Chapter 135: Princess Treatment
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The party’s noise hit them at the bottom of the stairs with full force, heads turning, conversations halting, people nudging each other, that familiar ripple of attention that Damien had navigated his entire life while Oliver seemed blissfully unaware, even when awake.
He moved through it like he always did, without acknowledgment, his focus solely on the person in his arms.
Oliver frowned in his sleep and snuggled closer, his grip on Damien’s shirt tightening as if sensing the crowd and noise were something to escape.
"I know," Damien said softly, just for Oliver. "Almost done."
"Oliver!"
Maya emerged from the crowd with the energy of someone who had been watching closely and had now zeroed in on the situation.
Damien blinked at her, he recognized her as Oliver’s coworker at the cafe. She was who had been attending to him when Oliver still fucking hated his guts.
She stopped short, taking in Oliver’s sleeping face and Damien’s expression with a quick, assessing glance.
"Oh my God." She said it softly, more relief than alarm. "Is he okay?"
"He’ll be fine," Damien replied. "He had more than he could handle."
She pressed a hand briefly over her face. "I knew it. That Joey! All he had was one job—!"
"Joey was responsible?"
"Accidentally." She dropped her hand and shot him a look, her grievance clear. "He gave Oliver jungle juice in a cup that looked like regular punch."
"That explains a lot about tonight."
And it really did, Oliver avoided alcohol like the plague.
"You have no idea." She glanced at Oliver again, something gentler in her expression now. "He was set on something. Whatever he came up to tell you... he really meant it."
She met Damien’s eyes, a glimmer of understanding in her gaze that felt deeper than what was on the surface. "He doesn’t usually do things like that. Marching across a room to drag people away is just not Oliver."
"I know," Damien said.
"Which means you made an impression."
He didn’t respond; he didn’t have to.
Maya studied them for a moment, that look of someone watching things finally coming together.
"...Thank you," she said. "For looking after him."
"You don’t need to thank me."
"I know I don’t. But I’m doing it anyway." She gave him a small, genuine smile. "It’s kind of turned into a team effort at this point."
"It has," Damien agreed, his voice quieter than usual.
She rubbed the back of her neck, her expression shifting to something more amused. "Can I tell you something?"
"You’re going to whether I say yes or not."
Maya let out a laugh, "I honestly have no clue how Oliver talks to you the way he does. You’re kinda terrifying."
Damien blinked. "I am?"
"Oh, absolutely." She paused. "Still. You’re—" She waved vaguely in his direction, indicating the whole package. "You know."
A laugh escaped him, low and genuine. "Oliver doesn’t find me terrifying."
And he was grateful to him for that, for one person in the world to treat him like a regular human being rather than a billionaire god or whatever his friends thought he was.
"Oliver has a knack for arguing with things he probably shouldn’t be arguing with." She glanced at the sleeping figure in his arms. "That’s his most dangerous quality."
"And also his most interesting one."
She met his gaze, and he held it. Then she smiled, the slow, knowing kind that suggested she had pieced together more than she was going to say.
"Get him home," she advised. "He’ll need water, aspirin, and probably something greasy in the morning."
"I’ve already planned for that."
"Of course you have." She stepped aside, still smiling. "He’s safe with you?"
"He is."
She heard the certainty in his words and nodded once, satisfied. "Good. I’m off to find Joey before he starts crying that it’s all his fault."
"Is he crying?"
"He’s definitely crying."
Damien offered a polite smile as she disappeared back into the crowd.
The night air was cool and clear outside, the party noise fading behind them. The black car was waiting at the curb, and his butler stepped out immediately, pulling the door open with practiced quiet efficiency.
"Young Master."
"Thank you."
The older man glanced at Oliver, keeping his expression professionally neutral, and held the door wider. "It seems your friend had a rather eventful evening."
"You could say that."
"Should I ask just how eventful?"
"You could."
"But you won’t tell me."
"Correct."
A brief hint of something warm shifted in the older man’s expression before it returned to its usual professionalism.
He held the door steady as Damien eased Oliver into the back seat, arranging him carefully against his shoulder instead of the window, one hand resting loosely at his side.
Oliver sighed in his sleep.
"...Warm."
Damien looked down at him. "Go back to sleep."
The ride home was quiet. Oliver didn’t stir once, his breathing steady and deep, his face finally relaxed in a way it rarely was when he was awake, the constant low-level readiness he carried around vanished, leaving behind something younger and more unguarded.
Damien’s gaze stayed on him the entire drive back.
Inside their dorm at Preston Hall, everything was just as they had left it. The quiet felt different here from the quiet of a room between songs at a party...this was their quiet, the settled stillness of a space two people had shared long enough for its silences to have their own quality.
Working carefully, Damien changed Oliver into a comfy T-shirt and sweatpants, Oliver cooperating with all the awareness of a very sleepy and unhelpful person.
Then he used a warm cloth to wipe away the remnants of the night, the tear tracks, the flush from the alcohol, the signs of a night that had gone off-script for both of them.
Oliver mumbled something.
Damien paused. "What was that?"
"...Muffins."
"I’ll get you one tomorrow."
This seemed to satisfy whatever part of Oliver’s mind was still awake, and he settled deeper into the pillow, letting out a small, contented sound.
Damien pulled the blanket up and stood beside the bed for a moment, just looking at him without needing to do anything else.
Then he changed clothes and slipped in beside him.
Oliver, with the instinctive certainty of someone who had done this enough times, rolled towards him in his sleep. His head found Damien’s shoulder, his hand resting against his shirt, everything falling into place without any deliberate effort.
Damien loosely wrapped an arm around his waist.
Oliver sighed, satisfied and content. "...Damien..."
"I’m here."
The words spilled out almost before he realized it, and it felt right.
He pressed a gentle kiss against Oliver’s temple and lingered there for a moment.
"Sleep well, sunshine."