Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel!

Riven lay on the bed alone, his body slick with sweat. The sheets stuck to his skin, damp and suffocating. He dragged in a breath that rattled in his lungs, and he tried to push himself up onto an elbow. His arms trembled under the effort, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse right back down.

He hated this.

Gods, he hated this so much.

It felt like this was becoming his life—just endless cycles of sickness, fever, and weakness. When had it started? It was well before the battle between Ronan and Leon. It started with sickness from experiencing separation from his mate.

Pathetic, he thought, gritting his teeth.

He was always here, wasn't he? In bed, helpless, waiting for someone else to come and rescue him. If he wasn't in a coma, he was sweating through the sheets, burning with some fever he couldn't fight off on his own. He knew he should be grateful—so many people cared enough to look after him—but he couldn't help the ugly frustration that crawled up his throat.

When did I become so fragile?

He shut his eyes tight, trying to will away the spinning of the ceiling. But it didn't work. It never did.

And then—

A voice.

Cool, low, detached.

Soren's voice. He was talking to him? Riven could not understand.

"Sever the connection? Fine. If you survive it, I'll let you stay."

Riven's eyes flew open. But he wasn't in the bed anymore.

He was on the cold stone floor, kneeling.

The air was dim, it looked like the place he was first dumped in... The place where he met Soren for the first time.

His heart hammered as he looked down. He saw himself reflected in the glossy leather of Soren's boots. His own face was pale and drawn. Eyes rimmed red, though he wasn't crying. He looked tired. Defeated. Like he'd been on his knees for a long time.

His palms were pressed flat to the cold floor. He felt it seep into his bones, chilling and heavy.

"I will—I will try my best," he rasped, voice breaking.

The sound of it made him sick. It was so weak. So tired.

"You don't have a choice now, do you?" Soren's voice came again, calm and cold, as if they were discussing a matter of no consequence at all. "Either it consumes you or you sever it. There is nothing else."

Riven swallowed hard, but his throat felt raw, each breath scraping like broken glass.

He lifted his head, slow, like it weighed twice as much as it should.

Soren stood in front of him, tall and impassive. He didn't look angry. That would have been easier to understand. Easier to bear. Instead, he looked—

Indifferent.

Like Riven was something he could discard if it became inconvenient.

Riven's chest squeezed tight.

It was like watching a play he had no control over, but every word and every gesture felt real. Felt like it was happening now.

Soren turned away, attention drifting somewhere past Riven's shoulder, like he'd already lost interest in this little display.

Riven hated that more than anything.

He wanted to scream and ask him what was going on and why he was acting like this! But he could not. It was like obedience and fear were engraved into his bones, he just could not rebel.

Instead, he staggered shakily to his feet. His knees almost buckled, and for a terrifying second, he thought he'd collapse. But he managed to stay upright.

Head bowed, he stood there, breathing raggedly.

"I—I'll do it," he croaked, though he wasn't sure if he was saying it to Soren or to himself. "I'll sever it."

"Good." The single word fell like a stone into the silence.

Something in Riven's gut twisted.

When did this happen?

He didn't remember this—at least not like this. Was it before? Or was it something that was about to come?

Was that a dream? A memory? A warning?

He didn't know.

But he could still feel it—the cold stone floor beneath his palms, the weight of Soren's stare, the quiet finality in his voice.

"Either it consumes you or you sever it."

He shut his eyes, hoping it would all fade if he just stopped thinking. But it was no use.

Because the thoughts weren't his alone.

They sounded like his voice—but also like a stranger's. Someone older, tired, bruised. Someone who had already lived the worst parts of this story and hadn't made peace with any of it.

Ronan doesn't want me anymore… He doesn't look at me with those soft eyes anymore…

Riven swallowed.

The voice kept going, weaving around the edges of his mind, a slow, hollow echo.

He hates me.

Not even indifference. He hates me. He thinks I'm useless, a weakness, a burden that's dragging him down.

His fingers clenched the sheets. No, he told himself, that wasn't true. Ronan loved him. He knew Ronan loved him. He has been proving that to him all this time.

But the voice didn't stop.

But why?

He is my mate… I thought mates love and protect each other.

His chest constricted. He tried to push the words away, but they slipped past every defence he tried to build.

I've seen so many around me live a good life with their mates. So why? Why did mine end up like this?

He felt like he couldn't breathe with the emotional weight pressing on him.

He wants me dead… No, he is trying to have me killed.

I ran away. Somehow I ended up here. Brought as a bargaining chip for Soren to deal with Ronan.

That was the beginning of the torture I faced.

Riven's eyebrows furrowed, he did not face any torture, though!

His throat closed. He couldn't tell if it was from sickness or from the memory.

Somehow, I caught the master of the Snow Leopard clan's attention.

Soren had always been attentive and careful with him. But the memory, no, this voice seemed to have experienced something else.

How naive of me to think he would love me.