I'm just a girl

Fluffy/smutty/"comedic" Damien fanfics and shitty Smosh memes account. @nightwriter357 on ao3 Nat | She/her | 29 | European

[nightwriter357]

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All my stories are Damien Haas x reader (18+) and some/most of them are smut. I tend to write more series than one shots but I take requests and use your guys's feedback to improve and inspire my writing so feel free to reach out(you can always ask or give requests anonymously). Below is a list of the fanfiction I've written so far:

Also on: Ao3 and Wattpad

Series

Are you just playing with me?

You and Damien join the rest of the Smosh cast on a hilarious and steamy vacation. Amidst playful banter and a new spicy game each night, your chemistry with Damien intensifies. The overarching game of the week —assigning everyone an emotion towards a person on the cast —adds to the fun and tension as it makes both you and Damien wonder: Are you just playing with me?

Day 1 - Day 2 - Day 3 - Day 4 - Day 5 - Day 6 - Day 7 - The song - +Bonus

Smosh Summer Games: Ships

Smosh summer games is back, and you and Damien end up on the same team. You also end up being roommates, is this your chance to do what you've always wanted to? He seems like he wants to, right?

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - part 9 - Part 10 + video trailer

Just Friends

You and Damien are just friends - and roomates. You live together with Shayne and next to you lovley neighbour Angela. You and Damien have a lot of fun together and he's truly a person you can depend on. How long is it gonna take you to realise you could be something more than - Just Friends

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 + video

A window into us

You and Damien live next to each other. No matter where life takes you, you always climb through his window two nights every year-sometimes as if nothing has changed, sometimes like a stranger.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Video - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

One shots

Smosh hide and seek - You and Damien end up hiding in the same spot.

Matching halloween costumes - You and Damien end up wearing complementary costumes.

You're too special to be sad for too long - Damien comforts you after your friends don't show up to your graduation pary

A nightmare before Haas(no smut) - You rush to Damien's house in the middle of the night after having a nightmare about him

[nightwriter357]

A window into us: Chapter 14 - I have to go (final chapter)

Thank you to every single person who has read, commented, and loved and been as frustrated by these characters as much as I have. It means the world. I've decided to end the story here, and I hope you enjoy the final chapter.

Damien hears you before he sees you.

Your footsteps on the roof. Light. Careful. The same footsteps he's been listening for his whole life. You always move like you're trying not to be heard, like you're apologizing for existing before you've even arrived.

You do not get to do this.

Six months. Six months of silence again. You kissed him. You kissed him again and then you left again.

And now you are on his roof. Without warning. 

"You can't keep doing this to me," Damien whispers to the empty room.

The words feel small. Pathetic. He has said them a hundred times in his head. Rehearsed them for  a moment exactly like this.

You cannot just show up.

You cannot ignore me for months and then climb through my window like nothing happened.

You can't kiss me.

I told you I loved you and you said nothing.

You are cruel. You are mean. You never used to be before. But now you are.

The words pile up in Damien's throat, sharp and jagged. He wants to say all of them. He wants to yell. He wants to shake you. He wants to make you understand what you have done to him.

So why are you not coming?

Damien's heart slams against his ribs. He's at the window before he can think better of it, hand pressed flat against the cold glass. The curtain is cracked. Just a sliver. Just enough to see.

The roof is empty.

No.

Damien heard you. He knows he heard you. That sound is etched into his mind. He could pick it out of a thunderstorm. He could pick it out of a crowd of a thousand people. He could pick it out in his sleep.

You are out there.

But you are not at the window.

Damien stands frozen, staring at the frost-covered glass as his breath fogs it. He wipes it away with his sleeve and presses closer, scanning the dark.

Where are you?

Damien waits.

One minute. Two. Three.

The roof stays empty. The window stays dark. The only sound is the wind rattling the glass and Damien's own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

You are out there.

Damien knows you are. He heard you. He felt you. There is a shift in the air when you are near, some kind of pressure change that he has never been able to explain. The world just feels different when you're close.

So why are you not coming?

You always do. Or you used to. You would tap on the glass. Then you would shove the window open before Damien could answer. You would knock over his lamp. Trip over his shoes. Apologize for breaking something. You would fill his room with noise and chaos and you.

But you are not coming. Can you just climb through so he can tell you that you shouldn't have come?

The anger flickers. Something else creeps in underneath it.

Maybe you changed your mind.

The thought lands like a stone in Damien's chest.

Maybe you got to the roof and stopped. Maybe you looked at his window. Dark. Closed. Unwelcoming. Maybe you decided he did not want you there. 

Or maybe you are sitting out in the cold right now, frozen and miserable, because you think he wouldn't let you in.

You never wear a jacket. It's so dumb. It's winter and you'll come over in a tank top complaining that it's cold. He would always toss you a hoodie. Always warm your hands between his. You would pretend you were not cold. You would make a joke. You would call Damien stupid for caring and he would tell you that you're the stupid one for not wearing a jacket.

You are sitting on his roof in the middle of winter, probably telling yourself you deserve the cold. Probably telling yourself this is what you get for messing with his head.

You are so stupid.

Damien is so stupid.

What are you doing?

Damien does not know. He is angry. He is hurt. He has every right to leave you out there. You deserve to freeze. You deserve to feel even a fraction of the cold he has felt every time you walked away.

But you are out there.

And you are not wearing a jacket.

Damien thinks about the speech he rehearsed. All the things he was going to say. You cannot keep doing this to me. You do not get to just show up. He grabs a blanket.

Damien slides the latch open.

The window creaks as he pushes it up. Cold air floods the room, sharp and clean. It steals the breath from his lungs.

Damien swings one leg over the sill. Then the other. The roof is slick with frost. His sneakers slip on the shingles. He catches himself on the window frame dragging the blanket with him.

He is just going out here to tell you that you cannot keep doing this. That this is the last time he'll open this stupid window to you.

Then he sees you. You are sitting a few feet from the window. Knees pulled to your chest. Back against the slope of the roof. Your arms are wrapped around yourself, fingers tucked under your elbows for warmth. Your shoulders are shaking. Not from crying. From the cold. Just from the cold.

And the words die in his throat. Sitting a few feet from the window. Knees pulled to your chest.

The anger is still there, somewhere deep in his chest, but it is buried under something else. Something that hurts worse.

You look small.

You always look small to Damien. But right now, on this roof, in the dark, with your teeth chattering and your hands shaking, you look like you are trying to take up as little space as possible. Like you are apologizing for being here before you have even said a word.

Damien takes a step toward you. His sneaker scrapes against a shingle.

You look up.

Your eyes go wide. Surprise. Fear. Something else Damien cannot name.

"Damien."

His name sounds different when you say it. It always has. Like it belongs to you. Like you know it always has.

Damien does not answer. He cannot. His throat is too tight. His hands are shaking and he does not know if it is from the cold or from you.

He walks over to you. One step. Two. Three.

You do not move. You just stare up at him, your breath fogging between you, your lips slightly parted like you are about to say something but cannot find the words.

Damien stops in front of you.

For a second, neither of you moves.

Then Damien drapes the blanket over your shoulders.

He sits down next to you. Not close enough to touch. Just close enough to feel the cold radiating off your body. Just close enough to hear your teeth stop chattering.

The silence stretches between you. It is not comfortable. But it is not hostile either. It is just... full. Full of everything Damien has been carrying for six months. Full of everything you have been carrying too.

Damien looks at your profile. The streetlight catches your cheek. Your eyelashes. The small scar above your eyebrow from the time you fell off your bike when you were twelve.

You are still the most beautiful person Damien has ever seen.

He hates that about you. There are so many things he hates about you. If he didn't love you he swears he wouldn't even like you. You're stubborn and funny and smart and damn it. Damien has always been a terrible liar but he wishes he could at least lie to himself.

You speak first. Your voice is quiet. Barely there. Like you are not sure you are allowed to speak at all. "I'm sorry, I knew I shouldn't have come. That's why I stopped myself."

"Then why are you out here?" Damien asks. His voice comes out harder than he meant it to. He does not soften it. "It is freezing. You are not wearing a jacket. Why didn't you just go back home."

You flinch at his tone. Damien sees it. The way your shoulders curl inward. The way you make yourself smaller.

"I am sorry," you whisper.

Damien sighs and shakes his head. "You are always sorry."

You look at him then. Really look. Your eyes are red, really red. It has to be from the cold.

"I know," you say. "I know I am always sorry. I know I keep doing this. I know I keep showing up and messing with your head and leaving and I know it is not fair to you and I know you deserve better and I know I am cruel even though I do not mean to be and I know"

He interrupts, "stop." Damien's voice cracks on the word.

You stop.

The silence rushes back in.

"Why have you been crying" Damien asks looking straight forward, avoiding eye contact. 

You take a breath. It shudders on the way in.

"My sister is turning eighteen."

Damien blinks. He turns his head to look at you. "What?"

"She is going to graduate. She is going to college." You pull the blanket tighter. "She is going to leave."

Damien waits. He does not understand yet. But he knows there is more.

"She is going to be free," you continue. Your voice is quiet. Shaking. "She is going to pack her things and drive away and she is never going to look back. And I am going to be stuck here. In this house. In this town. In this life I did not choose."

"You could leave too," Damien says.

You let out a small laugh. It is bitter. "Could I?"

"Yes. You could pack your things and drive away and never look back. People do it every day."

"I am not people."

Damien looks at you. Your jaw is tight. Your eyes are fixed on something in the distance. His window. Your house. The future. He cannot tell.

"I have been writing," you say. "It's a book. I have been working on it for years now."

Damien did not know that. There are a lot of things he does not know about you now. Time will do that.

"What is it about?" Damien asks.

You hesitate. Your fingers pick at a loose thread on the blanket.

"A scared girl," you say. 

Damien watches your profile. The way your jaw tightens. The way your eyes stay fixed on something he cannot see.

"Did you finish it?" Damien asks.

You let out a puff of air that turns white in the cold air. "I sent it out."

Damien's eyebrows rise. "You sent it out where?"

"To a contest. A fellowship thing. For young writers." You swallow. "I do not know why I did it. I was not going to. I had it saved on my laptop for months. And then one night I just... I clicked send. And now I am waiting."

"For what?"

You finally look at him. Your eyes are red. From the cold or from crying, Damien cannot tell.

"For someone to tell me it is good so that I'll finally be able to leave this place. Or for someone to tell me it is garbage and keep me here. I do not know which one I am more afraid of."

"What is stopping you from leaving?" Damien asks.

You are quiet for a long time.

"You," you finally say. "You're stopping me."

Damien waits. He has learned to wait with you. You will get there. You always do. You just need time to find the words. He reaches for his phone. Presses shuffle, let's the song play. Damien puts the phone down without saying a word. The night we met echoes in the night.

"Even when you're not here," you say. "I still have the window. I can just look up at it and I wont feel as alone, wont feel as lonely."

Damien almost smiles. "You know most buildings have windows?"

I am not the only traveler

Who has not repaid his debt

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Take me back to the night we met

Do they?" A smile tugs at you lips as well. "You know what I mean," you say. Your voice is quieter now. The almost-smile fades. "This window. This room. You. It is the only place I have ever felt safe. And I am scared that if I leave, I will lose it. I will lose you."

Damien looks at you. The streetlight catches the side of your face. You are not looking at him. You are looking at his window. At the open curtain. At the warm light spilling out onto the roof.

"I am not going anywhere," Damien says. It's the opposite of what he was supposed to say. 

"You are at college, you're not even here."

"I come back."

"For now." You finally look at him. Your eyes are red. Your nose is running. You look terrible. You look beautiful. "What happens when you graduate? What happens when you get a job somewhere else? What happens when you  fall in love and you move away and you forget about the girl who used to climb through your window?"

Damien's chest aches.

"I would not forget you."

"You say that now."

"I have been saying it for years."

You are quiet. Your fingers pick at the loose thread on the blanket. The same thread. Over and over.

And then I can tell myself

What the hell I'm supposed to do

And then I can tell myself

Not to ride along with you

"I am scared," you admit. Your voice is barely a whisper. "I am scared that if I stay here, I will disappear. I will become my mom. I will wake up one day and I will be forty years old and I will have nothing. No career. No love. No life. Just a house full of empty rooms."

"That will not happen."

"You do not know that."

