43. Damon
Damon
I wake up to a dead weight on my chest.
At first, I don’t even process it—I’m too fucking warm, too comfortable, too content—but then I blink my eyes open and realize that Roman is sprawled half on top of me, his limbs tangled with mine, his face buried against my neck.
I huff out a quiet chuckle, shaking my head. Ridiculous. It’s not even annoying. It’s fucking endearing. The guy is a blanket, bed, and sheet hog all in one. My arm is trapped under him, completely numb, but I don’t even care. Not when I can feel his slow, steady breaths against my skin and the warmth of his body pressed against mine.
I run my free hand through his messy hair, my fingers tracing absently down the dip of his spine. He doesn’t even stir, out cold in the deepest fucking sleep I’ve ever seen. I smirk, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Still nothing. Yeah, he’s gone.
I let my head fall back against the pillow, exhaling softly. My mind drifts to Caleb’s letter—the words still heavy in my chest, but not suffocating anymore. He asked me to look after Roman. Look after him when he’s gone.
I wonder, for a brief second, if Caleb could see this happening. If this was some fucked up way of giving me his blessing. Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I’ll do what he asked. I’ll look after Roman. I’ll protect him, even if it means protecting him from myself.
I slide out from under him as carefully as I can, which is hard as fuck because the guy is basically a human-sized koala, but somehow, I manage. I shake my arm out to get the blood flowing again before grabbing my phone off the nightstand.
My thumb hovers over my mom’s number for a second before I finally type out a message.
Come over for dinner tonight? We need to talk. And… I just want to see you.
I hesitate, then add—
I don’t blame you for anything, Mom. And thank you. For loving me and for protecting me.
I stare at the screen for a second before hitting send. The weirdest thing happens as soon as the message goes through—I feel lighter. Like, for the first time in years, something has settled inside of me instead of getting worse.
I pocket my phone and head to the kitchen. I need coffee. And food. And something normal to start the day with before my head decides to go somewhere darker.
I stretch as I walk, rolling out my shoulders, and I take the phone from my pocket and toss it onto the counter so I can focus on making breakfast. I pull eggs and bacon out of the fridge, then throw some bread into the toaster. I move easily in my kitchen, used to the motions, the normalcy of it.
By the time the coffee is brewed and I’ve got eggs and bacon sizzling in the pan, I hear a groggy groan from the bed and I smirk, not turning around.
Seconds later, I feel warmth press against my back and a heavy forehead resting between my shoulder blades. Roman lets out the most pitiful whine, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind like a fucking clingy sleep-drunk idiot.
“Come back to bed,” he mutters against my spine, voice hoarse and thick with sleep.
I huff out a laugh, flipping the bacon. “We both need to eat, baby.”
“You can eat in bed,” he argues, tightening his hold.
I turn my head just enough to smirk at him. “You were out like a fucking light. I could’ve burned the building down and you wouldn’t have noticed.”
“Yeah, well,” he yawns against my back, arms still lazily wrapped around my waist, “you fucked me well last night. I deserve some extra sleep.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “That your way of saying ‘thank you’?”
He grumbles something incoherent but doesn’t move, still practically melting against me.
Instead of answering, I reach back and run my fingers through his hair and glance over my shoulder again, watching as he blinks up at me, bleary-eyed and disheveled. His hair is a fucking mess, sticking up in every direction, and there’s a faint imprint of a pillow crease on his cheek.
And he’s naked. Fucking hell.
“Can you put on some clothes before you start rubbing up on me?” I say, shaking my head, and he still doesn’t let go of me.
Roman just hums, pressing a kiss between my shoulder blades. “No.”
“Of course not.”
“Are you really making breakfast instead of coming back to bed with me?” he pouts, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along my ribs.
“Yes, because, unlike you, I’m a partially functioning adult,” I say, plating the eggs and bacon.
Roman groans again, but this time he finally pulls away, stretching his arms over his head. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you or I’d be pissed you left me in bed alone.”
I shake my head again, even as my heart skips a beat. “Sit your ass down, Hotshot. Breakfast is ready.”
He groans dramatically, but he walks over to the breakfast nook and flops into one of the kitchen chairs, butt naked and rubbing his hands down his face. I set a plate in front of him and take the seat opposite him, watching as he blinks at the food like he’s still processing being awake.
“You look so fucking out of it,” I tease, smirking over my coffee cup.
He glares at me. “I hate mornings.”
“You love mornings when I wake you up with my mouth,” I counter, shoving a forkful of eggs into my mouth.
Roman points at me with his fork, eyes narrowing. “Watch it, Ward.”
I snort. “What are you gonna do? Threaten me with a good time?”
He groans again, kicking my shin under the table, but I see the smirk threatening to tug at his lips.
We eat in comfortable silence after that, the only sounds in the apartment being the occasional scrape of a fork against the plate, the hum of the fridge, and the faint music playing from my phone on the counter.
Halfway through breakfast, my phone buzzes.
I’ll be there at seven. I love you, sweetheart.
I exhale slowly, setting my phone back down. Roman tilts his head, chewing a piece of bacon. “That Ma?”
“Yeah,” I say, running my thumb over the rim of my coffee cup. “She’s coming over for dinner tonight.”
He nods, setting his fork down. His expression softens slightly. “How do you feel about that?”
