I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The afternoon light filtered through the small window of Philia’s bedchamber.

Outside, the faint, distant sounds of children shouting and chasing a leather ball echoed across the courtyard, but inside the room, the silence was thick and suffocating.

Philia sat on the edge of the narrow frame bed, his torso stripped down to his thin undershirt.

Valen stood over him, holding the tail end of a long, white linen bandage between his teeth while his hands expertly pinned the clean cloth tight across Philia’s ribs. With every firm pull of the wrap, Philia’s breath hitched, a low, barely audible hiss escaping his clenched teeth.

”It split wide open again during lunch, didn’t it?” Valen asked flatly, dropping the bandage end from his mouth as he secured the knot over the left side of Philia’s ribs.

”It... just pulled a little,” Philia rasped, his eyes glassy with sweat, his fingers tightly clutching the edge of the mattress to keep from flinching away. ”I sat up too fast when Nora spoke to her.”

Valen didn’t answer right away. He grabbed a fresh outer shirt from the wooden peg near the door and held it open for Philia, guiding his arms through the sleeves with practiced, iron-steady care.

”She held her tongue,” Valen said quietly, pulling the high collar closed to hide the white linen peeking out near Philia’s throat. ”The girl didn’t say a word to Nora. You can stop holding your breath.”

”That’s what frightens me,” Philia whispered, his head hanging low, his hair falling forward to shadow his pale, drawn face. ”She’s seven years old, Valen. She shouldn’t have to keep a secret like that. She shouldn’t be sitting at lunch trembling into her soup because she thinks she did something wrong.”

Before Valen could respond, a very soft, hesitant scratch sounded against the lower panel of the heavy wooden door.

Both men went entirely motionless.

Valen’s hand shifted instinctively toward the inner lining of his dark coat, his dark eyes snapping toward the door latch. Philia forced his spine straight, taking a tiny, agonizing breath as he smoothed down his sleeves.

”Stay back, My Lord,” Valen murmured, stepping silently across the floorboards.

He unlatched the heavy iron bolt with a quiet, dull click and pulled the door inward just an inch.

Standing in the dim hallway outside was Libby.

She was clutching a tiny, wilted bouquet of yellow dandelions in her small fist. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, her lower lip quivering so violently she could barely keep her mouth closed. She looked up at Valen’s tall, intimidating frame, then quickly peeked past his hip into the shadows of the bedroom.

Valen looked down at her, his face an unreadable, stern mask, before he glanced back over his shoulder at Philia.

”Let her in, Valen,” Philia said, his voice quiet, soft, and completely devoid of hostility.

Valen stepped aside, opening the door wide enough for the little girl to slip through before taking up a position beside it.

Libby took three small, hesitant steps into the room, her bare feet making almost no sound on the wood. She stopped near the foot of the bed, her small shoulders hunched inward, her eyes fixed entirely on the floorboards.

”Libby?” Philia called out softly, shifting his weight forward on the mattress despite the sharp fire flaring up his ribs. ”What are you doing here, sweet girl? Aren’t the others playing out back?”

Libby didn’t answer. A big, heavy tear spilled over her long eyelashes, splashing onto her dirt-stained apron.

”I’m... I’m sorry,” she sobbed out suddenly, her tiny voice breaking down into a mess of wet, desperate hiccups. She held the crushed dandelions out with both trembling hands, her chest heaving violently. ”I’m sorry, Philia! I didn’t mean to!”

Philia blinked, a wave of profound, heartbreaking confusion washing over him. ”Libby... what are you talking about?”

”I bumped into you!” Libby cried, her small face crumpling into sheer, helpless misery as she squeezed her eyes shut. ”Back there! I moved back too fast and I bumped your tummy, and then... and then all the red came out! I made your old hurt open up! I’m sorry! Please don’t be in pain! Please don’t be mad at me!”

Philia felt as if someone had plunged a blade straight into his throat.

He stared at the weeping child, his mind reeling as the realization struck him with crushing force. She hadn’t been terrified because he was dangerous or dark or broken. She had been carrying the unbearable weight of thinking that she was the one who had hurt him, that her clumsy small body had reopened his painful wound.

”Oh, Libby...” Philia breathed out, his own eyes instantly burning with sudden, hot tears.

He didn’t care about the tear in his chest. He didn’t care about the agony pulling across his ribs. Philia slowly slid off the edge of the bed, dropping down onto his knees on the cold floor so he was right at her eye level.

”Look at me, Libby,” Philia begged softly, reaching out with hands that shook violently, gently taking her tiny, cold wrists and drawing her closer. ”Look at me, please.”

Libby sniffled hard, wiping her nose on her shoulder as she looked up into his pale, wet face.

”You didn’t do anything wrong,” Philia said, his voice thick, raspy, and breaking with absolute sincerity. ”Do you hear me? You didn’t hurt me. Not even a little bit.”

”But... but the blood...”

”The wound was already open before we went into that hallway,” Philia lied gently, his fingers lightly brushing a stray lock of brown hair away from her damp forehead. ”I was stupid and I moved around too much earlier in the morning. It had nothing to do with you bumping into me. You were just playing a game. It was completely my fault.”

Libby stared at him, her round eyes wide, searching his face with intense, childish desperation. ”Is... is it really not my fault?”

”Not at all,” Philia whispered, taking the crushed, wilted dandelions from her small hand and holding them as if they were made of solid gold. ”I am the one who needs to apologize to you, Libby.”

Libby tilted her head, sniffling again. ”You?”

”Yes,” Philia said, his thumb softly wiping a wet tear track from her cheek. ”I scared you in the washroom. I grabbed your hands too hard, and I scrubbed them until they hurt, and I let you leave thinking something terrible had happened. I was frightened, and I let my fear hurt your feeling. I’m so, so sorry, Libby.”

Libby looked down at her small, pinkish hands, then looked back up at Philia’s gentle, tear-streaked face.

Slowly, the violent trembling in her small shoulders began to stop. She took a long, ragged breath, stepped forward, and wrapped her small arms tightly around Philia’s neck, burying her face into his shoulder.

Philia froze for a brief second, a quiet gasp escaping his lips as the small weight of her body pressed against his chest, but he didn’t pull away. He wrapped his arms securely around her little back, resting his chin against her head, holding her tight while the quiet warmth of the afternoon sun settled over them both.

I do this not only for myself. I do this for us.