Chapter 137: Lovestruck Oliver
•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•✾•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•
"And yet," he said, completely unflappable, "you still like me."
I lifted my head from the pillow, aiming for a withering glare, but what probably came across wasn’t nearly as impactful.
"You know," I admitted, feeling vulnerable, "I’m surprised too."
He blinked. Just once, caught off guard in a genuine way. "Oh?"
"I guess your irritating self kind of grew on me." I glanced away, unable to maintain eye contact while saying something so honest. "Gradually. Against my will. Without informed consent."
For one second, Damien’s expression shifted, genuine surprise that was fleeting before his usual composure returned along with his smirk. But now it was layered with something warmer.
"Huh, is that so?" He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin.
The atmosphere between us thickened with a comfortable yet charged tension as Damien briefly glanced at my lips.
"Since you do like me back," he said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur that sent warmth pooling in my stomach, "I guess there’s nothing stopping me from doing this."
He closed the small gap between us, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss on my lips, sweet and unhurried, like a promise rather than a demand.
For a moment, I simply blushed deeper, enjoying the soft press of his mouth against mine. Then, feeling bolder, a quiet certainty emerged...I didn’t want to pull away or overthink this moment.
My hand found its way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, transforming the light peck into a full, heartfelt kiss. Our lips moved together slowly and tenderly, lacking the frantic urgency of the previous night but carrying a depth that made my chest ache in the best way.
When we finally parted, I was breathing a bit heavier, my forehead resting against his as I let the intimacy wash over us like a warm blanket.
Then, without saying anything else, he leaned forward and pressed another light kiss against my lips. Quick and gentle, the kind that doesn’t demand anything, that simply lands and then retreats.
When he pulled back, he watched my face with an unmistakable amusement that had no remorse. "You’re blushing again, so cute."
"I’m not, shut up!"
"You are."
"You know I have poor circulation."
"What a creative excuse."
I halted, as he burst into laughter, his face half-buried in the pillow, his whole body shaking with it, and seeing Damien Lockwood laughing like that at eight in the morning for my awkward kiss was so at odds with any version of him I had imagined that I joined in, too.
It transformed into something warm and easy, both of us ridiculous in the morning light, and when it faded, we didn’t pull away. We just exchanged looks. Comfortably. Quietly. No pressure, no unresolved issues, just two people who had arrived somewhere and were taking a moment to appreciate it.
"You don’t have to figure everything out today," he said after a bit.
"I wasn’t—"
"You’re wrinkling your nose."
"I do not wrinkle my nose...wait, do I?"
"Oh, absolutely you do. It’s involuntary."
"It’s not—"
"It happens when you’re deep in thought."
"I will not confirm or deny that."
"It’s alright, it one of the many things I love about you." He smiled as I flushed even harder in response, steam coming out of my ears like a lovestruck boiling kettle.
We didn’t dive into heavy conversations or labels that morning. No pressure, no need to put everything into defined boxes right away. Instead, Damien just smiled at me, thumb brushing gently over my cheek.
"Whatever this is," he said softly, the teasing set aside, "we’ll sort it out together. No rush."
There was no pressure. No expectations dropped on me to carry. Just a straightforward, steady offer from someone who had already made a decision and was willing to wait for me to catch up.
Something in my chest quieted.
I leaned against his shoulder without thinking about it, just shifting over until I was there. He rested his head against mine without a word.
A little while later, the apartment filled with the smell of butter and coffee, the perfect scent for a sunny morning with a hangover.
I leaned against the kitchen counter and watched Damien flip pancakes with a confidence I had anticipated.
I started making coffee without really thinking about it while stealing glances at him whenever I could. Reaching for the sugar subconsciously, Damien slid the container toward me before I could even grab it.
"Two spoons," he said, not looking up from the stove.
I stopped and looked at him. He was still focused on the pancakes, totally casual, like he hadn’t just shown he had noticed something I had never mentioned directly.
I stared at my mug, and then the sugar, and felt something warm settle in my chest.
I looked away before he could see it on my face.
As we cleaned up together, I found myself watching him, the way he rolled his sleeves, the quiet humming that emerged during routine tasks when he stopped performing, and that moment when he reached over to push a strand of hair away from my forehead because it kept falling in my eyes, a gesture so natural that neither of us mentioned it.
As I reached for the mugs, Damien came up behind me, arms wrapping around my waist as he always seemed to do nowadays as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of my neck.
"You look good in my shirt, by the way," he teased, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Tell me, are you trying to seduce me or something?"
I had subconsciously thrown on one of his oversized tees after showering, and I felt my cheeks heat up again, but I didn’t pull away.
Instead, I leaned into him, enjoying the solid warmth of his chest and how comfortably his hands rested on my stomach.
"What? You’re such a weirdo," I muttered, though there was no real sting in it...only affection that surprised me with its suddenness.
I turned in his arms to hand him his coffee, made just the way he liked it, splash of milk, no sugar and he rewarded me with another quick kiss on my forehead that made my heart flutter.
Wait, I frowned.
How the actual fuck did I even manage to get a guy like this to like me in the first place?