Chapter 21 Damien
Damien
I pace my room until the floorboards creak beneath my feet and the walls start to close in.
I can’t sit.
I can’t think.
I can’t do anything except replay every second of that shoot—the heat in Noah’s eyes, the way his voice went rough when he called my name, the impossible softness of his mouth pressed to my cheek.
My heart’s been thundering like I just finished a playoff game. I keep touching my jaw, checking for proof he was really there, that it wasn’t some fever dream cooked up by four years of longing.
He wants me, too. There’s no way I could’ve misread that look—shy yet daring, as if he were seeing me and asking me to see him in return. I can feel it vibrating under my skin, all the words I never said, all the chances I wasted trying to be good and safe and never enough.
I stop pacing and brace my hands on the dresser, head dropping forward.
Four years ago, I left without a word because I thought loving him meant sacrificing myself.
I thought it meant disappearing so he could have the future his father threatened to rip away.
I thought I was being noble. Protective.
I never stopped to consider that maybe I was just a coward hiding behind good intentions.
I spend the next hour spiraling—pacing, lying down, sitting up, glancing at my phone, reading over old texts until my eyes sting.
I try telling myself to wait, to give him space.
But hope is a wild thing in my chest, making patience impossible.
I could wait four more years, and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. I’d still want him this badly.
By the time the clock hits midnight, I’m staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched, and my hands are shaking from holding back.
Fuck it. I can’t let this slip through my fingers again.
My brain starts listing reasons not to do this. He might be asleep, might freak out, or he might not want this after all. He might tell me it’s too late. His dad might still have power. I might blow up whatever fragile peace he’s built for himself.
Then I remember the way his eyes softened when he said I did nothing wrong.
I grab my hoodie and keys. “Fuck it,” I say out loud this time, and it’s a decision instead of a surrender.
The drive to Noah’s apartment feels unreal, streetlights blurring past as my thoughts race ahead of the car.
I don’t rehearse what I’m going to say. I don’t plan it out.
If I do, I know I’ll talk myself out of it.
I’ll convince myself there’s still time, that morning would be better, safer, more reasonable.
But I don’t want to be reasonable anymore; I want to be honest about everything.
I park at the curb and jog to his apartment, not bothering with texts. If he’s asleep, I’ll wait. If he doesn’t want to see me—god, if he tells me to fuck off—I’ll survive it. But I’m not letting silence be the last word again.
I stand in front of his door, my heart jackhammering, and force myself to breathe. My knuckles are white where I ball my hands into fists. I almost chicken out, but then I knock—two quick raps, then silence and another two—same as always.
It takes a minute before I hear movement inside—bare feet on hardwood, a clatter, maybe a muffled curse. The chain scrapes back, and the door swings open.
Noah stands there in soft sweats and a worn T-shirt. He blinks when he sees me, eyes widening, mouth parting in shock. “Damien? What are you—What are you doing here?”
I can’t help it—I drink him in. Every detail, every piece of him I’ve missed so fucking much in the years we were apart. My nerves are wrecked, my palms slick, but I step forward before I can lose my nerve.
“I’m here because I’m an idiot,” say, my voice steady despite the way my heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest. “And because I’m done pretending I don’t know what that look meant.”
He swallows, color blooming high on his cheeks. “What look?”
“The one you gave me at the pond,” I say quietly. “The one you gave me when you kissed my cheek. The one you’ve been giving me since before I left, when I was too blind to see it.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again, clearly overwhelmed. “Damien, I—”
“I came to do something I should’ve done four years ago,” I interrupt, stepping fully into his space. I don’t touch him yet, but I give him the choice to move back. “And if you tell me to leave, I will. I swear it, Blue. But I need to say this out loud, or it’s going to eat me alive.”
His breath is shallow, chest rising and falling fast. “Okay,” he whispers.
I close the gap, reaching up with hands that are steadier than I feel, framing his face gently, brushing my thumbs over the soft skin beneath his eyes. He doesn’t flinch. He leans into my touch, eyes fluttering shut.
