Cherion whimper, his voice thick with a grief that clearly belonged to another world, Zarius realized he’d overlooked one tiny detail.

Beside him, Cherion suddenly gasped. His eyes snapped open, glassy and wide with the shock of the dream. He bolted upright, his chest heaving as he tried to shake the lingering shock of the dream. For a heartbeat, as his eyes scanned the familiar and quiet room, he looked utterly lost.

”Your Grace?” Cherion breathed, his voice still thick with the residue of sleep. The sun was already beginning to peek through the frost-rimmed windows. ”Okay, wow. I just had the weirdest...”

The rejection was like a whip-crack.

As soon as Cherion’s fingers brushed the edge of the blanket, Zarius moved. He didn’t pull his hand away gently, he recoiled as if Cherion’s touch were made of acid. He rolled out of bed in one quick, awkward motion, his feet hitting the cold floor with a muffled thud.

”It’s morning,” Zarius said, his voice a flat rumble. ”The household is already moving. I have no time to listen to whatever dream you had.”

Cherion blinked, his hand hanging in the empty air. He looked at Zarius’s back, then at the bright light filtering through the curtains, then back at the Duke. ”Wow,” Cherion muttered, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. ”Your mood is certainly... not good this morning. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, or did the frost finally get into your bones?”

Zarius turned his head just enough for Cherion to see the flash of a dark, dangerous eye. ”Well,” he growled, ”thanks to you, I didn’t exactly have a restful night.”

Cherion’s eyes went wide. He felt a spike of genuine panic. ”Wait, what? What did I do?” He scrambled to the edge of the bed, his mind racing through a list of potential midnight crimes. ”Did I... did I kick you? Oh my god, did I slap you in my sleep? I know I toss and turn when I have nightmares, but I didn’t think I was a violent sleeper.”

Cherion’s eyes widened with panic as he frantically patted his mouth and checked his pillow. ”Wait, wait! Did I drool? Please tell me I didn’t drool,” he muttered, his voice thick with worry.

Zarius didn’t answer. He grabbed his tunic with sharp, jerky movements, his back a solid wall of tension as he pulled it over his shoulders.

”Wait, Your Grace, seriously!” Cherion was starting to spiral now, his voice rising an octave. ”Did I do something... inappropriate? Did I drool on you? Or did I like... try to steal all the blankets? You’re acting like I’ve personally offended your entire bloodline!”

Zarius stopped. He stood perfectly still for a second, his back a wall of unyielding stone. He thought of the name Yerel echoing in the dark. He thought of the way Cherion had looked, soft and vulnerable, while dreaming of another man.

”Enough,” Zarius barked. He pointed toward the door, his jaw set in a grim, unforgiving line. ”Go back to your quarters. I want this room empty before the attendants arrive.”

”Your Grace, come on!” Cherion stood up, tangled in the heavy furs for a second before finding his feet. ”If I kicked you, I’m sorry! I’ll stay on my side of the bed next time, I promise. Hmm?”

”I said go,” Zarius growled, his voice rising in a rare display of raw, unchecked temper. He turned away, grabbing his heavy fur cloak and swinging it over his shoulders as if he were donning a suit of armor. He wouldn’t look at Cherion. He couldn’t look at him without wanting to demand why he was still calling for a prince who didn’t deserve him. ”Do not make me repeat myself.”

Cherion stood there, his mouth slightly agape. He looked at the Duke’s back, the broad, cold expanse of a man who had just slammed every door between them. He felt a sting of frustration. One minute they were sharing a quiet moment with a necklace, and the next, he was being kicked out like a servant who’d broken a vase.

”Fine!” Cherion huffed, grabbing his discarded tunic from the chair near the bed. ”I’m going!”

He marched toward the door, his face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and irritation. As he reached the threshold, he paused, waiting for Zarius to say something, anything.

There was nothing but the sound of Zarius tightening his belt, a sharp, leather-on-leather creak that signaled the end of the conversation.

Zarius finally let out a breath he’d been holding. He looked at the empty spot on the bed, his gaze drifting to the pillow where Cherion’s head had rested. He could still smell the faint scent of honey, a scent that now felt like a taunt.

Yerel. The name had landed in the air like a stone, sinking deep into his gut. He couldn’t get rid of the taste of it. Sour. Sharp.

Cherion had never once spoken of the prince. Never even mentioned him. He’d always been so... silent about it, as if Yerel was locked away in some distant part of his past, something he’d buried deep.

And definitely not in his sleep. Not with that kind of grief weighing his voice down. What kind of dream had he had about Yerel? Why was he still haunted by a man who had... what? Forgotten about him? Ignored him? It didn’t make sense.

Why was Cherion still holding onto it? Was the prince that significant to him? That important?

”Why did it matter so much? Yerel was a prince, someone Cherion had known before. Why did it bother him? Zarius shook his head, dismissing the thought. No. He wasn’t angry over that. He was angry over how stupid it all was, how the past kept creeping into everything.

Zarius let out a long breath, frustration building inside him. He hadn’t expected to feel like this.

”Stupid,” Zarius muttered to the empty room, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking about Cherion, Yerel, or himself.