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“No. I’m still trying to figure out how the heck you ended up here.”
“Probably that one bad thought you had last year or something,” he joked.
He… joked. He was being playful with me. At least I thought he had been. It was hard to read Damian. It was as if his whole existence was written in the ancient Greek text, and I had to use context clues to try to decipher his meaning.
“You’re probably right. You probably showed up after that one night I had explosive diarrhea, and I cussed the universe and asked if they had any other shit to send my way.”
He smiled fully this time—and it stayed a little bit longer than the last one.
Do that more often, Damian.
He tilted his head in pleasure. “You’re welcome.”
I laughed.
I liked this side of him. The one that didn’t feel so heavy. Don’t get me wrong, his stance was still intense, and his posture was still stern, but his eyes… they seemed softer. I wasn’t certain I wanted the interaction to dissipate, so I shifted it.
“So, you’re not into romantic comedies?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then what do you watch?” I arched my eyebrow. “Let me guess, documentaries.”
“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?”
“I don’t… it’s just a boring thing.”
“You think I’m boring?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know? I have no clue what you’re into. You don’t really share much with me.”
“Don’t take it personally. Even though I get the feeling you take everything personally.”
I sat straighter. “I do n…” I started, but the words simmered away from my tongue.
I did take everything personally. It was one of my biggest struggles in life.
“Was that self-realization I just witnessed?” he mentioned.
“A little bit.”
“Proud of you, Stella.”
I pretend curtsied from the couch.
He looked down at the glass in his hand and then toward the kitchen. Yet, instead of walking away, he cleared his throat. “I don’t do documentaries.”
“Oh?”
“They are often based on sad situations, and I don’t like watching sad situations. I’ve lived enough of them on my own. I don’t like adding extra sadness to my mind.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d hate to accidentally manifest more sadness into my life.”
I smiled, and I gestured toward the emptied side of the couch. “Which is why you should watch this romantic comedy with me. I’m all about feel-good things.”
“They are so cookie-cutter,” he grumbled.
“I know. That’s why I love them. Because, no matter what, no matter the struggles, you are guaranteed a happily ever after. I think the world could use a few more happily ever afters. So, again…” I gestured toward the emptied couch cushion.
He huffed. It wasn’t his annoyed huff, though. Over the past few weeks, I’d been able to learn the difference in the type of huffs, grumbles, and grimaces Damian shared. Some were for when he was mad. Others when overwhelmed. Even a few for when he felt discomfort.
