Chapter 116: I Lost the Argument with My Heart
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A sleepy humming sound. "...Comfortable."
"I wasn’t asking if you were comfortable."
Another hum. That conversation seemed over.
I glanced at the ceiling. "Great." The ceiling was silent. "...Fantastic." Still nothing.
Eventually, against all logic and several better instincts, I relaxed. His hair brushed against my neck, and the situation was absurd, I knew how absurd it was.and yet I found myself smiling anyway.
"You’re a one clingy patient," I whispered. "Just so you know."
He didn’t respond. He had already drifted back to sleep, breathing slow and even against my shoulder.
Night settled softly over Preston Hall. Rain tapped gently against the windows, the apartment wrapped in the distinct darkness and silence of late hours, the city outside muffled and distant. Damien had finally fallen into a deeper sleep. I should’ve gone to bed hours ago. I had my own assignments and responsibilities, not to mention a very real need for rest.
Instead, I sat beside him with a novel in my lap, occasionally flipping pages without really absorbing any of them, and glancing over at him every few minutes.
Still breathing. Still sleeping. Good.
Around three in the morning, a faint sound pulled me back from the brink of sleep.
I blinked, disoriented, and immediately sat up straight.
Damien was tossing restlessly under the blankets, his movements small and agitated, like someone stuck between sleep and wakefulness.
I reached for his forehead before I even realized what I was doing.
My stomach dropped.
He was burning up, significantly hotter than he had been hours ago, the fever spiking in the middle of the night with that specific cruelty of illnesses that seem to worsen when you’re least prepared.
"Oh no." I fumbled for the thermometer, my hands feeling clumsy as I checked the reading twice because I wanted it to be wrong. It wasn’t.
"Damien."
His eyelids fluttered. "...Oliver..."
"I’m here."
"...Hot..."
"Shh, I know. I’ve got you."
I moved quickly, bathroom, cool water, cloth wrung out, back in under a minut and carefully laid it across his forehead, then helped him sip a few tiny drinks, his awareness floating somewhere vague, mostly asleep but aware enough to cooperate.
"There you go. Nice and slow."
For the next several hours, I barely left his side. Replace the cloth, check his temperature, help him drink, adjust the blankets when he kicked them off, pull them back when he shivered.
Repeat, on a quiet loop, the apartment dark and rain-soaked around us.
At some point, I’d lost track of time...his hand moved restlessly across the mattress until his fingers found mine. His grip was weak, loose, almost by accident.
"...Stay..."
"I’m staying," I assured him. "I’m right here."
He frowned slightly, a small, troubled expression on his face. "...Safe..."
"You don’t need to worry about anything. Just sleep."
A pause. His brow relaxed a bit. "...Like...having you here..."
I glanced down at our hands, my thumb moving over his knuckles without me even realizing it.
"...Don’t leave Preston Hall..."
The words slipped out barely above a whisper, I flinched...how did he know that I’d have to leave soon? Did Joey tell him our old dorm was done with repairs? Did he really like someone so fucked up emotionally, that they’d rather die than be vulnerable like me around?
"...Feels like...home..."
I chuckled softly, though there was something behind my eyes that I blinked back before it could turn into anything.
"You know," I murmured, brushing damp hair from his forehead, "you’re making this really difficult."
He didn’t answer. He was already drifting off again.
The room stayed quiet. Rain pattered against the windows. The small sound of his breathing became steadier, finding its rhythm.
I leaned back in the chair, held his hand, and didn’t move.
"I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you." The confession slipped out before I could stop it, echoing in the dark where only I could hear.
"I mean...you’re annoying. A quiet, shaky laugh escaped. "You’re arrogant, and you’re the biggest pain I’ve dealt with in any living situation, and you hum off-key in the kitchen every single morning."
My thumb glided over the back of his hand again, a small, unconscious gesture.
"But somehow, you’ve become my safe place, I really do care about you."
The room held my words without reacting, which was about the best outcome I could have wished for.
Morning crept through the curtains, thin and pale, the rain having stopped sometime in the early hours, leaving the outside world feeling fresh and quiet.
I reached out one last time and pressed my hand against his forehead.
Cooler, not totally, but definitely cooler. The fever was starting to break, the night’s crisis giving way to something more manageable.
Relief washed over me so suddenly and completely that my shoulders dropped with it. I sat there for a moment just breathing, letting the tension I’d been holding for hours finally ease.
"You scared me," I whispered to the sleeping figure who couldn’t hear. "You really scared me."
Damien slept on, his face finally relaxed, the troubled restlessness of the night gone. He looked younger than usual when he slept...I had noticed that before, but it struck me differently now, after a night of watching him so closely.
"I love you, Damien." I whispered.
Without thinking, following some quiet instinct that bypassed whatever usually held me back, I leaned forward and pressed the softest kiss against his forehead. It lasted just a second. Less than a second.
When I pulled back and looked at him, the silence in the room felt different.
"...Don’t let that go to your head when you wake up," I muttered, aware that my cheeks had gone warm. "I wouldn’t be able to deny it."
He didn’t stir. He just kept on sleeping, peaceful and unaware, completely oblivious to everything that had happened in those quiet hours while he was sick, and the room was dark, and I was beside him, holding his hand and talking to him about being home.
I smiled despite myself, a small, helpless, slightly embarrassing smile...and settled back in the chair.
I had stayed up all night, terrified of losing him.
And somewhere in those quiet hours, somewhere between replacing the cool cloth for the fifth time, listening to him breathe, and holding a hand that had found mine in the dark, I had stopped pretending that I didn’t know what that meant.
I was already way too deep.
But the realization didn’t scare me the way I thought it would.
It simply settled, quiet, certain, and far too comfortable...right alongside everything else he had somehow made feel like home.