“I invited her,” I explain. “I feel… lighter, maybe? But also like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Roman watches me carefully, then reaches out and laces his fingers through mine. His hand is warm and solid. Real. “The shoe isn’t gonna drop, Damon,” he murmurs, squeezing my hand. “You’re allowed to feel the way you feel, but everything isn’t always black and white, babe.”
My throat tightens, but I nod, squeezing back. We sit there for a while, just holding hands, letting the moment settle between us, and I let myself believe him.
But he’s still fucking grumpy when the moment snaps. I don’t know why it makes me so goddamn smug, but it does. Maybe because it’s too easy to mess with him when he’s like this—half-asleep, groggy as fuck, and scowling at the world like it personally offended him.
I stretch as I stand from the table, collecting our plates and setting them in the sink. “C’mon, Bishop, time to shower.”
He grunts. Actually grunts. Like some feral, half-conscious caveman. I bite back a laugh as he rubs his hands down his face again. “Five more minutes.”
I flick water at him from the sink. “We don’t have five minutes.”
He glares at me through his fingers. “You’re an actual menace.”
“Someone has to be the adult in this relationship,” I shoot back, grabbing his wrist and dragging him up from his seat. He doesn’t fight me, just stumbles after me toward the bathroom, grumbling under his breath the whole way.
When we step inside, I turn on the shower, letting the water heat up before I strip off my T-shirt. Roman, meanwhile, is still standing in the middle of the bathroom, arms crossed over his bare chest, looking personally victimized by being awake.
“You’re fucking impossible,” I say, stepping behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist. “You’re acting like I’m dragging you to your execution.”
He hums, tipping his head back against my shoulder. “That’s because I wanna be in bed, not in a freezing-ass bathroom.”
I roll my eyes, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck and he moans. “Then let’s make it worth getting out of bed for.”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t argue when I strip the rest of the way and pull him into the shower with me.
The second the hot water hits his skin, he groans, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to wake up. I reach for the shampoo and lather it through my hair, keeping an eye on him as he stretches.
“You’re staring,” he mumbles, eyes still half-lidded.
“Can’t help it,” I smirk, sliding my hands down his back, fingers pressing into his tense muscles. “You’re too fucking pretty, Bishop.”
He snorts, but I catch the faint flush creeping up his neck. I press my thumbs into his shoulders, massaging the knots there, and his body instantly melts into my hands.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he mutters, tilting his head forward as I work at the tension.
“Uh-huh,” I chuckle, leaning in to nip at his ear. “See? Worth getting out of bed for.”
He hums again, but this time, it’s happier. Less grumpy. I keep rubbing slow, lazy circles into his shoulders as he sighs under my hands.
“You’re just trying to distract me so I forget you’re an asshole in the mornings,” he mumbles.
“Yeah, well, it’s working.” I kiss the side of his neck again before stepping back under the spray and rinsing out my hair. “We need to get moving, anyway.”
He groans, stretching his arms over his head before rinsing off. “What’s the rush?”
“We have class, Bishop.”
He sighs dramatically, but I can tell he’s waking up now, the steam and the heat working through whatever stiffness was left in his body from practice and me.
When we step out of the shower and start toweling off, he catches my gaze in the mirror. “You remember my game on Friday?”
I nod. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good,” he says, his voice softer now. “Think Ma would want to come?”
I pause, rubbing the towel through my hair. “Yeah. I’ll ask her.”
Roman nods, meeting my eyes in the mirror once more. “I think she’d like that.”
Warmth settles in my chest at the thought of her seeing him play. Of her seeing how fucking incredible he is out there.
After getting dressed, I grab my black hoodie off the counter and pull it on over my head, watching as Roman gets dressed in his fitted black jeans and a simple long-sleeved tee that still somehow manages to make him look obnoxiously hot. Then he steals one of my hoodies again.
Once we’re ready, I grab my keys, throw an arm over his shoulder, and pull him in for a kiss before we head out.
Campus is already busy when we pull up, students heading to their classes in clusters, some barely awake, others looking way too energetic for this early in the morning.
Roman gets off my bike first, tugging his helmet off and ruffling his hair. I notice he’s wearing my Sisters of Mercy hoodie again, and he looks fucking good in it. Which is annoying because he steals my shit and I can’t even be mad about it.
I slide off the bike and lean against it, watching him stretch. “You look like you got wrecked last night.”
Roman glares at me. “I did get wrecked last night, thanks to you.”
I smirk, stepping closer. “You loved it.”
He grunts but doesn’t deny it, he just shifts on his feet, watching me like he’s debating something. I smirk. “What, you wanna skip class?”
He rolls his eyes. “No, dumbass. Just…” He hesitates, then steps closer, pressing a quick kiss to my jaw. “Text me later, yeah?”
I nod, squeezing his hip. “Always.”
And with that, we go our separate ways and the rest of the day passes in a blur.
Classes, assignments, sitting at my usual bench between lectures and sketching while Sleep Token blasts through my earbuds. I keep my phone nearby, half-expecting a message from my mom, but nothing comes through. Not yet.
By the time lunch rolls around, I realize I haven’t seen Roman since this morning.
I glance across the quad, spotting him near the athletic building, laughing with Killian and Thorn. My heart stutters at the sight of him—comfortable, at ease, fucking happy.
It’s weird, a few months ago, I hated seeing him. Now, it’s the one thing that keeps me grounded.
I exhale slowly, turning my attention back to my sketchpad. I don’t know where we’re going, what the fuck we’re doing, or how any of this ends.
But for the first time in a long time…
I don’t care.