Chapter 321: Just Us Again

By the time I wrapped up my workday, I had already received three messages from Damien. The first one popped up around noon, lurking on my phone as if it meant to interrupt the rest of my afternoon.

I stared at it for several seconds before responding, hoping that the extra pause might somehow lead to a less suspicious interpretation of what he was asking.

Damien😈💖: What time are you finished with work?

Me: Why?

His reply came almost instantly, which made it feel even worse.

Damien😈💖: Because I’m taking you somewhere tonight.

Then, five minutes later, another message arrived, casual yet authoritative, which made it clear he had decided our plans without further negotiation.

Damien😈💖: Wear something nice.

Naturally, the only reasonable response from a guy whose brain just short-circuited between "somewhere tonight" and "something nice" was:

Me: What I’m wearing is nice enough, what are you proposing?

This time, his reply took longer, which really did nothing for my nerves.

Damien😈💖: No.

Then, after a pause that felt deliberately dramatic:

Damien😈💖: Not tonight.

I rolled my eyes and turned off my phone.

The rest of my workday was spent trying to avoid thinking about that specific phrasing, which unfortunately only made me think about it more.

I sat through an entire office hour, nodding along to a student’s questions while my brain quietly screamed not tonight on repeat, as if those two words had decided to move in behind my eyes and refused to leave. It was not effective...not even slightly.

So, when I finally stepped outside the university that evening and saw Damien leaning against his car in a dark button-down shirt, sleeves casually rolled up to his forearms, I almost wished I hadn’t invested in my eyesight.

He looked unfairly attractive, the kind of unfair that made me momentarily consider lodging a complaint about aesthetic injustice. He pushed off the car when he spotted me, already sporting that familiar half-smile.

He smirked when he saw that i was gawking at him and opened the passenger door for me, doing it with such effortless ease that it was clear he’d done this countless times before while finding my hesitation amusing.

"Get in."

I hesitated, still not quite convinced I wasn’t being lured into some elaborate prank. "Where are we going?"

"It’s a surprise."

"That sounds suspicious."

"It’s dinner, Sunshine."

"Exactly what a kidnapper would say."

He leaned in closer, close enough that I could catch the faint trace of his cologne and feel his warmth cutting through the evening air. "If I were kidnapping you, you wouldn’t still be standing here arguing with me."

I stared at him. "That’s somehow worse."

His quiet laugh followed me as I climbed into the car, and throughout the drive, I tried not to focus on the way his hands rested on the steering wheel or how the streetlights illuminated the sharp contours of his jaw.

It was a losing battle.

The fancy restaurant he chose was nestled on a quieter street, with warm lights glowing through the windows and small tables set under hanging plants.

It felt nice without being overly pretentious, intimate rather than designed to make everyone else in the room feel bad about their own financial situation. I liked it immediately, the kind of place that seemed carefully selected rather than picked for show.

"You picked this?"

Damien nodded, a hint of pride evident on his face. "I thought you’d like it."

I surveyed the ambiance again...the soft lighting, the low buzz of conversation that felt genuine rather than put-on. "I do."

He smiled, that little private smile that did dangerous things to my heart. "I knew you would."

Dinner turned out to be surprisingly easy. That was what caught me off guard. There was no heavy talk about the past, no dissecting every word, and no fear that one wrong question would send either of us tumbling back into everything we’d struggled to understand.

Instead, we chatted about work. I vented about a student who thought turning in an assignment that was mostly just bullet points counted as an academic essay, and Damien listened, amusement dancing in his eyes like he was getting a kick out of my professional woes.

"Maybe he was being innovative."

"He wrote three pages on psychology and managed to use the word ’literally’ twelve times."

"Perhaps that was the innovation."

I shot him a narrow-eyed look from across the table. "Don’t encourage them."

He chuckled into his drink, the corner of his mouth lifting in a way that made it hard for me to stay mad. "You’d miss them if they weren’t around."

"I’d miss the paycheck."

"Be honest."

"Always."

At one point, as I reached for my glass, our fingers brushed. Neither of us pulled away. His thumb lightly brushed my hand before he finally let go, and even though it was such a small gesture, I couldn’t help but smile like a fool.