"I know you." Damien turns his body toward you. His knee almost touches yours. "I know you are not your mom. I know you are brave even when you do not feel brave. I know you are kind even when you are hurting. I know you write books  and you send them out into the world even though you are terrified of what will happen next. That is not someone who disappears. That is someone who is just getting started."

Your lip trembles. "You have to say that. You are my"

Damien waits. "Your what?"

You do not finish the sentence.

"I do not have to say anything," Damien says. "I could have stayed inside. I could have let you sit out here and freeze. I could have let you climb back down and go home and wonder if I still cared. But I did not. I came out here."

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

You look at him. Your eyes are shining.

"Why did you?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"I have been awful to you. I've used you. I've ignored you and yelled at you."

Damien feels like he's been punched in the stomach hearing you say this because he knows it's true, that's what he was supposed to tell you tonight. "You're right. You toyed with me even though you knew I was in love with you"

You are quiet. The wind picks up. You shiver under the blanket. Damien shivers too. His jacket is inside. He does not care.

"You kissed me, you fucked me." His eyes burn into yours." Even though you knew I was in love with you," He says again. "And I don't get why you would do that."

Damien looks at you. At the girl on his roof. At the girl who has been breaking his heart for as long as he can remember.

You swallow, "I've done plenty of other awful shit that's not connected to you being in love with me Damien. Why are you just naming those, stop just naming those."

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

"No," Damien says. "That's what doesn't make sense. You've always thought of yourself as this terrible human and it has never been true. You have never been cruel, never played with anyone's emotions. The opposite actually, you've been guarding other peoples feelings almost as closely as you own which is why I can't make sense of you doing this. So why did you, why did you do this to me?"

"You tell me, Damien?" You look up at him, the tears are streaming down your face but the look in your eye is almost daring. Like you want him to actually try to make sense of it. Like you're holding your breath waiting for it to be out in the open. "Why did I do this? Why?" But what do you mean?

Damien stares at you.

You are looking at him like you have been waiting for this moment for a long time. Like you need him to say it. To finally say it out loud.

When the night was full of terrors

And your eyes were filled with tears

"Why did you do it?" Damien asks again. His voice is louder now. Not angry. Just frustrated. "Why did you climb through my window that night? Why did you ask me to be your first? Why did you come back and kiss me and tell me you loved me and then disappear?"

You do not answer. Your tears are still falling. You do not wipe them away.

"Was it because you were lonely?" Damien continues. "Was it because you were sad? Was it because you needed someone to make you feel wanted and I was just... there?"

"That is not why," you whisper.

"Then why?"

You are quiet for a long time. The wind picks up. You shiver under the blanket.

"I DON'T know," you finally say.

Damien opens his mouth. Closes it. He wants to understand. He wants to know why you did this. But the words won't come.

When you had not touched me yet

Oh, take me back to the night we met

"Forget it," he says.

You look at him. Your eyes are red. "Forget what?"

"All of it. Why you did it. Why you left. I'm done trying to figure it out."

He watches your face change as his voice does. He's not angry. Just done.

"Damien..."

"It doesn't matter anymore, right? We've both moved on."

You stare at him. Your throat tightens ."Have you?" you ask. "Moved on, I mean?"

No. That would be the short and honest answer. But just as you had wanted to protect him, he wanted to protect you. He could not let you feel bad about this. And it's not all a lie he has gone on a date, and he could probably go on another one. "Yes, same girl from six months ago."

"Oh, wow." Your eyes widen, it's like you're shocked someone would ever be with him. "That's so good to hear."

Damien nods slightly but looks away so you don't catch the look in his eye. "And I'm happy for you and your boyfriend."

You search for eye contact. "What, Ryan? We're NOT dating. I mean he apologized and all and I accepted it but we're NOT dating."

Damien jumps at the mention of Ryan's stupid name. "What? NO. Not Ryan. I mean the guy from the coffee shop. The one who always drives you home? Who slapped your ass?"

You look puzzled, let out a small laugh before you compose yourself. "Oh.. Yes of course. Tommy my boyfriend."

"He's good to you?" Damien asks.

You hesitate. Just a second. "Yeah. He's good."

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

Damien nods. He can feel it in his gut. Something is off. But he doesn't say it.

"What about you?" you ask. "The girl. Are you in love?"

Of course he's in love but he can't say that. He can't make you feel bad. Damien is quiet for a moment. "It's still new."

You nod. The silence stretches. Then Damien turns it back on you. "Have you ever been in love?" he asks. 

The question hangs in the air. He didn't plan to. It just came out.

You look at him. Your face is hard to read. But your eyes are soft.

"Yes," you say. Your voice is barely a whisper.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Take me back to the night we met

Damien's breath catches. He wasn't prepared for that answer. He was ready for you to deflect, to change the subject, to say something vague. But you just said yes. Plain and simple. Yes, you've been in love.

He wants to ask who. He wants to ask if it's him. He wants to grab your shoulders and shake the name out of you.

He doesn't.

"Yeah?" he says instead.

You nod. You don't say who.

"Have you?" you ask.

He looks at you. Really looks. Trying to memorize your face. The way the streetlight catches your cheek. The way your breath fogs in the cold. The way you're looking at him like you're waiting for something.

He thinks about all the nights he lay in his bed staring at your window. All the times he told himself to stop loving you. All the times he failed.

"You know I have," Damien says.

You swallow and smile gently. He watches your face. He doesn't know what that smile means. He doesn't know if you're relieved or sad or something else entirely.

Damien opens his mouth to say something else. Maybe to put everything out there int he open. But he doesn't because..

Headlights sweep across the roof.

A car pulls into your driveway.

Your mom's car.

They both freeze.

The headlights die. Your mom gets out. She's alone. The car is packed with stuff. She walks to the front door. Fumbles with her keys. The porch light flicks on.

She goes inside.

The door closes.

The porch light stays on.

The moment is gone.

You stare at your house. Your hands are shaking.

Damien watches you. He doesn't know what you were going to say. He doesn't know what he was going to say. But it was something. It was finally something.

"I have to go," you whisper.

He wants to tell you to stay. He wants to finish whatever was about to happen. "You could stay," Damien says.

You shake your head. "I can't."

"You can. You just won't."

The words hang in the cold air.

You flinch. But you don't argue.

"Why?" Damien asks. His voice is quiet. Not angry. Just tired. "Why do you always go back there? To her? To a person that makes you feel like you're not enough?"

You don't answer. "Why can't you stay here? With me? "

Your lip trembles. Your eyes fill with tears.

"Because you deserve better," you whisper.

Damien stares at you.

"What?"

"You deserve better than me. You deserve someone who isn't a mess. Someone who doesn't run. Someone who doesn't show up in the middle of the night and mess with your head and leave."

Damien's chest aches.

"That's not your decision to make."

"It's the only decision I know how to make."

You stand up. The blanket falls off your shoulders. You don't pick it up. Damien stands up too. He doesn't let you leave. Not yet.

"Stop," he says.

You freeze.

"Stop deciding what I deserve. Stop deciding what's good for me. Stop protecting me from yourself. "

You stare at him. Your eyes are wide. "That's not"

"Yes, it is. That's all you've ever done. You push me away because you think you're doing me a favor. You kiss me and touch me and then act like it never happened. You run because you think you're not enough." His voice cracks. "But you don't ask me what I think. You don't ask me what I want."

You open your mouth. Close it.

Damien takes a step toward you. "Ask me." 

You shake your head and shift you gaze towards the ground. "I can't."

Damien puts his hand on your cheek and angles your head towards him. "Ask me what I want."

You look at him. Your eyes are wet. Your hands are shaking. "I CAN'T," you scream.

"What are you so afraid of?" he asks. 

For a second time freezes and he's sure your going to kiss him. But then you take a deep breath and it's like you snap out of it.

"I have to go," you say again.

 He wants to grab your hand. He wants to pull you back down. He wants to tell you that you're wrong. That you're not a mess. That he doesn't want better. That he wants you.

He doesn't say any of it. "Okay," he says instead.

You look at him. Your eyes search his face. For what, he doesn't know. "Damien..."

He waits.

You don't say anything else.

You climb down from the roof. You pause at the edge. Look back at him. You smile at him before disappearing and  dropping down onto the grass. You walk toward your house. You don't look back.

Damien asked if you've ever been in love. 

Now he's here, watching your door close behind you, wondering who you were talking about when you said yes.

Maybe you were..

He hopes you were.

He thinks about all of it.

He thinks about the first time you kissed him. Prom night. His room. The lights from the street coming through the curtain. The taste of your lips. He thought his heart was going to stop.

He thinks about the night you slept together. The way you shivered under his hands. The way you said his name like a prayer. The way you fell asleep on his chest. The way you were gone as soon as the sun came up.

He thinks about the night you told him you loved him. The way your voice shook. The happiness he felt until you added: "We love each other in different ways." 

He thinks about the way you looked at him when he told you about the girl from the date. The way you kissed him anyway.

He thinks about tonight. How you said yes when he asked if you'd ever been in love. You didn't say who. Then you looked at him like you were waiting for him to understand.

You've never said the words clearly. You probably never will.

But Damien doesn't really need the words.

He knows the sound of your footsteps on the roof. He knows you always sleep on the right side of the bed. He knows you talk in your sleep sometimes, words he can never quite make out.

And somewhere deep down, in a part of his mind that doesn't need proof, he knows who you were talking about.

It was him.

He doesn't need you to say it.

He knows.

THE END

[nightwriter357]

A window into us: Chapter 13 - I'm glad she's nice

So as I said, a bit slower than last time. But also as I said... Sims video! I felt like I needed to do one from her POV,. I really hope you like the chapter and the vid.

Love you all!

Tommy's car smells like coffee and the air freshener he refuses to replace. You've been staring out the window for most of the ride, watching the familiar streets roll by.

"You're doing it again," Tommy says.

"Doing what?" Your reflection stares back at you in the window. Your hair is fine. Your face is fine. Nothing about you has changed in six months. You wonder if he has.

"That thing where you stare at nothing and think about him."

You don't deny it. What's the point? 

"He's still home, isn't he?"

You nod.

Tommy glances at you. "Okay, hypothetical question. If you knew Damien wanted to be with you like, really wanted to be with you, would you say yes?"

"What kind of question is that? He doesn't. I know he doesn't." You turn to look at him. "I told him that I'm inlove with him and his response was it's obvious."

"Just answer."

You sigh. "Obviously. Happy now?"

Tommy grins. "Overjoyed."

He pulls into your driveway. Your eyes drift to Damien's window. It's open. He's standing there. Actually standing there, looking down at you.

Your heart stops.

Tommy follows your gaze. "Well, would you look at that." He nudges you. "He's waiting."

You can't move. Can't breathe.

Tommy leans over and gives you a friendly smack on the ass. "Go get him, tiger."

You shriek. "Tommy!"

He's already laughing, pushing you out of the car. "Text me tomorrow! Tell me everything!"

You stumble onto the grass, face burning, and watch him drive away.

When you look back up, Damien is still at the window.

You wave.

He waves back.

Okay. Here we go.

The climb is muscle memory. Your hands know exactly where to grip. Your mind is trying to calm your heart down.

You push the window open and there he is. Standing there. Waiting for you.

You don't even think. You just move.

"Damien!"

You squeeze him as tight as you can, like you're trying to make up for every second of the last six months.

"I missed you," you say against his shoulder. "I missed you so much."

His arms tighten around you. "I missed you too, Angel."

You pull back just enough to look at him. Really look. He seems taller. His hair is longer. He looks good.

"You look so adult," he says, grinning. "In your little work uniform."

You glance down at yourself. You're still wearing your coffee shop clothes. "It's not little."

"It suits you."

You reach up and ruffle his hair. It goes in approximately seventeen different directions but still manages to look good. 

"Your hair is dumb," you announce.

He raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"It's like, whenever it gets this long, it gains consciousness." You gesture at the chaos on his head. 

He laughs.  "You're ridiculous."

"I'm right."

He shakes his head, still smiling. You flop onto the bed beside him, sprawling out like you own the space. Like you never left. Like he never left.

For a moment, everything is perfect.

You ask about college. Casual. Light. Just making conversation.

"It's fine," Damien says. "Actually, I've been seeing someone. Or kind of, or I will be."

You feel your heart stop. Then start again, wrong. It's like it's off-beat. You didn't want to know this, why would he think you'd like to know this?

"That's great," you hear yourself say. Your voice sounds far away. "What's she like?"

He shrugs. "She's nice."

