I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The hallway felt weird this morning. Not bad, just different. Cherion stretched, shoulders popping in the silence, still trying to figure out why his chest felt so light.

He felt... Well, he felt suspiciously really good.

This whole ”transfer of magical healing energy” gig? It was actually working. No complex rituals, no chanting in dead languages that tasted like copper, no sacrificing goats in the moonlight. Just holding hands. Holding freaking hands.

Cherion looked down at his palm, still feeling the phantom warmth of Zarius’s skin against his own. If this were a video game, his MP would be flashing red, but the Duke’s health bar was finally, mercifully, ticking upward. It was a win. A massive, sleep-deprived win.

By the time he got to his door, he was humming something off-key and half-made up. He stopped when he saw it wasn’t fully closed. Just barely open.

Cherion frowned. Had he left it open? He was pretty sure his brain wasn’t that fried.

He pushed inside, and the ”good vibes” from the hallway evaporated instantly. Soren was there. Standing by the fireplace, the man looked less like a helpful aide and more like a statue carved from pure tension. His posture was so straight it looked painful, and his eyes were fixed on the doorway with a piercing intensity.

”Lord Cherion,” Soren didn’t raise his voice, but it still scraped across Cherion’s nerves. ”I’ve been trying to find you for an hour. To say I was unable to locate your whereabouts would be... a significant understatement.”

Cherion flinched. The words were polite, but the message wasn’t. It felt less like a greeting and more like getting called into someone’s office.

He suddenly felt like a college kid caught sneaking back into the dorms after curfew.

”Oh! Soren. Hey,” Cherion blurted out, rubbing the back of his neck. ”You scared the daylights out of me. I’m sorry. Truly. I didn’t realize you’d be looking for me this early. I guess you were worried sick, huh? My bad, really.”

Soren folded his hands neatly in front of his chest, like he was about to deliver a lecture on the proper way to breathe air.

”Lord Cherion,” he began, voice tight and precise. ”Where were you? What exactly were you doing? Were you with anyone? Can anyone vouch for your actions? Are there witnesses? Did...”

”Okay, okay, hold on,” Cherion interrupted, holding up his hand like he was physically begging Soren to stop. ”Stop. Please. You’re... you’re interrogating me before breakfast. I don’t think it’s cool.”

Soren blinked once, like Cherion had just said something incomprehensibly radical. Then, mercifully, he paused.

He moved toward the washbasin. ”I was in the Duke’s room. I ended up staying the night there.”

The silence wasn’t subtle. It showed up, kicked off its shoes, and made itself comfortable. Cherion could practically hear it judging him.

Cherion looked over his shoulder.

Soren had gone statue-mode. Full system crash.

His hands, which had been fussing with his sleeve, were now stiff at his sides. His face was pale, eyes wide like he’d just witnessed something illegal. The reaction was so intense it bordered on theatrical.

”You,” Soren rasped, his voice sounding like it was being dragged over gravel. ”You slept in His Grace’s chambers? All night?”

”Yeah? I mean, it wasn’t a planned sleepover or anything,” Cherion said, waving a hand dismissively. ”It just happened.”

Soren didn’t move. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. He looked at Cherion as if he had suddenly grown a second head that was currently reciting state secrets.

”Why?” Soren whispered. ”Why would you stay? Why would he allow it?”

Cherion tilted his head, his brow furrowing. Why was this such a big deal? ”I mean, is it really that wrong?” he asked, a bit of his old modern-world sass slipping through the cracks. ”I’m his fiancée, aren’t I? Technically? It’s not like I’m some stranger off the street. We’re going to be married, eventually.”

The word married seemed to be the final straw.

Cherion immediately wanted to slap his own mouth shut. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’d forgotten the setting for a second. This wasn’t the 21st century where a pre-marital nap was no big deal.

This was a ”traditional novel” world, a place where the nobility probably had eighteen different rules about the distance between a couple ’s pinky fingers before the wedding vows. He’d just admitted to a massive social taboo in a world that probably burned people for less.

”Wait, no! I didn’t mean it like that!” Cherion scrambled, his face heating up until he was sure he was glowing in the dark. ”I was tired. That’s it. Totally innocent. But nothing... you know... happened. It was just a bed! A very large, very comfortable bed that I happened to share with a Duke!”

He wanted to keep digging the hole deeper, but Soren didn’t give him the chance.

The aide’s expression shifted, the shock curdling into something sharp and tense. He bowed, a stiff, jerky movement that lacked his usual smooth grace. ”I see. I was... unaware the intimacy between you had progressed to such a degree. I apologize for my intrusion, Lord Cherion. I shall leave you to your... well-earned rest.”

”Soren, wait...”

But Soren was already at the door. He didn’t look back. He didn’t even say goodbye. He just vanished into the hallway. The door clicked behind him, a sound suspiciously dramatic for a simple door.

Cherion stood in the middle of his room, blinking at the wood grain. ”Well,” he muttered to the empty air. ”He can be so weird sometimes.”

He walked further into the room, tossing his robe onto a chair, but he couldn’t shake the image of Soren’s face. That wasn’t just ”oh my God, manners!” shock. It was... scary personal. Like someone had just read his diary out loud.

Cherion stopped, his hand hovering over his bedsheets. He looked back at the closed door, a sudden, wild thought blooming in his mind like an invasive weed. He’d read enough webtoons and romance novels to know a specific trope when it slapped him in the face.

The intense loyalty. The constant, suffocating presence. The way Soren treated Zarius like a fragile piece of porcelain while looking at everyone else like they were dirt on his boots. And that reaction... that genuine, soul-crushing horror at the idea of Cherion and Zarius being ”intimate.”

”No,” Cherion whispered, his eyes widening. ”No way. That can’t be it. Is he...?”