Chapter 100: I’ll Always Come Home To You
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By the time it was eleven-thirty, I had checked the time so often that my phone probably felt a bit judged at this point.
The apartment was eerily quiet. You know, that kind of quiet that creeps into every corner of the room and settles down as if it’s dust, lingering and just a little suffocating.
Usually, I welcomed the stillness. After a long day filled with customers, classes, coworkers, and whatever new disaster life had decided to throw my way, coming home to peace typically felt like a well-deserved reward.
Not to mention the fact I just caught a girl who went on and on about how she really liked me with another day earlier that evening.
But tonight? It just felt off. Like a room missing a key piece of furniture. I rolled onto my side and shot another glance at the clock.
11:37 PM.
Damien was never this late. Yeah...that was sort of my thing.
A frustrated sigh escaped my lips. This was dumb. He was an adult, fully functioning, annoyingly attractive, and frustratingly capable of handling an evening solo without my nervous clock-watching. There was absolutely no reason for me to be lying there awake, counting the minutes until he walked through the door.
And yet...
I peeked at the clock again. 11:38 PM.
For fuck’s sake.
Maybe...he was spending the night at a friend’s house?
A female friend’s house... perhaps?
I snatched my pillow and shoved it over my face, trying to block out the clock and hide from my own ridiculous behavior and thoughts, even though no one was around to witness it.
Maybe he was studying somewhere. Or maybe he got swept into some campus social event he hadn’t mentioned. Or perhaps he was out with friends I hadn’t met, doing whatever rich, put-together people did on weeknights that kept them out until almost midnight.
Maybe—
Then, I heard the sound of the front door unlocking, slicing right through my spiral of thoughts.
I sat up so fast I almost launched myself off the bed.
The apartment door swung open. Seconds later, I heard those familiar footsteps making their way down the hallway, unhurried, relaxed and relief washed over me with an intensity that was honestly a bit embarrassing.
I promptly decided to act like none of that had happened.
The bedroom door opened, and in walked Damien, his dark hair tousled from the wind outside, his jacket hanging off one shoulder in that effortless way that somehow always manages to look purposeful.
He looked genuinely tired... not putting it on for show, yet somehow, infuriatingly, still looked unfairly good.
A little part of me hated him for it. Just the usual amount.
"Where the hell have you been?" I demanded.
The words came out sharper than I meant, revealing more than I wanted.
Damien blinked at me, and then that slow grin spread across his face, unfurling at just the right pace to maximize my discomfort.
Uh-oh. That grin never boded well for me.
"It’s late," I said.
His grin widened. "Why does that bother you?"
I could already see where this was going. "Don’t you dare–"
"Did you miss me?"
I pointed at him with all the conviction of someone defending an important stance. "No."
"You sound awfully concerned for someone who totally didn’t miss me."
"I wasn’t concerned."
"Oh really?"
"Really."
Damien dropped his bag near the dresser with a soft thud and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of the desk chair instead of leaving it on the floor like a tripping hazard for me at three in the morning. "Then why are you awake? Can’t sleep at all without me?"
I opened my mouth, but nothing useful came out.
His grin morphed into something borderline insufferable. "Oh my God."
"Stop."
"You were waiting up for me, weren’t you?"
"I was not."
"You absolutely were."
"I was just trying to sleep."
"At close to midnight, while glaring at the bedroom door every five minutes?"
My jaw dropped open. "How do you even know that?"
"Because you’re predictable."
"I am not predictable!"
He laughed, warm, familiar, and irritatingly comforting, filling the room with that sound and then, before I could brace myself, he stepped closer and casually ran his fingers through my hair. The gesture was so unexpected and effortless that my brain completely stalled.
"There you are," he said softly.
"What?"
"The grumpy face. I missed it."
I swatted his hand away, mostly because I needed to do something, anything...to keep my heartbeat from becoming audible. "You’re such a weirdo."
I hated how pleased he looked with himself, that satisfaction settling into his expression like he had won something important. But then it softened just a bit, turning quieter.
"Don’t worry," he said.
My stomach did this complicated thing, I’m sure you knew what it was...
"I’ll always come home to you."
Holy fuck...
The room suddenly felt about ten degrees warmer. My face probably matched the red of a fire truck, and I turned away before he could catch a good look
"Y–you better," I mumbled into my pillow. "Or I’ll kick your ass."
Damien laughed again, that sound trailing behind me even as I refused to meet his eyes. "I feel so loved."
"Go take a shower."
"Yes, dear."
"I still hate you by the way."
"No, you don’t."
Unfortunately, he sounded way too confident about that.
And, even more unfortunately, he was probably right.
About thirty minutes later, we were both settled beneath the blankets. The apartment had gone quiet again, genuinely quiet this time, with Damien there in the room rather than absent from it. Moonlight trickled through the curtains in soft silver bars, and outside, the campus hummed faintly without a care for what was happening in this particular space.
I lay on my side, facing away from Damien, staring into the darkness. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning, the image of Melanie in bed with that guy, the guilt, the strange relief, and the terrifying clarity that came with it.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of the night before. Every time I breathed in, I smelled Damien’s familiar scent on the pillow and sheets.