Nice. The most nothing word in the English language.  "That's it? Just nice?" You can hear your own voice rising. You don't care. "She's nice? Wow. Really set the bar high with that one."

He looks at you, a crease forming between his brows. "What's wrong with nice?"

Nothing." You cross your arms. "Nothing's wrong with nice but nice is what you call someone's grandmother. Nice is what you say about a sandwich. Nice is not what you call a girl that" You stop yourself. Breathe. "It's just a bit funny to me"

He shrugs. "I don't see how that's funny"

"It's like does she even have hobbies?" you continue, because stopping means thinking. "Does she do anything for fun or is she just doing nice things all the time?  Like volunteering at the animal shelter? Bringing soup to sick neighbors and waving at old people from her porch?"

"She reads a lot."

You let out a laugh that's more of a scoff. "Reads. Amazing. A woman who reads. Truly a unicorn. You've really found someone special."

"Okay.." He looks confused. "I don't really understand you. You also read?"

"Yeah but she's nice. "You blink at him. "I hope she's exactly as nice as you say. I hope she's the nicest most wave-at-the-elderly woman you've ever met. I hope she makes you very happy."

"Thank you?"

"Although I'm pretty sure when you say nice you mean boring." The words came out before you could stop them . "I hope she's so nice that you fall asleep during dates. I hope her favorite book is a dictionary. I hope she says 'live, laugh, love' unironically. I hope.."

"Sit down."

His voice is sharp. 

"I'm just saying, if nice is what you want, nice is what you should have. I'm sure nice will be very happy to.."

You're standing. You don't remember standing. 

He's watching you. His face is hard to read. 

"What?" You shrug, too fast. "You used to make fun of Ryan all the time. I'm just returning the favor."

He's watching you now. Really watching. You can feel it on your skin like a heat lamp. You stare at your hands. They're shaking. You press them flat against your thighs. You sit.

"Ryan was awful. That's different."

You look at Damien. "You didn't know he was awful back then."

Something shifts in his face. "I knew enough."

The words are quiet. Careful.

You frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I knew he wasn't good enough for you. I knew you deserved better. I knew you were settling because you didn't think anyone would actually want you and I couldn't do anything about it because I was just your friend."

The air shifts. Gets heavier.

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

You don't know what you're going to say. You just need to say something. Anything. "Damien"

"And yeah, I made fun of him. I made fun of him because it was the only way I could say he's not good enough without accidentally saying I love you."

The words land deep in your chest. You blink. I love you. No. That's not.. He didn't mean..

"You were with him so long," Damien continues. His voice is still quiet, but there's something underneath it now. Something that's been buried a long time. "And every night you showed up at my window, crying about him, confused about him, hurt by him and I just... I just sat there. I held you. I told you you deserved better. I watched you go back to him anyway."

You can't speak.

"Do you have any idea what that was like? Watching the girl you love pick someone else, over and over, and then come to you to clean up the mess? 

The girl you love.

There it is again.

"Damien." Your voice cracks. 

He looks at you then. "and the only reason I couldn't blame you for it was because you didn't know how I felt. But then, I guess it turns out you did know. "

"Damien!"

For the first time, you see it. You see all of it. Every late night. Every window climb. Every time he held you and didn't let go. Every "Angel" that wasn't ironic at all.

It's been there the whole time.

And you never looked. But you're looking now.

"What?"

"How long?" The words come out before you can stop them. "How long have you—"

He laughs. Bitter. Broken. "Are you serious right now?"

"I just..." You stop. Start again. "I need to know."

"You're asking me how long?" He's on his feet now, pacing. " Try forever. Try since before we even knew what love was supposed to feel like. Try every single day you climbed through that window.  Every night you fell asleep in my bed.  Even every time you left, I was still in love with you."

You open your mouth. The truth is right there. I didn't know. I swear I didn't know. I love you too. I have always loved you.

You almost say it. But for now all you do is imagine it. The words leaving your mouth. His face changing. Damien's hands reaching for you. You imagine staying in this room tonight, and tomorrow, and every night after that. You imagine waking up next to him not as a guest, but as his. You imagine loving him out loud, in daylight, inside of this room and outside this window.

It's right here. Everything you've ever wanted. Close enough to touch.

You want it. God, you want it. You want him so bad there's a physical ache in your chest, a yes building behind your teeth.

But he's still talking.

"And now you're sitting here, making jokes about her. The first person I've even tried to look at since you. And you're sitting there, like you have any right"

He shakes his head.

"Like you haven't spent years watching me love you and done nothing."

"Damien's please I'm trying to tell you"

He stops. Looks at you. His chest is heaving.

"You knew, Angel. You knew. I didn't say it, but you knew. And you just... let it happen. Let me love you. Let me hold you. Let me" He stops. Swallows. "Let me give you everything. And you just... took it. And then you left. And now you're back, and you're mocking her for being nice?"

"That's not." You shake your head. "I wasn't"

"What were you doing then? Huh? What do you call that?" He sounds angry but his eyes just look sad and tired.

You don't have an answer. You were jealous. You were hurting.

But you can't say that.

Because if you say that, then he'll know. He'll know you love him. And then what? He stays? He chooses you over her? Damien has finally found someone that is nice to him. and he's right you mocked it without having any right to. Cause when have you ever actually been nice to him? When have you ever been anything but a burden to anyone? 

Damien has done so much for you. You have made him do so much for you. He took papercuts, punches and even your virginity. Just because you asked. Just because you wanted him to. 

Damien deserves to be happy. To be with someone that is nice. What were you doing ? You were about to be selfish. Again.

He's happy. He's finally free of you.

You can't take that from him.

You close your mouth.

Swallow the truth.

You smile. Small. Broken.

"I'm happy for you, Damien. Really."

He searches your face. "Are you?"

"Yeah." You nod and smile. It's small but it's the biggest smile you can muster. "I'm glad she's nice."

Something flickers in his eyes. Confusion. But he lets it go.

The silence stretches.

You stand up. 

He blinks. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah. It's late. And..." You hesitate, take a deep breath. "It's probably not appropriate for me to stay over anymore. You have.. someone"

The words come out wrong. Too sharp. Too pointed. You didn't mean for them to sound like that. Or maybe you did. You don't know anymore.

He looks like he wants to argue. His mouth opens. Closes. His hands come out of his pockets, then go back in. You wait. The silence stretches. You can see the words forming behind his eyes. Something about how it's fine, how it's always been fine, how nothing has to change. But he doesn't say them.

"Right," he says finally. His voice is quiet. Flat. "Yeah."

You don't know what you wanted him to say. You don't know what you wanted. You're not sure you've ever known.

You cross the room. Preparing to press a kiss to his cheek. Somehow your lips are drawn to his. For a second you don't move. It's soft. Just a press. His breath catches. You feel it against your mouth, the small intake of air, the way his whole body goes still.

You should pull away. You know you should pull away.

You don't.

For a second, you don't move at all. Your hand comes up without permission, fingers brushing against his jaw. His skin is warm. There's a trace of stubble. You can feel his pulse under your fingertips, quick and and just as uneven as your own heartbeat.

His hands are still in his pockets. You can feel him holding himself back. Every muscle in his body is tense, like he's fighting something. Like he's waiting for you to decide.

You stay like that for one breath. Two. Three. His lips are soft. They're familiar and new all at once, and you want.. You really want.

You pull away.

Your hand drops. Your heart is pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears. His eyes are open now, big and dark, searching your face for the truth you can't give him.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I don't know why I" You stop. Swallow. 

His voice is rough when he speaks. "What was that?"

You shake your head. "I don't know."

"What is it like then?" He's not angry. That's what kills you. He just looks tired. So, so tired. "Tell me. Because I've been trying to figure you out for years, and I'm exhausted. I don't know what you want from me."

You stare at him. Your throat is tight. Your hands are shaking. You could tell him. You could say the words. They're right there, sitting on your tongue, waiting.

But you don't. You can't.

"I don't want anything from you." You step toward the window. Your hand finds the frame. The wood is cold under your fingers." Goodnight, Damien."

His voice stops you. "That's it?"

You freeze. Your back is to him. You can't turn around. If you turn around, you won't leave.

"What else is there to say?"

He moves. You hear his footsteps on the floor. Closer. Closer.

 "Something. Anything." He stops. You hear him exhale. "You can't keep doing this to me."

Your grip tightens on the window frame. "I'm not doing anything?"

"Yes you are." His voice cracks. "You're acting like you want to be here. Acting like" He stops. You hear him swallow. "I don't know what you're doing. I don't know if you're lonely or bored or if you just like knowing you can do whatever you want. But I can't keep doing this."

You want to tell him. God, you want to tell him. But the words won't come. They're stuck behind everything else. All the years of not saying it. All the reasons you can't.

You clench your fist. "I need to leave."

He laughs. Hollow. Broken. "Yeah. You always do."

The words cut deeper than you expected. You want to say something. Anything. But there's nothing left. You've used up all your words. All your excuses. All your made-up reasons for leaving.

You climb out the window. You don't look back.

You land on the roof. Your knees almost give out. You hold onto the sill for a second, steadying yourself. Behind you, you hear him exhale. A long, slow breath. You don't know if it's relief or resignation. You don't let yourself think about it.

You climb down. Your feet hit the grass.

The moment your back is to his house, the tears come.

You don't wipe them. Can't. They're falling too fast.

One foot in front of the other. Don't look back. Don't look back.

At your driveway, you glance up. His window. He's standing there. Watching you.

You force a smile. A wave. Like everything's fine.

Then you turn and walk inside.

The front door closes. You slide down to the floor, back against the door, and sob.

You don't know how long you sit there. Minutes. Hours.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Your sister appears, sleepy, confused. "Hey, are you okay? I heard.."

She sees your face. Stops. "Oh no. What happened?"

You can't speak. Just shake your head.

She sits down beside you and waits. She's good at waiting. You both learned it in this house.

Finally, you choke it out. The words are ugly. Broken. You shouldn't be telling her this. You shouldn't burden her with your mess. She's supposed to be the one who gets to be happy. She's supposed to be the one who doesn't end up like you.

"He loves me. He's loved me this whole time. And I told him to move on without realizing it. And now he has a nice girl. And he's happy. And I have to pretend that it doesn't hurt me. And I have to pretend I don't love him. And I have to pretend I didn't just ruin my entire life."

Your sister is quiet for a long moment.

Then: "You're an idiot."

You laugh. Wet. Broken. "I know."

"You're both idiots." She wraps an arm around you. Pulls you close. Her shoulder is bony. Her pajamas are soft. She smells like your shampoo that she keeps stealing.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"You should stop being sorry." She rests her head against yours. "I'm fine."

You smile and nod. She does seem fine. 

You sit there on the cold floor, holding each other for a while before you go to your own rooms.

Outside, his window stays lit.

Neither of you sleeps.

You're in your bed. The house is quiet. You can't sleep. You can't do anything but stare at your ceiling and replay every word.

You reach for your phone. Press shuffle.

You look at his window. The light is still on.

He's awake too.

You wonder if he's thinking about you. You wonder if he's happy. You wonder if he'll ever know the truth.

You hope he doesn't.

Because he deserves to be happy.

And you're not sure you know how to make anyone happy.

You don't sleep.

[nightwriter357]

I'm panicing a bit cause I really need to find a song that fits her pov(a window into us) and that would work with chapters 8-13. You can messege or send as an ask if you have an idea(wont be posting though so you'll know when the chapter is out.)

So send me songs PLS

[nightwriter357]

A window into us - Chapter 12: We don't love each other in the same way

Here's Chapter 12 of A window into us. I've been pumping 'em out preatty fast latelt but next one MIIIGHT be a bit longer. I want to make another video.... Enjoy

"Damien!"

You crash into him on the bed, arms wrapping around his neck, and he barely has time to catch you before you're both tangled up in blankets and laughter. You're hugging him like you haven't seen him in years instead of six months, and he's so stunned he forgets how to breathe.

"Hi," you say against his shoulder, voice muffled but grinning.

He finally gets his arms around you. Hugs back. Hard.

"Hi, Angel."

You pull back just enough to look at him, and you're beaming. Actually beaming. Like he's the best thing you've seen all year.

"I missed you," you say. Simple. Bright. Like it's easy to admit.

I missed you too. I missed you every single day. I missed you so much it felt like losing a limb.

"Yeah," he says instead. "Me too."

You roll off him, flopping onto the bed beside him like you own the space. Like you never left. Like the last six months of silence never happened.