I had missed this...not just the kissing or having him next to me, but the regular things. The silly conversations, the casual touches that didn’t demand a deeper explanation.

The feeling that being together didn’t have to be a grand emotional ordeal every time; it could just exist in those quiet moments between sentences and shared glances.

By the time we left the restaurant, I was genuinely happy.

Maybe that’s why I noticed the phone vibrating in Damien’s jacket pocket as we approached the car, a small, persistent buzz cutting through the evening’s pleasant haze. He glanced at it, and for a brief moment, his expression shifted enough for me to notice before he turned the screen off.

I saw it, but I didn’t ask. Whatever it was, I wanted the moment to stay intact. For once, I wanted to enjoy my time with him...just him. Nothing else.

Dad was staying overnight at the hospital for a routine check, so the house felt oddly quiet when we got home.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside, immediately sensing the difference without Dad’s television filling the space. No sports commentary in the living room or underwater documentaries, no occasional cough from down the hall, no questions about our meals.

Just silence that seeped into the corners, making everything feel a little too still. Damien stepped in behind me, closing the door and surveying the surroundings with an unreadable expression. "This feels familiar."

I looked at him. "What does?"

"The quiet."

I kicked off my shoes, trying not to think too hard about how the hallway looked without Dad’s usual presence. "You mean because Dad isn’t here?"

He smiled, soft and a bit distant, as if recalling some memory from years ago. "No. I mean us being alone together."

I froze, and a warm feeling settled in my chest before I could stop it.

"It almost feels like we’re roommates again." He said.

"Except you’re more annoying now."

His brow lifted, the expression so familiar it nearly took my breath away. "Now?"

"Don’t get emotional."

He laughed softly, the sound warm and low in the quiet hallway. Then he reached for my hand. For a moment, we just stood there, fingers slightly intertwined, the years since Preston Hall feeling both vast and oddly thin.

Four years had passed. So much had changed. Yet somehow, when Damien looked at me like that, I could almost picture us back in that kitchen in room 25, bickering over and complaining about whose music taste were the best, except now there wasn’t any fear looming between us. At least, not yet.

Eventually, we settled onto the couch with a blanket and some snacks...because apparently nothing says romance like eating popcorn out of a bowl large enough to feed a small army.

Damien picked the movie, and of course, I objected. "This is terrible."

"You haven’t even seen it."

"I’ve seen the poster."

"That’s not the same."

"The poster tells me everything I need to know."

He shot me a look that was both exasperated and affectionate. "You complain too much."

His response was so simple that I lost track of my next complaint altogether. I looked at him, and he was gazing at me with that soft expression he rarely showed anyone else, the one that made the rest of the world fade into the background.

Without thinking, I leaned closer. His arm found its way around my shoulders, pulling me in as the blanket enveloped us both.

Eventually, I leaned my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear while his fingers lazily moved through my hair.

"This is nice," I murmured.

"It is."

"I could get used to this."

His fingers paused for half a second, then resumed their gentle path through my hair. "So could I."

I smiled, and for a while, we didn’t say anything. The movie droned on in the background, some dramatic scene unfolding on the screen that I wasn’t even paying attention to anymore. I was too comfortable, too warm, too content.

And that should have been my warning, because apparently when my life finally felt peaceful, the universe decided to take it personally, storing the moment away under "things to ruin shortly."

Damien’s phone rang. He reached for it on the coffee table. As soon as he saw the caller ID, the warmth vanished from his expression. It wasn’t dramatic; that was what made it worse. His face just turned controlled, closed off...the Damien everyone else knew.

He stood up, already creating distance between himself and the couch while whatever conversation awaited him loomed. "I’ll be right back."

I watched him walk toward the hallway. He picked up the call before stepping outside, and I told myself to stay on the couch. I really tried...about thirty seconds, maybe.

But then I heard his voice, it was cold, professional, completely different from the guy who had been running his fingers through my hair just minutes ago. "No."

I sat up. There was a pause, followed by a silence that hinted the person on the other end wasn’t taking the answer well. "I’m not returning tonight."