Chapter 156: Wedding Bells? Absolutely Not.
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I nudged the apartment door open with my shoulder, balancing my backpack on one hip, and the smell hit me before I even stepped fully inside...garlic, butter, something cooking, that cozy, distinct aroma that makes your stomach chime in before your brain has a chance to catch up.
And mine did just that, loud and clear.
"I swear," I murmured to myself, kicking off my shoes by the door, "I can smell food from halfway across campus."
The apartment felt warm, the lights dim in that soft way they do in the evening when the day is winding down and the outside world is still figuring out if it’s dusk yet. Everything was quiet. Everything felt settled.
I could feel my shoulders relaxing, like they dropped ten degrees within five seconds of being home, something I’d noticed lately, how my body recognized this place and stopped feeling tense.
Then I headed to the kitchen.
Damien was standing at the stove, his back to me, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, just the way he always did when he was cooking.
Normally, once he hears the door, he’d turn around with that special smile of his and find some reason to pop into the hallway within forty seconds, or he’d call something out to me from the kitchen, either asking about my day or throwing a playful jab at whatever I brought back for dinner on the nights before I started just... eating what he made.
But today? Nothing.
Just a quick look over his shoulder. A quiet "hey."
Then back to the stove.
I lingered in the kitchen doorway, studying him like someone who’s learned how to read a person.
"Hey," I said. "What’s up? You seem... a little off tonight."
"I’ve been called worse."
"No, I mean stranger than usual."
"I didn’t know there was a spectrum."
"Oh, there is. And right now, you’re at the high end of it."
Just the tiniest hint of a smile. Barely there. More like his face acknowledged what I said without fully agreeing.
Something was up.
I placed my bag on the island and crossed my arms. "Did some shit happen?"
He turned off one of the burners and faced me, his expression carefully neutral, the kind that takes less effort than his actual neutral, which meant he was managing something rather than feeling nothing.
His blue eyes meeting mine with a calmness that just didn’t feel right.
"Who dropped you off just now?" He asked, his tone even, but I could feel something sharp under it.
Oh...that was it.
"How did you–?"
"I saw you both through the window." He interrupted.
"Oh," I said, " Well it was Jeremy."
"I see."
"He insisted," I explained, watching his face closely. "I tried to say no."
"I know you did."
"He’s just—" I tilted my head. "He’s like that."
"I know."
The words were neutral, and his tone matched. The way he said it while plating things was a touch more restrained than what you’d expect from a neutral response, and I noticed because I had gotten pretty good at spotting nuances.
"Yeah...um, is that a problem?" I looked at his face, trying to catch any shift in his expression, but he quickly masked it with a small, slightly forced smile.
"...Do you have a problem with that?" I asked.
He crossed the kitchen to stand in front of me, and for a split second, I thought we were about to have a real conversation, you know, the kind where feelings get laid out and positions are made clear.
But then he brushed my hair back from my forehead and placed a soft kiss on the top of my head, slow and gentle.
"No," he said.
"...Really?"
"I was just wondering."
"You were worried, weren’t you?"
He met my gaze.
"You looked worried."
A pause. "...I can’t help it."
"Sure you can," I countered. "It’s a skill. You just need to remind yourself that I’m an adult who has managed to survive this long without being babysat, and let it go."
"You’re a functioning adult who forgot his notebook in the fridge last month."
I gasped, "That was one fucking time—!"
"You also put the orange juice in the cupboard."
"It was very early."
"You spent twenty minutes looking for your sunglasses while they were on your face."
I stared at him, and he kept that look of someone recounting verified facts. "You’re never going to let that go, are you?"
"Filed permanently in my brain."
He chuckled, a real laugh, warm and full, arriving just before he decided to let it out, and suddenly the controlled neutrality melted away. The room felt lighter, like something previously tense had settled. I couldn’t help but smile back, which was irritating, but also nice.
"You can totally take care of yourself," he said, sounding like he meant it this time instead of managing.
"Thanks."
"You’re a grown adult."
"I am."
He grinned, and I pointed at him, my typical response to his grin, and he shrugged like someone who had proven their point and was comfortable with it.
"I can’t help it when you make it so easy to worry. You stroll around with that huge heart of yours wide open, Oliver. Someone’s got to look out for you."
His words had a playful edge, but they wrapped around me with a softness that melted my irritation away. We bantered lightly as he finished prepping dinner, falling into a natural, comfortable rhythm that felt like home.
I scratched the back of my neck since we were getting close to the topic I’d been thinking about since Jeremy dropped me off, so I might as well just come out with it now that the mood was good.
"Actually, there’s something I wanted to run by you."
His grin softened instantly into focus. "What is it?"
I glanced down at the counter. "I’m...I’m planning to go see my dad at the hospital later this week, it’s been a while seen I last went over."
He nodded, quiet and present, allowing me the space I needed.
I couldn’t believe I was fucking doing this...
"And I was wondering—" I gestured vaguely between us, which was my shorthand for whatever this is, he followed my gesture with an understanding nod. "If you’d w–want to come with me."
There was a beat of silence, it literally felt like my heart was about to drop into my ass.
The immediate panic of saying something I wasn’t ready for hit me, and I started rambling before I could gather my thoughts.
"But you don’t have to! I get it; we’re not...I mean, we haven’t made anything official between us! And, well introducing someone to a parent is usually what people do once they’ve figured out what they are. This...might be too soon, or strange, or completely inappropriate...I don’t know this work actually—"
But this was the first time I’ve actually really been in love with someone... enough Damien might not reciprocate that kind of feeling, I still wanted my dad to meet him.
I laughed awkwardly, too high-pitched. "I’ve just mentioned you to him. More than once, actually. I think he’d like you. Probably, he’s got a damn good taste."
Damien hadn’t moved during that rant. He just listened, patiently, like he often did, giving me the space to finish without rushing me or trying to steer me back to calmer ground.
Then he reached out, took my hand, and his fingers wrapped around mine like this was something he’d done before.
"I’d love to," he said.
I looked up, surprised. "...Really?"
He didn’t...think that was weird?
"Of course."
The relief that washed over me was so intense I nearly laughed. "Thanks. Seriously."
"I’ll be thrilled to meet my future father-in-law."
"..."
"..."
"Your WHAT NOW?!"
He looked way too pleased with himself. "My future father-in-law."
"We are not—" I pulled my hand back. "We’re not even officially anything—!"
"Details."
I scoffed, crossing my arms and looking away. "Pfft, like I’d actually marry you."
"Mr. Oliver Lockwood...It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?"