"Redecorated since I last snuck in?" you tease, glancing around his room.

Damien pushes himself up, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. Trying to look casual. Trying to look like his heart isn't trying to break out of his chest.

"Yeah. Moved my chair six inches to the left. Really opened up the space."

You smile, and he's reminded of how much he missed seeing it. Missed you. Missed this. The way your eyes crinkle at the corners. The way you bite your lip when you're trying not to laugh.

There's a beat of silence. Tension dances around the edges. It's not quite awkward. Just silent.

He breaks it. "How's the coffee shop?"

You flop onto the floor near his bed, legs stretched out, back hitting the side of the mattress like muscle memory. "The coffee is good, my coworkers are great. Everything else kind of sucks."

So your coworker is great. The one who's been driving you home. The one Ryan was refereeing to when he told Damien. "Did she fuck you too." Too.

He shrugs. "So, nothing's changed."

You glance at him. "Nothing except you. Big college boy ."

"Yeah," he mutters. "College is... fine."

You tip your head back and look at him upside-down, playful. "You meet anyone?"

He hesitates, trying to read between your words, between your smile. You ask like it's no big deal. Like it's casual. Like you're only asking so you can start talking about your coworker boyfriend  without it being weird.

"How do you even meet someone these days?" Damien deflects, leaning down to toss a pillow at your stomach.

You catch it and raise a brow. "You walk up to a woman and compliment any part of her."

Damien smirks, grateful for the subject change. "That's not true. There are some parts you just can't compliment without sounding like a creep."

You sit up, intrigued. "That's so not true."

"Oh, absolutely true." Damien leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Name a body part. I'll do my best, I promise."

You think for a second, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Boobs."

Damien makes a face, then tries to keep a straight voice. He deepens it slightly, attempting sincerity. "'You have... distracting boobs.'"

Your nose scrunches immediately. "Ew. No."

Damien grins, warming up. "Really? I thought I nailed that one."

You shake your head. "You really didn't."

"Okay, okay." He holds up his hands. "Something else then. And don't say 'vagina.'"

You laugh, eyes lighting up . "Wow, that's the first time a man didn't want that from me."

Damien gives you a deadpan look. "So men are just casually asking you to hand them your vagina?"

You shrug, completely unbothered. "Kinda, yeah."

He groans, dropping his head into his hands. "Alright. Try again."

You hum for a second, tapping your chin. "Hair."

Damien doesn't miss a beat. He sits up straight, puts on his most earnest expression. "'Wow, your hair looks beautiful.'"

You look at him like he just confessed to collecting locks of women's hair in a shoebox under his bed. "Creepier than the boob comment."

"In what world?"

"This one." You gesture at him. "Hair compliments just sound fetish-y."

Damien throws his arms up. "Okay then. How else am I supposed to compliment a woman?"

You tilt your head, mock sympathy in your eyes. "If you only see women as a pair of boobs in a wig, then yeah... you're kinda out of options."

Damien stares at you, unimpressed. "You're funny."

"See." You lean back on your elbows, satisfied. "That's how you compliment a woman."

Damien pokes you in the arm. "Well, you are funny."

You grin, clearly pleased with yourself. "And I have boobs and hair. Triple threat."

Damien feels the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. "Woman of my dreams."

Shit. Too much. That's way too much. The words hang in the air between you. Damien's heart stutters. He didn't mean to say that. He didn't mean to say any of that. 

But you just nudge his shin with your foot, completely unbothered, and he breathes again. "You're not so bad yourself." You didn't notice. You never notice. 

Damien lifts a brow, relieved you didn't notice. "See? That's how you compliment a man."

You pretend to think, looking up at the ceiling. "So I shouldn't say 'your dick is distracting'?"

Damien chokes on a laugh, hand flying to his chest. "Ew..No. I mean..." He pauses, considering. "yeah, that would probably work."

"Obviously it would," you say, smug.

Damien shakes his head, still laughing. But the sound fades as he looks at you. Really looks. You're sprawled on his floor, in his room, like you belong here. Like you've always belonged here.

His voice drops slightly, just a little too honest. "You are pretty distracting, though."

Why did he say that? Why would he say that?

You blink, caught off guard. "Oh yeah? What am I distracting you from?"

Damien's eyes stay on you. Really on you. You're still the person he thinks about more than he'd admit. Still the one person who could make him forget his whole damn life.

"...Life," he says quietly. "Like... everything else."

That finally quiets you.

You glance down at your lap, lips parting like you might say something. 

Then with a hint of humor in your voice, you murmur, "Remind me again why we never dated?"

It surprises even you. Damien can see it on your face the way your eyes widen slightly, almost like you didn't mean to say that out loud.

He turns toward you slowly, brows lifting. "Seriously?"

You nod, lips quirking at the corner. "Humor me."

A smile tugs at Damien's mouth, soft and crooked. He could say it now. He could tell you. That the only reason you never dated is because you didn't want to. 

But instead, he plays along, leaning back on his hands. "Because the sex was too good."

You snort, the tension breaking slightly. "Because everyone else would get jealous."

Damien leans back like he's relaxing into the memory. "Because we'd have too much fun and never get anything else done."

You hum thoughtfully. "Because your penis is too big."

That makes Damien laugh, head tipping back. "Jesus"

"What?" you smirk.

He shakes his head, grinning, but the amusement in his eyes dims just slightly when he replies, "Because you'd ruin me for other women."

You snort. "Oh no, can't have that. What would the college girls do?"

He forces a laugh. "Right. Can't have that."

You go quiet for a second, your smile faltering. But you rally, lifting your chin. "Because we don't want to make our families happy."

That line lands with more weight than you mean for it to. Damien's smile softens, slipping into something quieter. 

Neither of you says anything.

Then Damien says, gently, "You really don't want to make your mom happy, do you?"

You scoff softly, but your voice comes out quieter than before. "I don't even think I'd know how to."

Damien doesn't say anything right away. Just watches you. The kind of look that makes his chest ache. The kind of look he's been giving you for years, without you ever noticing.

A comfortable silence settles. You shift closer to the window, looking out. He follows your gaze.

Across the yard, your sister and Josh are visible through her window. They're laughing about something. Josh spins her around, dips her dramatically. She swats his chest, still laughing.

You smile. Soft. Real.

"They're so stupid," you say.

"In what way?"

A pause. Then, quieter: "He's so good to her, you know? Like... he gets distracted by her constantly. She'll be talking and he'll just stare at her like she's the only person in the world. He  burns food. Forgets what he's saying. He's like... non-functioning around her."

Damien watches you watch them. Watches the way your eyes soften. It's like you're watching a unicorn or a magic spell. Like you're seeing something you didn't believe was real.

"They're in love," he says quietly.

"Yeah. I guess that's what it is." You nod. "I guess I've never seen it before.

Damien watches you. "You want that?"

You shrug. "I'm realistic."

It's strange to Damien how you can believe that. That no one has ever loved you. He's trying to think back to a time when he didn't, love you, that is. But he's drawing a blank. He loved you the first time you climbed through this window, when you first started talking to stupid "let's ride" Ryan. When you stumbled in drunk and really tested the limits of a teenage boys ability to say "no" to the girl of his dreams. 

Then you turn, your lips moving.

"Hello?" You wave a hand in front of his face. "Are you listening? Am I that uninteresting?"

He snaps out of it. "What? No. I was just.. Thinking."

You raise an eyebrow, playful. "About what?"

About you. It's always about you.

"Nothing," he says. "Just... that I'm tired."

You accept this, "Fine, do you still have my stuff?"

He doesn't stop looking at you but opens the drawer in your nightstand.

You stare at it. Silent.

"I never moved your stuff," he says quietly. "I don't know why. I just... couldn't."

You don't say anything. Just look at the drawer. At the evidence that he's been holding onto you all this time.

Damien's chest tightens. He needs something to fill the silence. Needs the universe to say something for him.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand. Presses shuffle.

The first notes hit. Gentle guitar. Intimate. The elevator.

It wasn't slow, it happened fast

And suddenly, the only thing I saw was you

Damien's breath catches.

That's exactly it. It wasn't slow. One day you were just the girl next door and then suddenly you were everything. The only thing he saw. The only thing he's ever seen.

He glances at you. You're staring at the open drawer, at your things still there, still kept. Your face is soft. Listening.

I didn't know the half of it

And suddenly, I had everything to lose

His chest tightens.

He didn't know the half of it. He didn't know how much it would hurt to love you. He didn't know that every moment with you would feel like holding something fragile. And now he has everything to lose. You're everything to lose.

You reach into the drawer. Pick up a hair tie. Slides it onto your wrist.

Can we stay like this forever?

Can we be here in this room 'til we die?

Damien closes his eyes.

 Yes. Please. This room. You next to him. The open window. The night outside. He'd stay forever. He'd never leave. He'd die so happy in this room with you.

I think we can make it

I hope that I'm right

He hopes that you'll always be in his life. Whether it's inside this room, or any room. He hopes so much.

You pull your hair up into a ponytail, dragging the tie from your wrist. Your hands tug at the sides of it, adjusting.

Damien opens his eyes. Looks at you. He's terrified of losing you. He needs you to stay in his life,

You turn. Catch him looking.

"What?" you whisper.

He shakes his head. "Nothing. Just... listening."

You accept this. Turn back to the drawer to close it. But you don't move away from him.

The song swells toward its end.

Just a little longer. That's all he's asking. A few more hours. A few more moments. Just a little longer with you like this.

The final notes fade.

The room is quiet.

After a long moment, you lean back against the bed frame next to him. Your shoulder brushes his.

"That was pretty," you say quietly.

"Yeah," Damien agrees. "It was."

You lay down on the bed, settling on the left side. Damien lies down on the right. The space between you is small. Intentional.

The lights are off. Just the glow from outside filtering through the curtains.

For a while, you both just lie there. Staring at the ceiling. Breathing the same air.

Damien's heart is pounding. He can feel it in his throat, his temples, his fingertips.

This is fine. This is normal. We've done this a hundred times.

But they haven't. Not since that night. Not since everything changed.

You shift. Your leg brushes against his under the covers.

"Sorry," you murmur.

"It's fine."

It's not fine. It's the opposite of fine. Your leg is right there. He could reach out and touch it. He could slide his hand up your calf, your knee, your thigh.

Another minute passes. You shift again. This time your arm presses against his.

"You're terrible at staying on your side," Damien says, grateful for something to say.

You turn your head toward him, a sleepy smile on your face. "The whole bed is my side, Damien."

He laughs quietly. It feels like there should be more sound, but there just isn't.

You're quiet for a bit. Then you turn onto your side, facing him. Your hand rests on the pillow between you. Close enough to touch.

Damien looks at you. The dim light traces the shape of your face. Your cheekbone. The curve of your lips. The way your eyelashes rest against your skin.

He's kissed those lips, felt them against his, against his neck, against.. Stop. Stop thinking about it.

He wants to reach out. Wants to touch your face, your hair, your hand. Wants to pull you close and never let go.

He could. Damien could just reach out. You're right there. You're always right there. What's stopping him?

Everything. Everything is stopping Damien. If you felt the same way about him, he'd know by now.

Your breathing slows. Deepens. You're drifting.

Then, without warning, you move. In your sleep, you roll toward him. Your head finds his shoulder. Your hand lands on his chest, right over his heart.

Damien freezes. You sigh. Soft. Content. Completely unconscious.

He lies there, rigid, not daring to breathe. Your weight against him is light but it feels like everything. Your hand is warm through his shirt. Your breath is slow and even against his collarbone.

This is where you were that night. After. Your head here, your hand here. He held you like this and thought... Damien thought this was the beginning of something. For a second he thought you were his.

Slowly, carefully, he lets himself relax. Lets himself feel it.

He turns his head, just slightly, and presses his lips to the top of your head. A kiss you'll never know about. A declaration you'll never hear.

That he loves you. Loves you so much it's destroying him. And you're here, in his arms, and he can't have you. Not the way he really wants.

Your leg hooks over his. Casual. Intimate.

Damien's breath catches.

Your skin. Your bare leg against his. You're wearing shorts. Damien can feel the smooth warmth of you. He remembers running his hand up your leg.

He forces himself to think about anything else.

It doesn't work.

He's supposed to lie here, this close to you, and not kiss you. He's supposed to keep his hands to himself. Damien's not supposed to let them wander over your skin, not supposed to pull you closer, not supposed to do any of the things he wants to.