Then, with everything that’s been building for years—fear, longing, hope, regret—I lower my lips to his and claim the kiss I’ve ached for.
It’s not soft or sweet. It’s every year I spent trying to forget the way his laugh used to sound. Every night I spent wondering if he hated me. It’s all the things I never said and all the things I should’ve done. It’s a fucking apology in the shape of my mouth—a confession with no words left.
It’s four years of restraint snapping.
He gasps against my mouth, and I swallow the sound, groaning when his hands fist in the front of my hoodie and drag me closer.
The world narrows to the shape of him: the press of his lips, the heat of his breath, the way his body fits against mine.
I deepen the kiss, letting all the missed years, the regret and the need and the aching, messy love between us spill out until there’s nothing left but him.
When I finally break away, we’re both breathless, his eyes shining and wet, a shaky laugh bubbling up from somewhere inside him.
I press my forehead to his, trying to hold myself together, but I can’t help the way my own smile breaks loose.
I run my thumb over the corner of his mouth, memorizing the way he smiles, shaky and so damn beautiful.
“I’m in love with you, Blue,” I say, finally unguarded.
“I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, and I’ve never stopped.
I only left because your dad threatened us both.
He told me he’d destroy your future, take your scholarship, and make sure no team ever looked at me if I stayed. He saw how I loved you and hated it.”
Noah’s grip tightens on my hoodie, and he leans back, his face a mask of horror as he looks at me. “What?” he breathes. “What do you… my dad…?”
I nod. “Your dad made it clear that he didn’t want me ‘rubbing off’ on you.
He saw how much I wanted you, and he was disgusted by it,” I say, swallowing my anger.
“And I wanted you so much it fucking wrecked me, Noah. I thought leaving was the only way to protect you. I thought you’d be better off hating me than losing everything you worked for. ”
The tears that were shining in his eyes now spill over his flushed cheeks. “I—I don’t even…” he takes a breath and shakes his head. “I don’t even want the life he wants for me!”
The way he screams it has my heart doing a proud flip, and I can do nothing but watch as everything that he’s been bottling up finally comes spilling out.
“I don’t want to be a swimmer or a model.
I never did! I tried, because that’s what you do when you grow up in that house—you try to be small enough, quiet enough, perfect enough.
But I hated it. I still hate it,” he finishes, his voice cracking, his hands curling into fists against my chest as if he doesn’t know where to put all that fury.
I feel it rise in me too, hot and violent, the old instinct to go to war for him, to put my fist through something and call it justice. My jaw locks hard enough to ache.
Without thinking, I pull him into me, wrapping my arms around him before that anger can turn inward the way I know it does with him. He stiffens for half a second, then collapses against my chest as the fight drains straight out of him.
“He doesn’t get to do that anymore. I won’t… I won’t allow it,” Noah says, voice shaking. “He doesn’t get to decide who I love or what I want or whether I’m allowed to—”
“Hey,” I murmur, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading gently through his hair. “Hey. Breathe with me, Blue. Just breathe.”
He clutches at my hoodie, and I feel his breath hitch against my chest. “He had no right. He had no right to do that to you. Or to me.”
“I know,” I say quietly, pressing my cheek to his hair. “I know he didn’t. But listen to me for a second, yeah?”
He nods against me, and I slow my breathing deliberately, exaggerating it so he can feel the rise and fall of my chest. I’ve done this before with him when he spirals. I remember how.
“In through your nose,” I say softly. “Out through your mouth. That’s it. Can you do it again for me?”
It takes a few tries, but eventually his breathing starts to match mine. The tension in his shoulders eases just a little.
“That anger makes sense,” I tell him quietly. “Every bit of it. But you don’t have to burn yourself alive with it.”
He finally looks up at me then, eyes red and brimming with unshed tears. “I’m so angry, I don’t know what else to do with it.”
“Yeah, I know.” I brush my thumb under his eye, wiping away a tear before it falls. “You don’t need to decide anything tonight. Not about him. Not about swimming. Not about your future. All you need to do right now is stay right here.”
He exhales shakily. “What if he still has power? What if he can still hurt you?”
