Damien
Damien hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until she pulled the blanket out like it was spun gold instead of rabbit hide. Something loosened in his chest—something he didn’t want to admit had been wound tight ever since he’d tied the last knot in the twine. Watching her press the fur to her cheek, watching her light up, it hit harder than he’d expected. A man like him had no business waiting for a verdict like it mattered, but gods, it did.
And then the foxes. One after another in her hands, the little things suddenly looked like more than scraps of wood he’d whittled by firelight. He found himself braced against the weight of her reaction, jaw locked, eyes tracking every shift in her expression. When she breathed that she loved them, his throat went dry.
He hadn’t been ready for her to get up, hadn’t been ready for her to close the space. But then she was against him, arms wrapped around his middle, her head tucked under his chin like it belonged there. His body went stiff for a beat, shock crackling through him like frost breaking on a windowpane. Then his arms came down heavy and careful around her, one braced at her back, the other settling low at her side. He held her like he might break her if he wasn’t careful, even as something in him wanted to hold on too tight.
It was too long, too much, and when she finally looked up at him, the heat in her cheeks and the stumble in her smile hit him like a hammer. His pulse jumped. He didn’t even know what he was about to say before she pulled away, and maybe that was for the best.
He let her go. His hands dropped back to his sides like they’d never moved. He cleared his throat, glanced at the foxes, and told himself to focus on that instead.
“Birthday?” he said finally, voice rougher than he wanted it to be. “I didn’t know.” Guilt flared sharp and stupid in his gut—he should’ve known, should’ve asked, should’ve done better. But he forced a short shake of his head, tried to bury it under plain truth. “Wasn’t meant as that. Just… something to keep you warm. Something to make you smile.”
He stepped over and leaned a shoulder against the frame of her window, arms crossing again out of habit, watching her line the foxes up like they belonged there. “Guess I’ll call it luck, then. Right place, right time.”
And softer, almost under his breath: “Glad I came when I did.”
And then the foxes. One after another in her hands, the little things suddenly looked like more than scraps of wood he’d whittled by firelight. He found himself braced against the weight of her reaction, jaw locked, eyes tracking every shift in her expression. When she breathed that she loved them, his throat went dry.
He hadn’t been ready for her to get up, hadn’t been ready for her to close the space. But then she was against him, arms wrapped around his middle, her head tucked under his chin like it belonged there. His body went stiff for a beat, shock crackling through him like frost breaking on a windowpane. Then his arms came down heavy and careful around her, one braced at her back, the other settling low at her side. He held her like he might break her if he wasn’t careful, even as something in him wanted to hold on too tight.
It was too long, too much, and when she finally looked up at him, the heat in her cheeks and the stumble in her smile hit him like a hammer. His pulse jumped. He didn’t even know what he was about to say before she pulled away, and maybe that was for the best.
He let her go. His hands dropped back to his sides like they’d never moved. He cleared his throat, glanced at the foxes, and told himself to focus on that instead.
“Birthday?” he said finally, voice rougher than he wanted it to be. “I didn’t know.” Guilt flared sharp and stupid in his gut—he should’ve known, should’ve asked, should’ve done better. But he forced a short shake of his head, tried to bury it under plain truth. “Wasn’t meant as that. Just… something to keep you warm. Something to make you smile.”
He stepped over and leaned a shoulder against the frame of her window, arms crossing again out of habit, watching her line the foxes up like they belonged there. “Guess I’ll call it luck, then. Right place, right time.”
And softer, almost under his breath: “Glad I came when I did.”
i want you by my side
so i can never feel alone again
so i can never feel alone again