You shift again. Your face buries deeper into his shoulder. Your hand curls against his chest.

Damien closes his eyes.

He knows what you feel like, what you sound like. He knows what you taste like. And he has to lie here and pretend he doesn't.

He doesn't sleep for a long time.

When he finally does, it's with your body against his, your hands on him, your breath warm against his skin.

He dreams of you. He always dreams of you.

Damien wakes to sunlight and the smell of you.

You're still there. Still in his bed. Your hand is still touching his. Your face is soft in sleep, relaxed in a way it never is when you're awake.

He watches you for a long moment. Commits it to memory. Just in case.

Then you stir. Eyes flutter open. Blink at him.

"Hey," you mumble, voice rough with sleep.

"Hey."

A beat. Then you smile. Small. Real.

"I should probably go."

Damien laughs quietly. "Probably."

Neither of you moves.

You sit up first. Run a hand through your hair. Look around the room like you're memorizing it.

Then your voice drops. Quiet. Careful.

Your voice is quiet when you speak.

"Damien?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

His heart stops. You said it. You actually said it. You love him?

"I know you love me too." You continue, voice soft, thoughtful. "So I just wanted to say it. Out loud. Just once."

You  know that. How long have you known that?

"So what if we don't love each other in the same way? We still love each other. Time's gonna pass and eventually we're both gonna meet other people and then we'll both just love each other in the same way again and everything will be as it used to." A pause. "right?"

He lies there, frozen.

You love each other differently. You love him as a friend, Damien loves you in every way. That's why you didn't talk to him for a year. Not because you were embarrassed but because you wanted to spare him. Now, you're telling him to move on. You're being so kind about breaking his heart.

"You're right," Damien says quietly.

You turn your head toward him. "Good." Smile. Soft. Sad. Grateful. Then almost embarrassed. "I didn't fuck up by bringing this up right? should I just have.. shut up about it? Maybe it was better when it was unspoken and we didn't have to acknowledge it?"

Damien shakes his head slowly. "No. You were right to bring it up." He pauses, searching for words that won't break him. "It's been obvious for a long time. It had to come up at some point."

And you are right. Of course you're right. Of course you knew. Of course he loves you. 

You shake your head slightly. "Obvious. Right." You look at every direction but his. "So, do you want space or?"

Maybe he should say yes. That some space might make it easier for him to get over you, but he knows that isn't true. He's tried that already and it didn't work.

"I don't want space." The words come out rougher than he means them to. He softens his voice. "I've had space. Space is terrible."

He spent a whole year in space. It was worse than this. This is terrible in a different way, but at least you're here.

You laugh, small and nervous. "Yeah. Space is pretty terrible."

A beat. Then you chew your lip.

You don't say anything else. Neither does he.

Then you move. Slide off the bed. Grab your shoes. Head for the window.

Damien watches you go. Watches you pause at the sill. Watches you look back.

You don't say anything. Just look at him. One last time.

Then you climb out. Disappear.

The window stays open.

Damien lies there, staring at the empty space beside him. Looking up at the stars, and Bernard, and wishing upon them that you two could love each other in the same way. No matter which way that would be. He doesn't even care anymore. He just wants it to match. He just wants to stop hurting.

[nightwriter357]

18, 22?(for the ask thing)

Thank you so much for the ask! Once again I fucked up with the posts. I'll assume it's from the writing one..

18. What’s your favourite thing you made for your fic or character this year? (such as pinterest, moodboards, gifs, etc)

I loved making the sims videos. This/last year I made the friends intro for JF and ofc Heartbeat for AWITU. Right now my favorite is probably Heartbeat cause it's longer so I got to put more clips into it. Fav clips are probably the "fuck you" scene and the brushing teeth cause it was cute seeing them at different ages. I've also just been enjoying including music in the chapters so it was super fun to share that with you guys. I'm planning on doing 2 more for this fic, one from your pov and then one for the last chapter.

19. What was your top-rated/commented fic this year?

Definitely Just friends. On AO3 it has 242 kudos and 147 comments. On Wattpad it has 94 votes and 91 comments(almost half the comments are my responses tho lol). Most read is still Are you just playing with me(my first ever series) with 14 k readers(absolutely crazy) but Just friends definitely has the most engagement which was super fun and absolutely something I miss now with Window cause there aren't as many readers.

[nightwriter357]

9 💚💚💚

Okay so I fucked up a little bit and posted two lists with questions so now I don't know which one you wanted.. I'll just answer both.

Question 9: Favourite POV? (or rather what POV did you use the most this year?)

I know that the question is not intended this way but I'll still answer it this way. I've loved doing alternating POVs and letting the reader know more than the characters know on their own. Also since each chapter is 6 months apart that means every pov is 1 year apart so it's kind of fun to show differences in them over time.

9:Best childhood moment?

I was a very bored but somewhat creative child so I used to plan a lot of big projects. Me and my friends did our own carnival with prices we found in the trash, we had our own after school activities where parents somehow left their kids and paid us money, we made a movie where I was electrocuted and could be controlled with a tv-remote.

[asirensrage]

Fanfic Writer Wrapped - 2025 Version!

I've done one of these in 2023, 2022 and 2024, so we're bringing it back for another year! based on this original writing one: Writing Wrapped

2025 Fanfic Writing Reflections

What fic did you work on the most this year?

Did you have any fic writing goals? Did you meet them?

How many fics did you work on this year?

How many new fics did you post this year?

Did you update any old/previously posted fics this year? What were they?

Do you have a favourite fic you wrote?

What’s your favourite passage that you wrote this year?

Favourite line of dialogue this year?

Favourite POV? (or rather what POV did you use the most this year?)

Did you find yourself repeating a word or phrase in your writing this year? If so, what was it?

How did you help other writers this year? (i.e. leaving comments, reviews, beta reading, offering advice, etc)

Did you receive any advice that resonated to you this year?

What did you enjoy most about writing fic this year?

What did you enjoy the least?

Who was your favourite character to write for?

Did you have a song on repeat while writing this year?

Did you make any playlists for your fics this year? What are they?

What’s your favourite thing you made for your fic or character this year? (such as pinterest, moodboards, gifs, etc)

What was your most commonly used tag for your fics (on ao3, tumblr, etc)?

Did you participate in any fic writing challenges this year?

What was your favourite comment/review you received this year?

What was your top-rated/commented fic this year?

Were there any ideas you wanted to work on this year but you didn’t?

Were there any new fandoms or genres you explored this year?

Is there anything you want to write or try to explore in your writing next year?

Do you have a goal for next year? If so, what is it?

What are your hopes and/or desires for yourself and for other fic writers in the next year? 2025 Ao3 Specific Stats

How many people subscribed to you this year? (User subscriptions)

What were your total kudos this year?

How many comment threads were created on your fics?

How many people subscribed to your fics?

What was your word count posted on Ao3 this year?

How many hits overall on your fics this year?

What are your top 5 fics (in terms of hits) this year? Bonus

If you post fics on tumblr, using Tumblr Top! what fic has the most notes? (in total and that you posted this year)

Did you discover any new fics or fic authors this year?

What was your favourite fic to read this year?

Who was your favourite fic author this year?

What fics or authors would you recommend for others to discover and read in the next year?

What advice would you have for people who might want to try writing or sharing their writing next year? and finally...

Any regrets?

[nightwriter357]

Still bored

[prettyboyprettyeyes]

✨soft asks✨

What song makes you feel better?

What is your go to comfort show?

Reading or writing? Why?

Whats your favorite feeling?

How do you like to take care of yourself?

What’s your favorite candle scent?

Who do you feel most like yourself around?

Whats a fabric/texture that’s nostalgic for you?

Best childhood moment?

When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried? (or just felt really good afterwards)

Do you have a comfort item? Tell us about it!

What calms you down?

Bath or shower to relax?

Whats something upcoming that you’re excited for?

Comfort food?

What’s something you want to create soon?

How do you feel best loved?

What age in life do you think you’ll feel most yourself at?

Have you ever written or received a love letter?

Tell us about a memory you hold close to your heart.

Tea, Coffee, or hot cocoa?

Name of your favorite playlist?

Have you ever received flowers?

Who is your bestfriend?

If your soul was a color, what would it be?

If you could live anywhere with anyone you want, where would it be and who would you bring?

Do you like to garden? Have you ever grown something?

What are you proudest of?

Are you a kind person?

What do your hobbies look like?

[izbiz3737]

send asks ! 💕

[nightwriter357]

Suuuuuperbored

[kitty-c4t]

[budugu]

[agnosticblowjob]

[nightwriter357]

A window into us - Chapter 11: An uninvited guest

Chapter 11 of my Damien haas x reader story is here, this one includes special guest apperences from Arasha and tommy... and someone else. Hope you enjoy.

TW: violence.

The coffee shop is slow. Not dead, just slow enough that you've restocked the sugar caddies three times and now you're just leaning against the counter, watching the afternoon sun creep across the floor in long, golden rectangles.

Tommy is next to you, wiping the same spot on the espresso machine with a rag. He's been at it for twenty minutes, and you're pretty sure that spot hasn't been dirty since minute one.

Arasha is at the register, sorting through a small pile of tips, sliding quarters into stacks with practiced precision. She's been here longer than both of you combined and acts like she owns the place. You let her. She's earned it.

"So." Tommy doesn't look up from his useless wiping. "I think you broke your record, you've watched the door seventeen times in the last hour."

You feel your face heat. "I have not."

He finally looks at you, one eyebrow raised. "You have. I counted."

Arasha looks up from her quarters, a slow grin spreading across her face. "So who is he?"

You grab a napkin and crumple it, tossing it in her direction. "There's no he."

Tommy nudges you with his elbow, persistent. "It's hot neighbor. Isn't it?"

Arasha catches the napkin without looking, tosses it in the trash. "Oh, totally hot neighbor." She leans forward, eyes sparkling. "Tell me everything. Height? Hair situation? Does he have one of those jawlines that could cut glass?"

You shake your head, turning away to straighten a row of cups that are already straight. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tommy leans against the counter, blocking your escape. He adopts a dramatic storytelling voice. "They live next door to each other. She used to climb through his window every night like a sexy burglar. They were best friends. They lost their virginities to each other." He pauses for effect. "And now he's back from college so she stands here at this coffee shop every day, staring at the door. She's hopelessly in love just longing for him to come and confess his undying love."

You meet his eyes, trying for innocent. "Hey, I am not hopelessly in love with him."

Arasha snorts from the register, not looking up. "You lost your virginity to him and haven't talked to him since?"

Tommy grins, delighted. "It's so romantic. Like a movie."

You grab a handful of napkins and throw them at both of them. They flutter uselessly to the floor. "It's not like a movie."

You lost your virginity to the boy next door and then you lost him. That's not a movie. That's just sad.

"You're right" Arasha goes back to her counting, completely unbothered. "It's more like a porno."

Tommy's voice drops, curious. "So, do you want to see him before he goes back?"

You look at the door again. "I haven't really thought about it."

"That's eighteen times now." He counts on his fingers. "You are hopelessly in love.'" He grins. "It's cute, actually."

Arasha looks up, interested. "More like hopelessly horny? Eh?"

You throw another napkin at her. "I am NOT"

"He's been home all summer and they still haven't seen each other," Tommy supplies, dodging the napkin. "Tonight is his last night here."

Arasha's eyes go wide. "Oh my god, you have to see him tonight."

You bury your face in your hands. "I hate both of you."

Arasha waves a hand. "No, no, this is good. This is very good. "So when is he going to show up? I need to see this guy. I need to rate his jawline in person."

You shake your head, dropping your hands. "He's not going to show up. He's been home for weeks and he hasn't" You stop yourself.

Tommy and Arasha exchange a look.

"Haven't what?" Tommy asks gently.

You don't answer.

Arasha squints at you, her head tilting like a curious puppy. "Wait. He's been home for weeks and you haven't seen him at all? Not even a little accidental grocery store run-in?"

You shake your head ."No."

"Not even a 'oops I dropped my keys outside his house and he happened to be there when I was bent over ass in the air'?"

You stare at her, deadpan. "I'm not going to manufacture an ass in the air meet-up, Arasha."

She looks genuinely offended. "Why not? That's what they are FOR. They're manufactured by desperate women who know what they want."

Tommy nods sagely. "She has a point. Arasha is 'ass in the air' all the time."

Arasha nods. "Totally."

You turn to them, "I am not desperate."