I don’t lie to him, and I won’t brush it off. “Then we deal with it together. With lawyers. With my dad. With people who know how to protect us now. But he doesn’t get to scare us into silence anymore.”
Noah swallows, the fight draining out of him in slow waves. “You shouldn’t have had to give up four years of your life for me.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t give it up for nothing. I gave it up because I loved you, and I still do.” I press my forehead to his. “And if I could go back, I’d do some things differently—but loving you was never a mistake.”
His breath stutters, and then he leans into me fully, forehead against my chest, fists twisting in the fabric at my sides. I wrap my arms around him without hesitation, holding him as I should have all along.
“I hate him,” Noah whispers. “For making me think I was too much. For making you disappear.”
“I know,” I say into his hair. “But you’re not too much—you never were. You were just surrounded by people who didn’t know how to love you right.”
He stays in my arms for a long moment, breathing evening out, anger settling into something quieter and more manageable.
“I should’ve told you,” I murmur. “I should’ve trusted you with the truth instead of deciding for you. I thought I was protecting you, but I hurt you instead. And I’m so fucking sorry for that.”
“You should have,” he says and laughs weakly through the tears. “God, you’re such an idiot.”
I huff out a breath that’s half a laugh, half a sob. “Yeah. I know.”
When he pulls back again, his eyes are still bright with tears, but there’s resolve there now, too. “You don’t get to leave again,” he says firmly.
“I won’t,” I say immediately. “I swear, I’m not leaving again.”
He studies my face as if committing it to memory, then nods once. “Okay,” he says, his voice steady despite everything, “Okay.”
I kiss him again, this time greedier, my lips parting against his, and he makes a soft, needy sound that just about ruins me. His hands are in my hoodie, dragging me closer, and suddenly, patience is a dead language.
I want all of him at once, four years of hunger turning into something clumsy and desperate as I press kisses down his cheek, along his jaw, back to his mouth. I slip my hands to his hips, bend my knees, and in one smooth, practiced motion, lift him clean off the floor.
He lets out a startled squeak, his arms wrapping around my neck as instinct takes over and he wraps his legs around my waist. The trust is instant, muscle memory.
He’s lighter than I remember but just as solid, and all I can do is hold him there, gripping the backs of his thighs, our mouths slotting together in a kiss that’s half apology, half benediction.
Noah’s hands tangle in my hair, his lips feverish, and the sound he makes when I squeeze his hips sets my skin on fire.
He nips at my lower lip, bossier now, demanding more, and I give it to him gladly, stumbling toward his bedroom.
I bump us into the wall and can’t even find it in myself to apologize.
I walk him through the little hallway, trailing kisses down his neck. He digs his fingers into my hair, tugging hard enough to make me groan against his jaw. I nuzzle under his ear, bite gently at his skin, and he squeezes my waist with his thighs, pressing his chest closer to mine.
“Mien…” he whispers, voice so small and awed I feel it in my chest. “Are you sure—?”
I cut him off with another kiss, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. If you want me to stop, say it now, Blue.”
He shakes his head, arms winding tighter around me. “Don’t stop. Please.”
God, I want him. All of him. Every inch.
Every laugh. Every scar. Every breathless plea.
I want every late-night conversation, every photo, every stupid inside joke that only we get.
I want to give him every part of me I never thought I’d be allowed to share again.
And right now, with his legs locked around my waist, I want nothing more than to carry him straight to his bedroom and never let go.
I walk us to his room and lay him down before settling in between his legs and kissing him again.
Somewhere in the mess of hands and lips, I realize I’m crying a little, tears slipping out while I press my face to his neck and breathe him in.
He notices—of course, he does—and he wipes them away with trembling fingers, no judgment in his eyes, only love.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, kissing the corner of my mouth, cheeks, eyelids. “I love you, too. I’m not going anywhere, either.”
I let out a shaky laugh, half relief, half pure joy. “I love you so fucking much, Noah.”
He pulls me down into another kiss, sweet and deep, and this time when I settle between his legs, he opens up for me without hesitation, trusting me to catch him, to hold him, to love him the way he’s always deserved.