He leans in, the weight of his gaze grounding. “You think I’d complain? I used to eat cafeteria food without flinching. I’m basically invincible now.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling for real. “Your confidence is terrifying.”
He grins, a flash of teeth, and I realize how much I missed this—banter that doesn’t cost me anything, the easy way he pulls the conversation back from the edge. “Thanks for inviting me over, Blue. I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet, it’s just… I don’t really know how to… I mean, I don’t want to push you into anything when I just got you back in my life.”
I blink, caught off guard by how gently he says it. It’s so unlike Damien, who used to bulldoze through awkward moments bymaking everyone laugh or changing the subject. Then I look at him—really look at him—and I notice the way his hands are curled in his lap, and how his knee bounces once, then stills.
For all his bravado and big presence, he’s just as nervous as I am. That shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does. It knocks some of the old, jagged fear out of my chest and leaves something a little more confident.
“You’re not pushing me, Mien. Honestly, I’m probably the one who needs to chill. It’s just… you being here after everything is a lot,” I tug at the loose thread on the throw pillow again. “Sometimes it feels like if I blink, you’ll disappear again.”
Damien is quiet for a second, and then he nudges my foot with his. “I’m not going anywhere this time unless you tell me to. But you have to be pretty convincing, and honestly…” he says, flashing me that grin again. “You’ve never been very good at kicking me out.”
A laugh bubbles out, and the last of my nerves fades. “Yeah, you always just came back through the window anyway.”
“Old habits,” he says, smirking, but there’s a flicker of sadness in his eyes. “I missed this, Blue. You. Us. Even if it’s just us watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine and arguing about food.”
“I missed it too,” I admit so quietly, I’m not sure he hears it. But his smile deepens a little, and I know he did.
He takes the remote from my hand and starts scrolling, giving me a moment to collect myself. The TV fills the room with canned laughter, and the bright, familiar chaos of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Then he settles back, his knee brushing mine every so often when he laughs at something dumb on the screen. I can feel him glancing at me now and then, and each time I have to fight the urge to hide my face behind the pillow on my lap.
“So,” I ask, needing to do something to kill the quiet. “Do you hear much from your mom?”
Damien’s expression seems to shutter, and he shakes his head. “She basically cut me off after I left, said that I made her look like a bad mother by choosing my dad over her,” he says, blowing out a breath. “She’s always hated him after he came out, and even more so after he married Rob.”
I nod, completely understanding. “Your mom was a nightmare after you left. She and my dad fought a lot before they decided on the divorce. But I think they’re better off without each other.”
“Tell me about it,” he murmurs, and I catch an odd look in his eyes.
Before I can ask what’s on his mind, the doorbell rings, and I jolt, nearly dropping the pillow I’ve been clutching. Damien laughs, stretching out his long legs and pushing himself up off the couch. “I’ll get it. You relax.”
He heads to the door, and I use the moment to take a few steady breaths and press my cold hands to my cheeks. My heart is thumping again, and that ridiculous, too-bright hope unfurling in my chest.
Damien returns with the food, hands full of steaming containers, plastic bags, and grinning from ear to ear. “You ordered enough to feed an army.”
I snort. “You’re the one with the appetite of a linebacker. I figured it was safer to over-order than risk you going hungry.”
“Guilty,” he says as he sets everything on the coffee table and plops down beside me, close enough that our knees knock together.
We divvy up the food, digging in as we talk, and I find myself not worrying about the amount of food I’m eating. We trade bites, swapping curry for noodles, and laughing when Damien nearly chokes on a too-spicy pepper and grabs my drink because it was closer.
After eating, we settle back on the couch, plates stacked on the coffee table and our legs a tangle of denim and socked feet.Damien leans back, stretches his arm along the back of the couch, and I let myself lean into it. The contact is quiet and unremarkable, but it settles something restless under my skin.
“You cold?” he teases.
I roll my eyes, but don’t move away. “You’re the one who’s always freezing. I remember you used to steal my blankets.”
I feel his gaze burning into the side of my head, and I feel brave enough to turn and look at him. His brown eyes are ablaze with an emotion that I’m sure I’m misreading, but I hold his gaze anyway.
His mouth tips up at one corner as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. The muscle in his jaw flexes, and he’s too close, too big, his presence swallowing the air between us. I can feel the pressure building beneath my skin like a held breath. Every part of me goes still, but not in a scared way. More… I don’t want to move in case this moment shatters.
Damien’s eyes drop to my mouth for a second, barely perceptible, but I catch it. His lashes flick up again, and this time he doesn’t look away. “You always had the softest ones,” he says, voice lower now, less teasing. “That stupid fleece one with the cartoon ducks on it? You’d tuck it under your chin when you were pissed at me, as if I didn’t know you were waiting for me to grab the other end.”
Heat blooms under my skin, crawling up my neck and into my ears. I want to laugh it off, say something snarky, but I can’t seem to form words. My mouth opens and closes once before I blink and force myself to breathe.
“You remember that?” I murmur.
He doesn’t answer right away. He edges closer, so his thigh presses harder against mine, and the fabric of his jeans drags against my own. His hand curls slightly behind my shoulders, not touching me, but god, it feels like he is.