Arasha side eyes and whispers to Tommy, "desperately horny."

You put your hand to your chest. "Hey, I am not horny."

The bell above the door jingles. You all look up.

Then he walks in.

For one horrible second, your heart leaped. The bell rang and you looked up and for just a moment you thought..but no. Of course not. It's never him. It's never going to be him.

Your stomach drops straight through the floor, of course it's him.

He's exactly the same. Same stupid grin stretched across his face. Same confident swagger in his step. Same way of looking around a room like he owns it and everyone in it.

Arasha's face lights up. She straightens immediately, smoothing her shirt. She nudges Tommy hard with her elbow, whispering loud enough for you to hear. "Is that him? Hot neighbor?"

You shake your head quickly, panic rising. "No you guys, don't"

But Ryan is already at the counter, leaning one elbow on it, getting too close. "Well, well, well." His grin widens. "If it isn't my favorite ex-girlfriend."

Arasha  glances at you, then back at Ryan. She just assumes this must be him, must be the one you've been waiting for.

Tommy, though. Tommy's eyes narrow. He looks at Ryan, then at you, and something clicks behind his face. He knows.

You grip the edge of the counter. "What do you want, Ryan?"

He presses a hand to his chest, face falling into exaggerated hurt. "Wow. No 'how are you?' No 'long time no see?'" He shakes his head slowly. "Cold, babe."

You don't move. "I meant 'what do you want' as in coffee, tea, or maybe another girl in my bed?"

He grins wider, like you've said something clever. "There she is." He leans closer, voice dropping. "Look, I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd see how you're doing."

You squint, "you're always in the neighborhood, Ryan."

Arasha watches this exchange, her expression bright. She clearly thinks this is flirting.

Ryan's eyes travel over you, slow and deliberate. "You look good."

And clearly so does Ryan.

Arasha beams." She does doesn't she." She can't help herself. "You know, you should swing by her place." She nods encouragingly. "I'm sure she'd love to see you in private."

Your head snaps toward her. "Arasha?"

But Ryan's face lights up. He points at her, grinning. "Now that's a good idea." He looks at you. "See? Your friend gets it."

Tommy shifts beside you, his voice calm but pointed as he tries to help you. "She's usually very tired after work. Probably not the best time."

Ryan's eyes flick to Tommy. Something sharp passes through them. "And how would you know when she's tired?"

"Because we work together?" Tommy says flatly.

Ryan looks him up and down, then back at you. A slow smile spreads across his face. "Ohhh. I get it." He nods, like he's figured something out. "You're working her pretty hard, huh? Lots of overtime? Late nights bent over the counter?" He laughs at his own 'joke'"

Your face turns red.

Tommy doesn't respond. Just meets his gaze.

Ryan laughs, easy and loud. "Don't worry, man. I'm not a threat." He winks at you. "Not yet, anyway."

You feel sick.

Ryan pushes off the counter, heading for the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle, looks back.

He nods at Arasha. "Thanks for the invite."  "Maybe I'll take you up on that." He looks at you.

The door closes behind him. The bell jingles once, then fades. The shop is quiet.

Arasha turns to you, beaming. "Okay, he's cute. A little intense, but cute. I guess I can understand why"

You put your head in your hands. "That wasn't him."

You let out a breath. "That was Ryan. My ex. The one I dated."

She stops. Blinks. "What?"

Tommy grinds his teeth. "The one she actually dated and never slept with not the one she never dated but actually slept with.

Her face falls. Completely. "Wait. That's not the neighbor?"

You and Tommy respond at the same time. "No."

"The hot one you grew up with? The one you slept with? The horny one?"

Tommy shook his head. "That's a different person."

You put your hands up. "And I never said he was hot, or horny."

Tommy is still watching the door. His voice is quiet. "He's going to show up at your house now."

Arasha's eyes go wide. "Because I said" She looks at you, horrified. "Oh no. I told him to swing by. I thought he was horny neighbor. He's not hot neighbor? He's... what is he?"

"Hot mess," Tommy supplies. "Except not that hot."

Arasha raises her eyebrow. "Well I mean.. I thought he was kind of hot."

You and Tommy look at her disappointed.

She raises her arms in defense. " Not in a 'put my ass in the air' kind of way. I'm just saying.. I mean." She points at you accusatory, "you dated him."

You manage a weak smile. "He grows on you." Your voice goes flat. "Like mold." You sigh heavily. 

Tommy snorts despite himself. "Are you worried he's gonna show up?"

You shake your head. "No. He's just..." You search for the word. "Annoying. Always has been."

Tommy studies your face, not quite convinced. "If he bothers you"

"He won't." You cut him off, trying to sound sure. "He's all talk."

Tommy exchanges a look with Arasha that you pretend not to see. He doesn't push. That's why you like him.

After a beat, he says, "Well, I'm driving you home"

"Yeah. You nod, grateful. "That'd be good."

The next hour passes in a blur of busywork. You wipe counters you've already wiped. You restock napkins no one will use. You do everything except think about Ryan showing up at your house, which you think about constantly.

Tommy keeps glancing at you. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to.

Arasha clocks out first, pulling her bag over her shoulder. She pauses at the door, looks back at you.

"For what it's worth," she says, "I really am sorry. About the whole... encouraging your ex to stalk you thing."

You wave a hand. "It's fine, Arasha."

She hesitates. "Text me when you get home? So I know you're not dead?"

You offer a small, tired smirk. "I'll text you either way."

She nods, satisfied, and pushes through the door. The bell jingles behind her.

Tommy appears at your elbow. "Ready?"

You look around the empty shop. The clean counters. The stacked cups. The espresso machine gleaming under the lights.

"No," you admit.

"That's the spirit." Tommy chuckles.

He grabs his keys from the back room and you go to grab your hoodie. Well it's not really yours, it's Damien's but you've had it so long it smells more like you than him.

You lock up together, the familiar bang of the door closing sounding louder than usual.

His car is an old Honda with a bumper sticker that says "I brake for no apparent reason." You've ridden in it a hundred times. Tonight it feels like a getaway car.

You slide into the passenger seat. Tommy glances at you as he pulls out of the lot. "You want music or silence?"

You think about it for a second. "Silence. Something loud."

He nods and turns the dial. Punk rock blares through the speakers, something with fast drums and angry guitars. You don't know the band. You don't care. It fills the space where your thoughts are trying to spiral.

Tommy glances at you, his voice quiet but steady. "You know I can stay, right? I'll call the cops. I can do whatever."

You nod, not trusting your voice.

"I mean it." He glances at you. " I hit a kid on his bike once. I'm not afraid of Ryan."

That pulls a small laugh out of you. "You're very brave."

"I know." He grins, clearly pleased with himself.  Before turning back to the road with a serious face. "It's exhausting."

You turn onto your street. Your house comes into view. Relief and disappointment fought in your chest. There's no car in the driveway. Not your mom's. Not Ryan's. But  there's also no Damien.

Tommy slows to a stop at the curb and looks at you. "Want me to come with you?"

You think about it for a second. "No." Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. "I'm good."

Tommy doesn't look convinced. "You sure?"

"Yeah." You open the door. Cold air hits your face.

He nods. You get out of the car. And watch him drive away. Now it's just you.

You look at Damien's window. Damien would be as much of an uninvited guest as Ryan but you wouldn't mind finding him on your doorstep.

Just then you see someone lurking around the corner. Ryan pushes off his hood. "There she is. Took you long enough."

You don't respond. Just walk toward your door, keys already in your hand.

He falls into step beside you. "Come on, don't be like that. I just wanna talk."

You keep walking.

"I brought beer." He holds up a six-pack, like that's going to change anything. "We never got to have that conversation. You know. The one we should've had."

You stop at the bottom of the porch steps. Turn to face him.

"There's no conversation, Ryan. Go home."

His expression shifts. The easy smile falters. "I drove all the way here."

"Well I didn't tell you to do that?"

"Your coworker said you'd want to see me." He steps closer. "The girl, not the guy you're fucking." He smirks "And I thought, you know, maybe she's right. Maybe you've had time to think about us. About what we could've had."

You grip your keys tighter. "There is no 'us.' There never was."

He laughs, but it's different now. Harder. "That's not what you used to think."

His fingers dig into your skin and for a second you're fourteen again, small and scared and convinced this is what love feels like.

"I was a child. I didn't think at all."

"And now you're an adult and you know everything?" He's close enough that you can feel his breath. "Come on. Just give me five minutes. We'll go inside, talk, and whatever happens happens."

You roll your eyes at him. "Oh please, there's a reason 'whatever happens happens' never actually happened between us. I'm not looking to make that mistake now either."

Ryan's head snaps toward you and he grabs your arm harder. His jaw tightens. "You think you're so funny, huh." He swallows and changes his tone. "That's okay. You can joke all you want, just talk to me."

You look away, "our whole relationship was the joke, Ryan. A bad one. Just leave."

Then he laughs again. Shakes his head. "Fine. You're right." He holds up the six-pack. "It was pretty shit."

He tosses it in the general direction of your porch. Cans clatter against the steps. One bursts open, spraying cheap beer across the wood.

You can't move, you're completely frozen.

He leans in closer, "so why don't you make it up to me?" Ryan winks, "let's ride, baby."

"Let's not." A fist connects with Ryan's face. Hard. He goes down like a sack of shit.

You look up, and there he is. Damien. Standing over Ryan like he's been waiting his whole life to do this.

"Damien?"

Ryan wipes blood from his mouth, still laughing that ugly laugh. "I knew it." He spits onto the grass. "You're fucking her too, right? That's why you're so pissed?"

Damien doesn't answer. He just grabs Ryan by the collar and hauls him up.

"I asked you a question." Ryan's voice is slurred, but his grin is still there. "What's the matter? Hasn't she let you fuck her yet? After all these years?"

Damien's fist connects again. Ryan stumbles back, hits a pillar. You should stop him. You should say something. But watching Damien's fist connect with Ryan's face was like watching someone finally punch every fear you've ever had right in the mouth. It's terrifying. It's the hottest thing you've ever seen. You hate that your brain went there.

"Stop. Fucking. Talking." Damien's voice is low. Shaking.

Ryan laughs again, wiping more blood. "Oh I get you buddy, she asked me to wait too, such a tease."

Your stomach turns. But something else rises up too. Anger. Finally.

Damien's jaw tightens. He takes a step forward.

"He made me wait." You look at Damien. Just for a second. Then back at Ryan.

Ryan blinks. "What?"

Damien is watching you now. His chest is still heaving, but his eyes are on your face.

Damien." You say his name like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Damien made me wait. He made me beg. He asked me if I was sure a hundred times. He stopped when I needed him to stop." Your voice cracks, but you don't look away. "And when it finally happened" You shake your head, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping. "It was so worth it. Every second of waiting. Because he actually gave a shit about whether I wanted it too."

Ryan's face goes through a journey. Confusion. Disbelief. Then something ugly settling in.

"You're lying."

"I'm really not."

He looks at Damien. Then back at you. His jaw tightens.

That's when Ryan moves.

Fast. Sloppy but fast. His fist swings up and catches Damien right under the chin. Damien's head snaps back.

"You know what I think?" Ryan steps closer to you. Damien moves, but you hold up a hand. Let him come. "I think you're full of shit. I think you've always been full of shit." His voice drops. "You led me on for a year. Led him on for longer. Playing both sides so you'd always have someone to crawl to." He spits onto the ground near your feet. "You were just too scared to pick one."

Damien moves toward him again. But you move faster. Ryan grins as you move closer, somehow thinking he won you over. Then you hit him, higher than Damien did, across his cheek.

Your palm connects with Ryan's cheek. Hard. The sound cracks through the quiet street.

He stumbles back, hand flying to his face. For a second, the mask is gone. Just raw shock.

Then he laughs. Quiet. Mean.

"Worth it," he mutters. "Finally got you to touch me."

He's right. He finally got you to touch him. He finally got under your skin. Not in the way he wanted, but he's there. Still affecting you. Still making you react. 

The front door flies open, crashing against the wall hard enough to rattle the frame. Your sister stands there, frozen on the threshold. Her eyes are huge, phone clutched to her chest like a shield. They dart from you to Damien to Ryan and back, trying to make sense of the scene in front of her. "What's going on?"

Ryan stumbles back a step, blood dripping from his lip. He's breathing hard, eyes wild, clearly weighing his options. Damien moves to block him, stepping between Ryan and the house.

