Chapter 179: The Case of the Secret Phone Calls
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Someone called Damien, it soured his mood for the rest of the morning after our little...ahem, bathing session.
Which was strange because whenever we had sex, Damien’s always seemed to be over the freaking moon.
So whoever called, I knew nothing good came out of it.
He never told me who called or why though, he only deviated that conversation and changed the subject.
I really wished I could say that the afternoon had somehow fixed whatever was bothering Damien after that phone call, but it hadn’t.
The apartment felt so quiet, except for the faint rustling of clothes as I rifled through my closet, trying to find something appropriate that didn’t scream ’I water flowers for minimum wage.’
Unfortunately, most of my wardrobe was pieced together from years of student discounts and clearance finds, leaving me with the same old shirts that had survived one too many laundry cycles and a pair of jeans that still had a faint crease from being folded the same way every week.
I held up two shirts to the light, hoping that one of them would suddenly seem more intentional than the other.
"They’re the same shirt," Damien said from behind me.
I turned around. "One’s blue."
"And the other is... slightly different blue."
"I appreciate your fashion expertise."
"I have excellent fashion expertise."
"You wear hoodies and sweaters every day."
I gave him a long look, the kind that usually made him crack first.
"...You’re making that up."
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
A small smile flickered across his lips before it faded almost as quickly, leaving the quieter version of him standing there again.
At least he didn’t seem so down anymore.
There it was again, that strange distance.
He’d checked his phone four times in the last ten minutes. Each time it vibrated, his eyes shot toward the screen before he casually locked it again, pretending nothing was wrong, as if the repeated motion didn’t broadcast that something heavier was weighing on him than he wanted to let on.
I pulled a shirt over my head, trying to ignore how his attention kept drifting, even while he was still in the room with me.
"You’ve been pretty popular today."
"Hm?"
"Your phone."
"...It’s nothing."
"Must be important nothing."
"It isn’t."
His replies were shorter than usual. Not cold or rude, just... elsewhere, like part of him had already left the apartment to deal with whatever those messages were about.
I walked over to him, tilting my head in that way that usually made him actually look at me.
"Everything okay?"
"I’m fine."
"You hesitated."
"I didn’t."
"You definitely did."
He glanced at me for a moment, then reached over to fix my crooked collar with the same careful fingers that had done it countless times before.
"You dressed yourself terribly."
I looked down.
"My collar isn’t even—"
"It is now."
"...Did you wrinkle it just so you could fix it?"
"No."
"You absolutely did."
He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss against my forehead, the warmth of it almost dispelling the earlier distance.
"I’d never sabotage your outfit."
"Fucking liar."
"You wound me."
"I’ll survive."
"I wasn’t talking about you."
I snorted, and the sound elicited a real smile from him for a brief moment.
"What?" he asked.
"You smiled."
"I smile."
"Not since your mysterious phone call."
For a fleeting second, something crossed his face, gone before I could put a name to it, the same quiet closing-off that seemed to follow him around since morning.
"My... family has a habit of making mountains out of molehills."
"So... family drama?"
"You could say that."
I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. Normally, I’d poke until he cracked, but something about how he stood, shoulders a touch stiffer than usual, eyes quieter...made me hold back.
Everyone deserved some privacy, even annoyingly handsome roommates, especially those who kissed your forehead like it was the most natural thing and then checked their phone the moment you looked away.
"...Okay."
His eyes softened.
"Thank you."
I grabbed my bag from the couch, the familiar weight of it grounding me more than I expected.
"I should head to work."
He followed me to the front door, close enough that I could feel his warmth even without looking.
"...Damien."
"Hmm?"
"You know I’m coming back, right?"
"I know."
"So why are you seeing me off like I’m going off to war?"
"I like seeing you off."
"You’re ridiculous."
"So I’ve been told."
I reached for the doorknob, but his hand caught my wrist before I could turn it, his grip gentle yet firm enough to stop me. Before I could ask what he was doing, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss that left me blinking and a little breathless in the hallway.
"...People are going to see."
"They’re welcome to."
I rolled my eyes so dramatically I thought they might pop out of my head.
"You’re such a hopeless dumass."
"You like me anyway."
"...Unfortunately."
His smile finally reached his eyes, the first genuine one since all the phone interruptions started.
"Text me when you get to work."
I sighed dramatically, though it felt more fond than exasperated.
"Fine."
"And when your shift ends."
"...Seriously?"
"When it ends."
"...Yes, Dad."
"I prefer Damien."
"Whatever, Dad."
He chuckled quietly as I stepped into the hallway, the sound following me like a warmer version of the tension he still carried.
"...Be careful, sunshine."
The flower shop was just what I needed. The sweet scent of lilies and roses floated through the air while soft music played somewhere near the register, and for a bit, I lost myself in the soothing routine of trimming stems, swapping out water, and rearranging bouquets that customers inevitably messed up anyway.
Flowers were easier than people.
They never judged you, just wilted if you forgot to water them. Simple, reliable, and completely free of mysterious phone calls or family drama that nobody wanted to dive into.
I was halfway through fixing a display of white carnations when the bell above the door chimed, the sound breaking the quiet like a mini-announcement.
"Welcome to—"
I looked up.
"...Jeremy?"