Damien
oh, let's take a chance and roll the bones
try to forget all them enemies and debts
'cause they'll just chase you round
and give you sour dreams
try to forget all them enemies and debts
'cause they'll just chase you round
and give you sour dreams
Damien gives a small grunt of amusement, not quite a laugh. The kind that comes more from his chest than his throat. The nudge she gives him earns the faintest tilt of his arm back toward hers. "You may be right." His brow tips up, humor edging his voice as he adds, “Tell you what. If one falls out of the sky, I’ll try not to scare her off.” He shakes his head faintly.
As she tips her glass in that wry toast, he’d probably feel the tug of recognition—the kind that knots in the gut when someone else names something you’ve felt but never cared to frame out loud. He wouldn’t say it, but he’d note how easily she read the same line between survival and selfishness he’d drawn for himself years ago. Not agreement for agreement’s sake. He’d follow her lead toward the beach without protest, even pausing to take off his boots and carry them in one hand so he might enjoy the feel of the sand. His silence was less about disinterest than giving her words room to breathe.
Damien huffs through his nose, the faintest crooked grin tugging at his mouth as he looks back up. “Just one? That’s generous.” He scratches at his jaw, pretending to weigh the options, but his eyes are sharp with humor. “Biggest right now?” He exhales through his teeth, like it’s an admission he doesn’t quite want to give. “Probably that I don’t see what’s right in front of me until it’s gone. Good people, good chances… doesn’t matter. I’m usually too busy looking over the next hill to notice.”
He lets that hang for a beat, the honesty raw enough to sting, before tilting his head her way. “Or it's that I eat like a raccoon in the wild. Depends who you ask.” The smirk that follows is self-aware, an easy out if she wants to laugh instead of linger on the weight of what he just gave her. And if part of him hoped to hear her laughter again, carried light across the coastal air, that was a truth he kept to himself.
As she tips her glass in that wry toast, he’d probably feel the tug of recognition—the kind that knots in the gut when someone else names something you’ve felt but never cared to frame out loud. He wouldn’t say it, but he’d note how easily she read the same line between survival and selfishness he’d drawn for himself years ago. Not agreement for agreement’s sake. He’d follow her lead toward the beach without protest, even pausing to take off his boots and carry them in one hand so he might enjoy the feel of the sand. His silence was less about disinterest than giving her words room to breathe.
Damien huffs through his nose, the faintest crooked grin tugging at his mouth as he looks back up. “Just one? That’s generous.” He scratches at his jaw, pretending to weigh the options, but his eyes are sharp with humor. “Biggest right now?” He exhales through his teeth, like it’s an admission he doesn’t quite want to give. “Probably that I don’t see what’s right in front of me until it’s gone. Good people, good chances… doesn’t matter. I’m usually too busy looking over the next hill to notice.”
He lets that hang for a beat, the honesty raw enough to sting, before tilting his head her way. “Or it's that I eat like a raccoon in the wild. Depends who you ask.” The smirk that follows is self-aware, an easy out if she wants to laugh instead of linger on the weight of what he just gave her. And if part of him hoped to hear her laughter again, carried light across the coastal air, that was a truth he kept to himself.