You stare at her for half a second, your brain struggling to switch gears. She looks just like you did. Wide-eyed. Scared. Trying to understand a world where adults hurt each other. "Get inside."

She doesn't move. Her knuckles are white around her phone. "But Josh is coming "

"I don't care. Go."

She still doesn't move. Just stands there, gaping.

Damien takes a step toward him. Ryan holds his hands up, backing toward the street.

You cross the space in three quick strides. Your hand closes around her arm and you pull her inside, hard. She stumbles through the doorway, her feet catching on the rug.

She catches herself on the banister, whips around, face flushed with indignation. "Hey!"

You're already moving past her, scanning the living room. "Where's Mom?"

She blinks at the sudden shift, her anger faltering into confusion. "She left. Said she'd be back tomorrow."

You stop. Pinch the bridge of your nose hard enough to leave a mark. A breath hisses out between your teeth. "Of course she fucking did."

You drop your hand and turn to face your sister fully. "You're not going anywhere tonight."

Her face scrunches up, ready to fight. "But Josh "

"Tell him to come here." You hold up a hand, not sharp, just stopping her. "He can stay."

She pauses. Blinks at you. Processes. Her mouth opens, then closes. "Really?"

You soften. Let your shoulders drop just a little. "Yeah. Really."

Something shifts in her face. The fear, the confusion, all of it melts into something almost grateful. "Thank you."

You meet her eyes. Hold them. "I know."

You turn back to the door. Through the screen, you can see Ryan standing on your lawn. Damien is still there, standing between him and the house. Not moving. Just watching.

Ryan says something you can't hear. Damien doesn't respond. Ryan spits onto the grass, then turns and walks. His footsteps echo on the pavement, fading as he disappears down the street.

Your sister's voice comes from behind you, quieter now.

"Damien helped you?"

You nod, not looking away from the window. "Yeah."

She moves closer, standing at your shoulder. "Is his hand okay?"

You glance at her. Just for a second. Then back at Damien. "Go call Josh."

She hesitates. Looks at you. Then at the door. Then back at you. Something passes across her face. Understanding, maybe. Or just exhaustion.

She nods once and starts up the stairs.

You listen to her footsteps fade. Then you climb too.

At the top, you pause. Look back through the window.

Damien is still there. Alone now. Just standing in your driveway, looking up.

You turn away and continue up the stairs.

You close your bedroom door behind you and lean against it. Press your palms flat against the wood. Breathe.

The room is dark. You don't turn on the light.

You cross to your bed and sit on the edge, staring at nothing. Your hands are still shaking. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to make it stop. This is what you wanted. You left him there outside. You didn't even say goodbye when he left for college. You chose this. Alone in your room, alone in your head.

The doorbell rings.

You don't move. Can't. "Just tell your stupid boyfriend to let himself in."

A beat of silence. Then her voice, annoyed. "He's not stupid."

You almost smile. Just barely. "I know."

She is okay. She has someone who loves her, she doesn't wonder if she's enough. A minute later her bedroom door clicks shut. They're in her room now. Safe. Together.

You're still sitting on your bed, alone in the dark.

Then there's a knock on your window.

No. It can't be. He came. He actually came. You cross the room. Pull back the curtain and there is Damien. On your roof.

You lean in and open the window.

A small huff of laughter escapes him. He climbs through, landing on your bedroom floor with a soft thud. It's the first time he's made an entrance through a window, still he looks like more of an expert than you ever did.

He's in your room. He's actually in your room. You've imagined this a thousand times and now it's happening and you don't know what to do with your hands or your face or any part of yourself. You know you have to act normal. You can act normal. You've been acting normal around him your whole life

"Your doorbell works, you know." His voice is rough. "You could've just answered the door."

You cross your normal arms, leaning against your desk. "You could've just rung it."

He raises an eyebrow. "I did ring it."

"You made me climb your roof for years." You tilt your head. "Consider it payback."

His smile softens into something quieter. "I never made you climb."

You hold his gaze. The air between you shifts. Warms. "I know," you say softly before bursting into laughter. It spills out of you, unexpected and way too loud. "I can't believe you said 'let's not.'"

His smile widens. "Well, he said 'let's ride.'"

You gasp for air "He always says that."

He puts him hand on your shoulder. "That's what makes it so dumb."

You stare at him for half a second. Then you snort. "You definitely get points for creativity though."

He grins, wincing a little. "That's how I get all my points."

You shake your head before looking down at his hands. At the blood. At the busted knuckles. The laughter dies. He's bleeding because of you and you're standing in your room at midnight with the hot boy next door and his blood on your floor. 

Then he looks at you, but you don't know what it means. Maybe you've never known what Damien's looks mean. Every time you think I've figured it out, You're wrong. Every time you let yourself hope, he say something like "we're still us" and you remember how stupid you truly are.

Your hand drops. You step back.

Space. You need space. You can't think when he's this close.

He looks down at his knuckles. Flexes his hand. Winces as it stretches his lip. "Told you I'd take a paper cut for you."

A sound escapes you. Half laugh, half sob. You press your hand over your mouth. "I think that was more like an uppercut."

He almost smiles. Almost.

"He was touching you." His voice is rough. "He grabbed you and I just..I couldn't.."

You're silent for a second, just looking at him. He couldn't. He couldn't watch. "You punched my ex-boyfriend in the face."

"Yeah." Damien  rubs the back of his neck. "I'm sorry if I made things weird."

Weird. He's worried about weird. Like this is what finally made things weird. "But so did I." You smile. "You're not sorry."

He shrugs. "No. Not really."

Another silence. Lighter this time. Almost like old times. Before everything got complicated. Before that night. Before this whole year of nothing. Before you forgot how easy this could be.

"I'm not sorry either." You almost laugh at his face. "Also you should probably sit before you bleed all over my carpet."

He sits on the edge of your bed, "it's a nice carpet."

"Thank you." You grab some tissues from your nightstand and sit next to him. Close enough to reach his hand. Close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough to see his busted lip. Too close, probably.

You hand him the tissue and squeeze his hand. " Thank you."

Damien looks up at you, "you just said that? Did you just get distracted by the beautiful carpet"

He's trying to make you laugh. He's trying to keep this easy. He doesn't understand. "I mean for coming out there. For..." You gesture vaguely. "All of it."

He looks almost confused. "You don't have to thank me for that."

Yes you do. Damien really doesn't understand. He came. He climbed. He bled. He did all of it without hesitating once. And You've spent so long trying to convince yourself you didn't care, or at least that you don't anymore, that that night meant nothing. And now Damien is here, on your bed, bleeding on your beautiful carpet.

"I know you don't think I do." You pause. "But I still want to."

You look at him. Really look. The tired eyes. The split lip. The boy you love. The boy you've always loved. The boy who will never love you back the way you need him to. But he's here. He's right here. And he does love you. Not in the same way you love him but he does.

Damien shifts on the bed. Looks down at his hands. Then back at you. Can I ask you something?"

Your stomach tightens. Here it comes, "yeah."

He pauses. Choosing words carefully. "Why did you stop talking to me? After that night?"

The question lands right in your chest. You knew it was coming. You've known for a year. But hearing it out loud is different.

Because you loved him too much. Because you just couldn't be around Damien after that. Because it meant something different to you than it did to him.

You look away. Pick at a thread on your skirt. "I don't know."

He waits. Doesn't push. Just waits.

You try again. "It was... complicated."

"Complicated how?"

Complicated because I thought for a second we had a chance.

You shrug. "Just... complicated. Because we needed space."

"Space." He repeats the word like he's testing it. "For a year?"

"I know."

Another silence. He's watching you. You can feel it.

"Did I do something wrong?" His voice is quieter now. "That night. Did I hurt you or made you feel"

"No." The word comes out too fast. Too sharp. You soften it. "No, Damien. You didn't do anything wrong."

He did everything right. That was the problem.

"Then why?" You finally look at him. At the confusion in his eyes. At the way he's genuinely trying to understand something you can never explain.

"I just." Your voice cracks. "I was embarrassed."

He blinks. "What?"

You force yourself to meet his eyes. "That night. It was... a lot. And I didn't know how to act after. I thought maybe you regretted it and I pushed you into it. You were afraid it would change things and I know you said it didn't but maybe in a way it did. Just in a way that made it weird acting normal." You shrug, trying to look casual. "So I just... panicked. And pulled away before you could."

His face softens. "I never regretted it."

"I didn't either."

He's quiet for a second. Then: "You could've talked to me."

"Could I?" You meet his eyes. "We'd never really talked about it beforehand. About us. About what should and shouldn't be allowed. We didn't know the rules."

"There aren't rules."

"There are always rules. We just didn't know them until we broke them. Like maybe we shouldn't have kissed. Maybe it should have been more.. friendly. I don't know"

"So your plan was just to stop talking to me forever?"

"No." I just thought it would be better if we weren't that close anymore. Like if we left some room open for other relationships and didn't hold each other back.

"But you didn't talk to me at all."

"Well I haven't figured out a way for us to be in contact and not be close."

It was true. When he was in your life, he was your whole life. but when he wasn't..  Life was just.. nothing. And you've tried nothing. Nothing is worse. What if he could be just a part of your life instead of all of it? What if you could be the friend who's here when he comes back? The one he climbs windows once every six months?

"So what changed? Why'd you let me in tonight?"

Because Ryan grabbed you and he appeared like some kind of guardian angel. Because you saw Damien fight for you. Because you've spent a year trying to get over him so that you could be friends again.

"Because you were here." Your voice is quiet. "Because when I needed someone, you showed up. You always show up."

"I'll always show up."

You wish he wouldn't say things like that. That he didn't look at you like that when you already can't breathe. He'll always show up. He'll show up and then he'll leave. For college. For his life. For the future you've just decided to be a small part. That's how you'll survive.

Another silence.

He holds your gaze. "So, do you need me to stay?"

"No," you whisper. "But I want you too."

Damien smiled. "Me too."

You look down at yourself. At the hoodie you're wearing. His hoodie.

"I don't really have anything you can wear," you say. "To sleep in I mean."

He follows your gaze to the hoodie. Recognition flickers across his face. "Isn't that mine?"

"Yeah." You pull at the sleeve. "It's been mine for a while though. You can have it back."

"I'll be fine," he says. "I don't need anything."

"You sure?"

He meets your eyes. "I'm sure."

You let out a puff of air. "So... You're going commando?"

Damien laughs. "What? No? That's not what I meant."

"Yeah me neither" You lay down on the bed. "I'm totally wearing socks."

He kicks off his shoes and lies back next to you, one arm behind his head. "Hot"

You turn and lay on your side to face him, "right?"

Damien turns his head toward you. Close. Your bed is much smaller than his. After a second, he shifts, adjusting. His fingers brush against yours.

"You okay?" you ask. "Uncomfortable?"

He looks at you, that small smile playing on his lips. "Your hand is cold," he murmurs.

You stare at him for half a second. "They're always cold."

"I remember, I liked it." He's trying to look innocent and failing completely. " What?"

"You're" You stop yourself, laughing. "Referring to a specific occasion?"

He shrugs, still smiling. "I'm just saying."

You punch his chest lightly and he grabs it and holds it in place.

Damien closes his eyes. After a second, you do too.

The room is quiet. His breathing evens out slowly. His hand stays in yours.

Right before sleep takes you, you hear him whisper.

"Goodnight."

You squeeze his hand. "Good night, Damien."

You wake up to your door slamming open.

"Okay do you want scrambled or. Oh!"

Your sister freezes mid-sentence, mid-step, mid-everything. Her eyes go wide.

Damien lifts his head from the pillow next to you, hair a disaster, looking confused and vaguely alarmed.

Your sister's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

"Um."

You groan, pulling the blanket higher. "Door. Knock. Ever heard of it?"

"I" She points at Damien. Then at you. Then back at Damien. "He's here!"

You roll your eyes. "I know he's here."

Damien raises a hand. Small wave. "Hey gremlin."

"Hey," your sister echoes, still frozen.

A beat of silence.

Then her face splits into a giant grin.

"Oh my god." She slaps a hand over her mouth. "You guys finally made up?"

You blink. "What?"

"Last night. The fight. Ryan. All of it." She waves her hand vaguely. "You made up, right? Or made out?"

Damien looks at you. You look at Damien.

"Yeah," you say slowly. "We made up."

She nods looking at Damien. "Good. I was tired of both of you being weird." She points at you. "But you should put some pants on."

