From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)
Chapter 83: If We Hadn’t Been Switched

Chapter 83: If We Hadn’t Been Switched

Darcy looked at Micah, bewildered. The boy was smiling. Smiling! After everything, after being yelled at for burning his hand. What was so funny? Why was he happy?!

His brows drew together as he stared at Micah’s bright eyes and goofy grin, but he didn’t say anything.

He rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh, glancing at the gauze-wrapped hand resting on the table. It didn’t matter. Yeah. If the idiot was happy, let him be.

Darcy dropped his head and resumed eating, chewing in silence, though he was clearly in a better mood.

After dinner, Darcy stood and began clearing the plates and washing the dishes.

"Do you want to take a shower?!" he called over his shoulder.

Micah looked down at his clothes, one that already belonged to Darcy. What difference would it make to borrow more? "Yeah," he said, tugging at the hen of the shirt. "Thanks."

A few minutes later, Micah walked out of the bathroom with damp hair plastered to his forehead and a towel hanging around his neck.

He rubbed it through his silver hair absentmindedly, the ends curling slightly. Darcy’s shirt hung oversized on him, and the drawstring shorts sagged dangerously on his hip.

He stood awkwardly in the living room, shifting his foot slightly on the ground.

Darcy stepped out of his own room after freshening up and spotted Micah standing there like a statue. He blinked at him, "You can sleep in my bed."

Before even he could finish his words, Micah’s refusal came fast, "No way. Just give me some bedding. I’ll take the couch."

Micah had seen Darcy’s room earlier if it could even be counted as one. It was barely more than a walk-in closet, with a thin mattress on a narrow bed pushed against the wall and a single small window that didn’t open all the way.

Technically, the apartment had two bedrooms, but the larger one was used by Flora since she needed more rest, and the other one by Nora. Darcy had long since retreated to the back utility room. It wasn’t meant to be lived in, but it was his place.

The memory of it made Micah wince. This was the life Darcy had led because of him. The guilt he felt after seeing the room was overwhelming. For a split second, he had reached out to grab Darcy’s hand and take him to Ramsy’s family this instant, revealing the truth about the swapped babies, and returning everything to the rightful heir.

But then he pinched his thigh hard, reminding himself to stay rational.

Darcy did not insist on Micah settling in his bed, instead, he disappeared into a room and returned with a folded blanket and a pillow.

As he handed them over, he gave Micah a sideways glance.

Ever since Micah’s hand was burned, Darcy blamed himself for making Micah stay over. He shouldn’t have been so selfish. First the burning, then the sleeping situation...

And yet, seeing how readily Micah accepted everything related to him brought a quiet sense of satisfaction. Despite it all, Micah never once complained, not about the old house, the musty bathroom, or the noisy neighbours.

He had tolerated everything. Darcy paused, a dangerous glint flashing in his dark eyes.

He took a breath, calming his excited heart.

"Here, they are washed and clean," Darcy said.

"Thanks," Micah mumbled and clumsily spread the sheet over the couch.

"My room’s door is open, if you need anything, just call," Darcy said, turning off the lights.

Micah nodded and flopped onto the couch. Staring at the ceiling, he could hear the soft squeak of a mattress as Darcy lay down.

The air felt thick and humid. His hand throbbed under the bandages, a dull nagging pain he couldn’t ignore. His mind flooded with what-if thoughts.

If they hadn’t been switched at birth, this would have been his life. He could easily imagine himself as one of those rough Yankees, with strange hair and metallic chains dangling from his pants and neck.

He would have definitely ended up a junkie or an ex-convict. His impulsive nature would have ruined him if he had been in this household.

He owed Darcy everything. How could he behave like what was described in the novel? That didn’t make any sense.

Micah turned onto his side. The couch was hard and uncomfortable, the coils poking into his body. He could see Darcy’s room from this angle. He sighed and rolled over again.

"Can’t sleep?" Darcy’s voice was heard from the darkness.

"Yeah, new place," Micah said.

"Are you sure it’s not because of your hand?"

"No, I had forgotten about it until you brought it up." Micah lied.

"Yeah, right," Darcy said flatly. Then a beat later. "Want some warm milk or something?"

Micah wrinkled his nose. "Nah, I ate too much. Just...talk to me a bit."

There was a pause, and then the bed creaked. "Alright."

"You packed your stuff yet?" Micah asked, staring up at the ceiling.

"Yeah, there wasn’t much. I have grown out of most of my clothes, so I am waiting to buy new ones for this season..." Darcy said.

"You have grown taller?! Ah, lucky bastard."

Darcy chuckled. "Yeah, it surprised me too."

"When you go shopping, tell me. I’ll come help. You know, Fashion designer major here." Micah tapped his chest with a smug little grin.

"Sure, I’ll hold you to that."

Silence fell for a few seconds.

Then Micah’s voice came across the room, quieter this time. "Have you ever wished your life was different?"

Darcy was taken aback by the sudden question. He hesitated and replied. "When I was younger, yeah a lot..." Darcy’s voice trailed off.

There was a time when he hated everything and everyone. Wishing he had been born into another family, another life. One with fewer worries about bills, and fewer broken dreams. Then came the numbness... when wishes didn’t come true.

But things had shifted. The world had become vibrant again, and it started the moment he met that young man in the alley, fighting off a bunch of thugs.

"But right now... nope. I am satisfied.... I got to meet you." Darcy added softly.

He waited but there was no response. "Micah?"

Nothing. Darcy tilted his head toward the living room and smiled faintly in the dark. The young man must have fallen asleep. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe Micah didn’t need to hear the last part after all.