Damien
Damien caught her smiling at Aria, and it landed sharp in his chest. Sick as a dog, sweater swallowing her whole, voice rasped thin—and still she could summon that light. He had no business thinking it, not here, not now, but the thought cut through anyway: she was beautiful. The realization startled him, left a beat of silence where words should have been. He turned back to the fire before it could show on his face, as if the flame might burn the treachery out of him.
Allergies, she pressed on, chin lifted like she could stare him down. He almost smiled at that too, his lips twitching as he bit it back. Stubbornness was survival where he came from. She wore it with the same natural ease she wore a grin. "Uh-huh, sure," he gave her a knowing look, but not seeing any point in arguing over it, he let it slide.
While she busied herself hauling the bucket of tissues away, his gaze snagged on the paper she’d left behind. A sketch, smudged with the charcoal still staining her fingers. He picked it up carefully, like it might tear if he breathed too hard on it. The shape was rough but unmistakable: a big cat, muscles caught in motion, alive in every shadow and streak. He studied it longer than he meant to, and the firelight dragged him back to the cave, to the night her blood and the cub’s fur had both been damp against his hands. To the long hours they’d spent tracking another one through snow and silence.
By the time she drifted back closer, sweater tugged tight against a shiver, he set the drawing down with care. She tilted her chin at him, teasing, asking how she was supposed to tell him. He met her grin with a steady look, one brow ticking up as if to concede the point. She was right. Word would’ve never made it across the tundra in time.
But then she said he didn’t need to worry about her, and something in him hardened. He leaned back on his heels, still crouched by the fire, and let the quiet stretch a moment before he answered. “That part,” he said finally, voice low, “you’re wrong about.” His gaze flicked to hers, dark as night and just as unwavering. “If you think I’m not gonna worry anyways, you don’t know me half as well as you think.”
He pushed up to his feet, brushing ash off his palms. “Sit. Rest. Whatever you need, I’ll do it. More firewood, cleaning..” He gestured with a tilt of his chin toward the little throne of pillows by the stove. “Last thing you should be doing is running yourself into the ground trying to prove you’re fine.”
Aria, who had sprawled across the pillows at some point, gave a loud, squeaky mrrow, as if to second the order. Damien huffed through his nose, but his eyes came back to Theea with the same steady line of care she’d seen all along. "When's the last time you ate?"
Allergies, she pressed on, chin lifted like she could stare him down. He almost smiled at that too, his lips twitching as he bit it back. Stubbornness was survival where he came from. She wore it with the same natural ease she wore a grin. "Uh-huh, sure," he gave her a knowing look, but not seeing any point in arguing over it, he let it slide.
While she busied herself hauling the bucket of tissues away, his gaze snagged on the paper she’d left behind. A sketch, smudged with the charcoal still staining her fingers. He picked it up carefully, like it might tear if he breathed too hard on it. The shape was rough but unmistakable: a big cat, muscles caught in motion, alive in every shadow and streak. He studied it longer than he meant to, and the firelight dragged him back to the cave, to the night her blood and the cub’s fur had both been damp against his hands. To the long hours they’d spent tracking another one through snow and silence.
By the time she drifted back closer, sweater tugged tight against a shiver, he set the drawing down with care. She tilted her chin at him, teasing, asking how she was supposed to tell him. He met her grin with a steady look, one brow ticking up as if to concede the point. She was right. Word would’ve never made it across the tundra in time.
But then she said he didn’t need to worry about her, and something in him hardened. He leaned back on his heels, still crouched by the fire, and let the quiet stretch a moment before he answered. “That part,” he said finally, voice low, “you’re wrong about.” His gaze flicked to hers, dark as night and just as unwavering. “If you think I’m not gonna worry anyways, you don’t know me half as well as you think.”
He pushed up to his feet, brushing ash off his palms. “Sit. Rest. Whatever you need, I’ll do it. More firewood, cleaning..” He gestured with a tilt of his chin toward the little throne of pillows by the stove. “Last thing you should be doing is running yourself into the ground trying to prove you’re fine.”
Aria, who had sprawled across the pillows at some point, gave a loud, squeaky mrrow, as if to second the order. Damien huffed through his nose, but his eyes came back to Theea with the same steady line of care she’d seen all along. "When's the last time you ate?"
i want you by my side
so i can never feel alone again
so i can never feel alone again
