From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)
Chapter 261: Bickering at Breakfast

Chapter 261: Bickering at Breakfast

The clink of cutlery against ceramic plates echoed softly in the quiet kitchen. The air smelled of toasted bread and eggs, with steam rising gently from their bowls and cups.

They were eating breakfast in near silence, and the atmosphere seemed peaceful.

Then Clyde broke the quiet, his voice low and casual. "So, what’s on the agenda today?"

Micah, mid-spoonful, paused with his arm halfway to his mouth. He blinked once, then turned his head toward Darcy. "Am I still invited?" he asked, his tone more curious and teasing than concerned.

Darcy looked up from his bowl, his lips curling into a small smile. "Yeah," he said, voice filled with warmth. "Nora called last night because of that."

Micah turned toward Clyde, a hint of smugness in his eyes. "I am going to the hospital with Darcy. You are on your own."

Clyde raised an eyebrow and casually took a sip from his coffee mug. He knew Micah was getting back at him after he took Darcy’s side earlier. He gave Micah a slow once-over look. "With the clothes you are wearing?" he asked flatly, the corners of his lips twitching upward as he placed the mug back down.

Micah looked down at his wrinkled pyjamas and then at Darcy’s last night’s attire. "Didn’t Georgina send over clothes? You won’t be stingy and not let us wear them, right?" Micah asked with a smug grin, tilting his chin up.

Clyde chuckled. "What’s in it for me? You still didn’t pay me back for saving your sorry ass from that isolated hilltop all the way back here."

Darcy, quietly finishing the last bite of his breakfast, glanced between them. They were talking so casually, bickering, really, and he felt like a bystander intruding on something old and familiar. He lowered his spoon into the bowl with a click.

"Oh please," Micah scoffed, rolling his eyes. He leaned on the table with one elbow and flipped a strand of hair behind his ear. "You could’ve just ignored it. Thought of it as drunken nonsense. I’m sure we could’ve survived one night out in the wilderness. Hmmp!" He turned toward Darcy with a flourish. "Right?"

Darcy was caught off guard. He wasn’t expecting to be pulled into the conversation. Both Clyde and Micah were now staring at him, waiting to pick a side.

Darcy put down his spoon and met their gazes, deadpan. "I would’ve been manhandled either way," he said flatly. "You nearly choked both me and him."

Micah stared, jaw dropping slightly. "Hey! You’re supposed to be backing me up!" he said, looking betrayed.

Clyde shook his head. "You reap what you sow."

Micah was taken aback by the words. His voice rose to a high pitch as his eyes bulged with disbelief. "No way! You’re still holding a grudge over that? Come on, I just didn’t expect you to be here too!"

Darcy raised his glass of milk slowly, taking a small sip with deliberate calmness. "I’m just stating the facts. You’re a terrible drinker."

"Fine," Micah huffed, leaning back on his chair. "If I say I won’t drink anymore, at least not outside, would you two get off my case?"

He twisted his body away from them with a pout, grumbling under his breath. "I never thought you two would get together just to gang up on me..."

Darcy hid a smile behind his glass. It wasn’t the drinking itself that bothered him. It was how reckless Micah could be, how quick he was to throw himself into people’s arms, unguarded. What if someone took advantage of him one day?

Clyde caught the look on Darcy’s face, then dropped his gaze. He was still a kid too. His motives were too transparent. If it were anyone else, they would have realised by now that he had feelings for them. But god bless Micah, the dense boy. He would never get it.

Maybe his denseness wasn’t such a bad thing.

Clyde picked up his mug again and took another sip.

Micah stood up suddenly, the chair scraping softly against the floor. He had noticed the way Clyde’s gaze wandered toward Darcy. The way the two moved in sync while making breakfast, the quiet shift in Darcy’s demeanor, pointing out how Micah had choked them when drunk, all of it made something uneasy stir in his chest.

What if Darcy got attracted to Clyde?

Would Clyde, like the original male leads, end up falling for the protagonist?

The questions unexpectedly popped into his head.

He gathered his bowl and cup quickly and carried them over to the sink. "Thank you for the meal," he said, forcing his voice to sound cheery. "I’m going to see what clothes are there for us to wear." He gave them both a wave over his shoulder as he walked toward the walk-in closet down the hall, feeling ashamed.

What did it have to do with him if the two hit it off? Clyde wasn’t even mentioned in the novel. And since the time he had met him, Micah had to admit Clyde was the definition of a gentleman, a kind, attentive man. He would make an excellent lover...

Micah’s heart clenched. No... If the two ended up together, he wouldn’t stand in their way. He couldn’t... not after everything Darcy had been through. He owed too much already to Darcy, the real young master...

Back in the kitchen, Clyde let out a sigh. "The name Georgina, and he is off like a bullet."

Darcy, who had started collecting the used dishes, tilted his head. "Who is she?"

"My friend," Clyde replied. "And a designer Micah worships!"

"Oh..." Darcy nodded, stacking the plates carefully. There were so many things he didn’t know about Micah. But this man clearly did. He pursed his lips, unsure whether to ask. How long had they known each other? What kind of relationship did they have?

Would knowing even matter? He peeked at the man from the corner of his eye. He was far worse than this man. Nothing like him. Mature, successful, independent.

Before he could sink too deep into the thought, a voice rang out from down the hall.

"Darcy! Come here!"

Darcy jumped, startled by the volume.

Clyde let out a chuckle. "You have been summoned," he said with a smirk. "Good luck."

Darcy exhaled through his nose and gave a weak smile. He knew exactly what Clyde meant. When it came to clothes and fashion, Micah could be insufferably picky. He would ramble, fuss, and make you try on three versions of the same thing with slightly different stitching. It wasn’t vanity exactly. It was passion.

Darcy walked toward the hallway like someone walking to a torture chamber, not a dressing room.

Clyde watched him go, his smirk fading. He reached for the folded newspaper beside his plate, but his hand hesitated. The throb in his temples had gotten worse. Even the caffeine didn’t help. Back when Micah stayed here, he had slept like a baby. But last night...

He had another nightmare, though the details were already fading, just flashes of something dark and cloying, something that made his chest tighten and his hands curl into fists.

And then one of the lamps by the bed had been shattered this morning.

He had cleaned up before anyone noticed. Thank God for the thick carpet and solid walls.

He reached up and brushed his fingers against the wooden prayer beads on his wrist absentmindedly. Maybe it was time to visit that master again.

Just to make sure the past wasn’t trying to catch up to him.

Until then, having some sleeping pills on hand would be a good idea. He didn’t want to scare Micah.

He didn’t want to ruin the only place Micah still felt safe.