Chapter 122: I Object to Being Cute!
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The weekend came around quicker than I thought it would, and it felt like time itself was betraying me.
One moment, I was buried under a mountain of assignments, getting flowers delivered, juggling coffee orders, and putting up with Joey’s frantic texts every few hours about the ’coolest party in Hawthorne history!’... his messages ranged from:
"you’re coming, right?" to "if you don’t show, I’m bringing a freaking air horn to your place".
And then suddenly, I was locking my apartment door behind me while Damien stood in the hallway, patiently waiting like someone who’s never been late a day in his life.
I glanced down at my outfit. Just some plain black swim shorts, a worn-out white T-shirt, and some old sneakers that had definitely seen better days. Good enough, I figured. It wasn’t a fashion contest, after all, half the people would probably ditch their shirts before ten, and most wouldn’t even notice what anyone else was wearing.
Then I looked at Damien. Immediately, I wished I hadn’t.
He had on a fitted black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, classy shorts that somehow looked expensive, you know that vibe basic clothes get when they’re made really well... and pristine white sneakers, not to mention a simple silver watch that probably cost more than a regular family’s rent, groceries, and my pride combined.
His hair was styled effortlessly, the kind of look that takes either zero effort or way too much, and the hallway lights seemed to conspire to make his eyes look even sharper than before.
Life really isn’t fair. This is a well-documented fact. But sometimes it really goes out of its way to make that point hit home.
He noticed me checking him out. The slow smile that crept onto his face should’ve come with a warning. "What?"
"Nothing," I shot back too quickly, looking away.
"You’ve been staring for a while."
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"...Whether rich people can dress like normal humans."
He chuckled quietly. "This is normal."
"It is not."
"It genuinely is."
"You look like you just walked off a summer catalog. Nobody normal looks like that going to a college pool party."
"And you look cute," he said, like it was the most casual thing in the world.
I nearly tripped on the next step, my cheeks warmed up as it always does. Naturally I hid it with anger. "...Excuse me?"
"I said you look cute."
"Yeah, I heard you."
"So why are you asking?"
"I was hoping I imagined it, I thought I told you not to call me that!"
His smile widened, and it did nothing for my composure. "No hallucinations tonight."
I groaned. "Shit, I knew I should’ve stayed in tonight."
We stepped out of Preston Hall together, feeling the warm evening wrap around us right away, just that comfortable warmth of a night that knows it has nowhere to be.
The sun had set about an hour ago, leaving behind a sky full of stars and soft lights lining the walkways. Students swarmed the area: moving between dorms, lugging coolers, wearing swimsuits under cozy hoodies, already laughing about things that hadn’t even happened yet.
The whole vibe screamed Friday night, totally locked in to do stupid things and have fun while doing it.
In the distance, the bass thumped through the air like a persistent nagging.
I shoved my hands into my pockets. "I still think sleep would be a better choice."
Damien glanced over at me. "You’d pick sleep over a party?"
"I’d choose sleep over almost anything. Sleep is free and gets me recharged to get me up and moving the next day. It’s honestly the best option."
"That’s a bit concerning."
"It’s just practical. I work two jobs."
"I know."
"I’m always tired."
"I know."
"And I’m perpetually broke."
"Hm."
"So at this point, sleep really is my best bet."
His quiet laugh drifted between us. "I thought eating was your top priority."
"That’s my job, sleep is my hobby. There’s a difference."
Damien chuckled, he probably thought I was the strangest human he’d ever seen. "Got it."
I raised a finger as if to deliver the most insightful quote. "Food is something I pursue. Sleep is what keeps me going."
"You’ve clearly thought this through."
"I think about food and sleep all the time. It’s how I make it through."
And I also thought about Damien too, but I don’t think I was supposed to say that to him as well.
We walked in a comfortable silence for a bit, our footsteps soft on the pavement, the sounds of the party ahead getting louder.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped noticing how easy it was to walk next to Damien, how the silence felt natural, no longer needing to be filled with chatter before one of us freaked out. It just became a comfortable rhythm, like we didn’t even need to agree to it.
Some months ago, I wanted to boot his rich arrogant ass out the nearest window. Now, I found myself actually relaxing on the way to a party I hadn’t wanted to go to, and I wasn’t sure which fact was scarier.
"So, you really don’t enjoy parties?" Damien asked after a moment.
"Not really."
"Why not?"
I shrugged, debated on being honest, and went with it. "I always feel out of place. Everyone knows each other. Everyone’s confident, and they seem to grasp the unspoken rules...what to say, when to laugh, and which drink means what."
I kicked a tiny pebble off the path. "I never learned those rules."
He was quiet for a second. "That comment was rather detailed."
"I’ve been embarrassed more times than I care to admit."
"I can imagine."
"Joey keeps insisting college is supposed to be the best time of our lives." I frowned at the ground. "I’m not sure I’m experiencing it correctly."
"And are you missing out?"
I hesitated. The honest answer popped up before I could filter it.
"I don’t know. Probably not as much as he thinks." I glanced at him. "I mainly go because he won’t quit inviting me."
"And because of the free food."
"Oh, and the free snacks. I should probably mention that upfront, it’s more honest."
He chuckled. "I knew it would come up."
"It’s a big part of my decision-making. Hot dogs, specifically, really matter to me."
"A reasonable priority."
"I’d prefer to spend fifty bucks on groceries than drop cash on one drink at a bar. That’s not a flaw, it’s just good sense."
"Truly responsible."
"I’m basically the financial guru this generation needs."
"You’re really not."
"I know. But I’m available."
We crossed the main quad, where students lounged on the grass with blankets and takeout, while someone attempted karaoke near the fountain. The performance was entertaining in a way that had little to do with talent, which I respected, even if I didn’t find it enjoyable.
"I’ve never fully understood parties either," Damien said.
I glanced at him, surprised. "You haven’t?"