Harold whistled. “Fuck, man. Your body… it’s something. A bit lean though, but tonight we eat like kings. Go and shower fast, I brought food.”
“I’m not hungry…”
“The fuck you aren’t‘. Shower. Now.”
Damian left before he would shove him into the wall, and let that hot water pour down in the booth, marveling at how water just flowed at the touch of that tap. He turned it off, then back on again.Water. Drinking water flowing freely.
Harold’s voice reached him. “Stop playing and shower.”
He did, and wrapped a towel around his waist, going to the dining room where Harold had put out their lunch.
“Five-star restaurant, nothing less.” He watched Damian sit, roaming his body, that tanned, hard skin marred with white and purple scars. “What the fuck did you do to your body?”
Damian shrugged and reached for the food, forgetting the cutlery.
Harold caught his hand. “Not with your fucking hands?” He stopped, grabbing Damian’s left hand. “What… what’s wrong with your hand?”
Damian pulled it out, a flash of anger in his eyes. “It broke… when we crashed.”
“But… your fingers. Show me?”
Damian put his hand on his lap. “It’s nothing. I’m used to it.” A vague shame there he shouldn’t have felt.
“Show me, for fuck’s sake.” He held his palm out and Damian put his hand in it, not caring anymore. “Fuck…” Stroking those stiff, curved fingers. “You need to have a surgeon look at this. It might not be beyond saving.”
“It works.” Pulling his hand out, he took the food out of the plate and pushed it into his mouth. Eating with his fingers, his heart warm seeing Harold seethe.
“You can’t eat like this… like a monkey.”
“I do whatever I damn want. You sorted the phone number out? Gabe’s.”
“Yeah… on that… it’s the wrong number… but hey, not my fault, ok? I tried to find him, but he left his parents’ house.”
Damian stopped eating, his steel eyes going to him. Still calm. “Left? So, where is he?”
“I have no clue…” A rush of fright at the light in Damian’s eyes. “But I’ll find it out. I have a man on this.”
“You better.”
Harold’s lips curled up. “Yeah, sure… you think you’re scaring me? I know you by heart.”
“Do you?” Damian leant back and wiped his mouth.
“Stop threatening. What will you do? Kill me?”
“I might.”
Harold scoffed. “You! Of course…” His eyes going wide at Damian jumping on the table, crouching. A swift move. That cold metal under his chin. All in silence. Meeting his steel eyes.
“See?” He took the knife away and patted Harold’s blanched face.
Harold blinked. “What… fuck, man… you give me the creeps.”
Damian turned the knife on his palm and threw it, hard. It wedged in the wall panel behind them. “Find Gabe, Harold.”
“Alright, alright… crazy, stupid fuck.”
Damian just grinned, that warm feeling invading his chest at that light in Harold’s eyes. The mad fright of the prey.