She disappears, pulling the door shut behind her.

Damien stretches, yawns. Looks down. "You're not wearing pants."

You raise an eyebrow. "How would you know that unless YOU'RE not wearing pants?"

He looks at you, completely deadpan. "That's not how pants work."

"It's absolutely how pants work."

"No, see, I can know you're not wearing pants without removing my own pants. It's called observation."

"Observation." You nod slowly. "You can't spell observation without pants?"

"Yes I can."

"AH-HA, so you aren't wearing pants."

He's trying not to smile. Failing. "You're ridiculous."

You shake your head, grinning. "I know."

He swings his legs off the bed, stands, stretches. You watch him for a second. "You're going back today. Right?"

His back is to you, but you see him pause. "Yeah. Later."

You nod, even though he can't see it. "Right."

" I'll be back." He turns around. Leans against the wall.

"I know."

A pause.

"So," he says, casual. Too casual. "Are we friends again?"

You tilt your head. "Of course we're friends"

He shrugs, but there's something hopeful underneath it. "But are we friends that actually talk?"

You consider this. You've been thinking about it all night. About what you can handle. About what might actually work.. "Maybe we can just be friends who hang out when you're here?"

He processes this. Nods slowly. "So you wanna hang out?" he asks.

You smile. "Yeah. Your place next time though. This bed is tiny"

Damien nods and pushes off the wall, heading for the window.

You grab your phone from the nightstand. " Wait, before you go." You scroll to the music app and look up at him. "Shuffle time?"

He raises an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. "Bring it on."

You press shuffle.

The first notes hit. Fight song. Fitting.

He grins, recognizing it. "Good choice, universe."

You smile again. "Obviously."

This is my fight song. Take back my life song. Prove I'm alright song.

He looks at you, something soft in his eyes. "So, I'll see you in six months?" It comes out somewhere between a question and a statement. Like he's asking but also telling. Like he needs you to confirm but he's already decided.

You hold his gaze. "Yeah, I'll see you." You pause, letting the weight of it settle. "But for real this time."

"Thank god." Damien grins, then turns and secretly slips out through the window. Even though everyone in this house already knows he was here.

The curtain falls back into place and you're alone in your room. But for the first time in a year, being alone doesn't feel so lonely. 

[nightwriter357]

I'm obsessed with your sims videos! I've loved every single one. Are you gonna mane more? I WILL watch ANYTHING YOU MAKE!!

Awww thank you! I love making the videos but they are a bit time consuming...

I think getting comments about them really makes me want to make more though. It's easy to lose motivation when your readers drop and you don't get as much feedback as you used to so thank you so much for letting me know you enjoyed it!!

[nightwriter357]

A window into us - Chapter 10: She just gives you that look

Woohoo, I'm on a roll. Here's chapter 10 of a window into us. Make sure to share your opinions and asks are open if you have questions or suggestions. Love you all!

He's been home for a while now yet his room still looks the same.

Everything is exactly where he left it. His bed, but with different sheets. His desk, but cleared of the random papers his mom probably threw away. The window.

He looks at it every time he walks in. Every time he passes. Every time he sits on his bed and tries to read or play games or pretend he's fine.

Bernard is still on the ceiling. He looks at him, staring down at Damien like he knows something he doesn't.

He lies on his bed sometimes and stares at him. Wonders if you ever look up at your ceiling and think about him.

Probably not.

He rolls onto his side. His pillow still has the same case from before he left. He presses his face into it and breathes in deep.

Your perfume is gone. one year of absence has faded it completely. But sometimes, right at the edge of sleep, he could swear he catches it.

It's probably just his imagination. Probably just his brain playing tricks on him because he wants it so badly.

He gets up.

A soft knock on his door. Damien doesn't answer. He's sitting on his bed, staring at your window across the yard. The light is on. He can see movement behind the curtains.

The door opens anyway.

His mom steps in, holding a mug. She doesn't say anything at first. Just walks over and sets it on his nightstand. Tea. She always brings him tea when he's like this.

"It's your last night here," she says quietly.

"I know."

She sits on the edge of his desk chair, across from him. He doesn't look at her. Can't stop looking at your window.

"That's the third night in a row you've sat here like this."

He shrugs. Doesn't have an answer.

His mom follows his gaze out the open window . She knows what he's looking at. She's always known.

"Her window's been open every night," she says. "I've noticed. Ever since you got home."

Damien's throat tightens.

"I'm not saying anything." Her voice is gentle. "Just... observing."

He nods. 

She's quiet for a moment and goes up to close the window. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

"I know."

"But you won't."

He doesn't answer at first.

He finally looks at her. "My window's been open every night too."

She sighs, soft and sad. Stands up. Pauses at the door. "Go outside and get some air Damien, you need a break."

She leaves. The door clicks shut behind her.

Damien sits there for a long time. His tea goes cold. 

Then he gets up, leaves his room, leaves his house but stops right there on the porch.

He should be packing. Should be sleeping. He leaves tomorrow.

Instead, he's out here. Watching.

Your window is open. It's been open every night since he got home. He tells himself it doesn't mean anything. People leave windows open during winter. It doesn't mean you're thinking about him. It doesn't mean you're waiting.

Then he hears footsteps on the sidewalk. Damien looks up.

Your sister.

 For a second, she just stares, like she's trying to place him. Then her face shifts into a gleeful smile. "No way."

Damien grins back before he can help it. "Hey, gremlin."

She bounds over, dropping onto the step beside him. "Not fair."

Damien raises his eyebrow. "What's not fair?"

She scrunches her nose. "You call her angel and you call me gremlin?"

He laughs. "She's never tried to set my hair on fire."

She looks offended. "That was one time. I was six."

He shakes his head. "You were nine."

She waves a hand. "Same thing."

"Not even close to the same thing." Damien says crossing his arms.

"Whatever." She bumps his shoulder with hers.  "When did you get back?"

"Been back the whole break." The words come out flat. "I'll leave tomorrow."

Her mouth falls open. "And you didn't come say hi?"

"Honestly?" He shrugs. "Didn't know if I should."

She gets it. He can see it in her face. She doesn't ask what he means.

"I don't blame you," she says quietly. "It's weird over there."

"Weird, how?"

She considers this. "Mom's... Mom. You know and."

He does know. He knows that house. He knows the sighs, the silences, the way you learned to make yourself small. He's watched it for years.

"Your sister okay?" The question comes out before he can stop it.

Another pause. Longer this time.

"I don't know," she says finally. "She works a lot. Kind of acts like she's my mom, tells me what to do even though I clearly don't need it. When she's home, she's quiet. Like she's somewhere else."

Damien nods. Doesn't trust himself to speak.

A car drives by. They both watch it pass.

"You heading somewhere?" he asks.

She nods. "Boyfriend's picking me up. Josh."

Damien sits up straighter. "Josh. Okay. What's his deal?"

She gives him a look. "His deal?"

Damien raises an eyebrow. "Should I be worried? Do I need to have a talk with him?"

She laughs. "You're like a year older than him."

He crosses his arms, mock serious. "I can be intimidating when I want to be."

She giggles. "You really can't, I'm three years younger than you and I used to steal your toys."

"Fair." He grins. "Okay, but seriously. What's he like?"

She considers this. "He's nice. Normal. Doesn't say 'let's ride'."

Damien blinks. "Wait, what?"

"Ryan." She says the name like it's obviously the punchline. "My sister's ex? The guy who said 'let's ride' every single time he picked her up?"

Damien's head falls back as laughter bursts out of him. "Oh my god, I forgot about that."

She giggles. "How could you forget? It was his whole personality."

"It was so bad." He's grinning now, really grinning for the first time all night. "You know, he did it before every test. Every time he had a beer. Pretty much every single time he walked into a room. Just let's ride."

 "He really thought he was the main character." Your sister shook her head. 

Damien shakes his head, a slow, certain motion. "He was definitely not the main character." 

Your sister grins at his conviction. She leans in, lowering her voice like she's sharing a secret. "He was like... the guy who dies in the first fifteen minutes."

Damien snorts. "The guy whose name you don't even remember."

"Yes!" Her eyes light up. She's fully committed to this now, gesturing with her hands. "Like 'oh yeah, that guy. What was his face?'

They lock eyes. A beat of shared understanding.

"Ryan," they say in unison.

For a second, they just stare at each other. Then Damien cracks up, and she follows, both of them laughing on his dark front steps like none of the last year happened.

Damien wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand. "God, your sister has the worst taste."

"Right?" She's beaming now, delighted to have an ally. "I kept telling her. Did she listen? No."

"She never listens."

"You try telling her anything." She shakes her head, but there's affection in it. "She just gives you that look."

Damien knows exactly the look. He's been on the receiving end of it a thousand times. "The one where she's pretending to listen but you can tell she's already decided you're wrong?"

"Yes! That exact look!" She points at him like he's just won a prize. "You get it."

He shrugs, dropping the expression. "I've known her a long time."

She studies him for a second. "Long enough to know she's impossible."

Damien looks down at his hands. When he speaks, his voice is quieter. "Long enough to know she's worth it."

The words slip out before he can stop them.

The night goes quiet. Not the heavy silence from before, but something softer. Like the air itself is waiting.

Your sister watches him. He can't read her expression.

Then, gently: "You love her, don't you?"

Damien doesn't answer. Can't answer.

A car pulls up to your driveway. Damien looks toward the car before he can stop himself. It's not you. He looks away.

"I should go," she says. 

She's halfway to the car when she stops. Turns back. Her face is different now. The playfulness is gone.

"You know she's not okay, right?"

The words hit him square in the chest.

"What?"

Your sister shrugs, but it's not casual. It's protective. "She doesn't talk about it. But I live there now. I see her." A pause. "She sits on the porch sometimes. Late. Stares at your window."

Damien can't breathe.

"I don't know what happened," your sister continues. "She won't tell me. But she's different now. Quieter. Like she's waiting for something."

She holds his gaze for a long moment. Then she shakes her head, small and sad.

"Forget it. None of my business."

She walks away.

"Hey," Damien calls out.

She looks back.

"When did you get so smart?"

A small smile breaks through. "I take after my sister."

She gets in the car. The door closes. The taillights disappear down the street. Damien sits on the steps, frozen.

Your window is still open. He swallows and heads inside.

It's late. The house is quiet. 

Damien walks to the window and opens it again, letting the cold air filter in.

His phone is on the nightstand. He looks at it. Looks away. Looks back.

It's stupid. It was always stupid. A game. A ritual. Something you did together that never meant anything.

He reaches for it anyway.

His thumb finds the music app. Muscle memory from a thousand nights. He hasn't shuffled since that night. Since you left. Since everything.

He tells himself it doesn't matter. It's just a song. It won't mean anything.

He presses shuffle.

The first notes hit. A song he knows. A song that means something.

He listens. Doesn't move. Doesn't breathe.

It's been a year now, think I've figured out how How to let you go and let communication die out

He hasn't figured out anything. He's been functioning. Going to class. Eating meals. Existing. That's not the same as moving on.

I know, you know, we know, you weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know, we weren't meant for each other and it's fine

It's not fine. None of it is fine. Damien's been telling himself it's fine for a year and he's never once believed it.

But if the world was ending, you'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night

He looks at your window. Still open. Still waiting. He thinks about what your sister said. That you sit on your porch sometimes and look up at his window.Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant

He thinks about your fears. About your mom. About everything you told him that night in the dark, your voice barely a whisper against his chest.

If the world was ending, you'd come over, right? The sky'd be falling and I'd hold you tight

He would hold you. He'd finally say all the things he's been too scared to say.And there wouldn't be a reason why We would even have to say goodbye

He would just stay there. Hold you. Love you. Till the end of time or till the end of the world, whichever came first. He looks out his window.

A car pulls into your driveway.

He freezes.

You get out. You're in your work clothes, apron bunched in your hand, hair falling loose around your face. You look tired. You look like everything.

A guy gets out of the driver's side. He's tall. Blond hair. Damien doesn't recognize him.

The guy walks you to your door. You say something, smile. He laughs, touches your arm. Familiar. Easy. Like he's done it before.

Damien's hand presses flat against the cold glass.

For a second you turn your head and look at his window. Damien's not sure if you saw him or not. You disappear inside. The guy waits a moment, then heads back to his car. Before he gets in, he glances around. Looks up.

For one horrible second, his eyes meet Damien's through the window.

Just a flicker. Then he's in the car, backing out, driving away.

Damien doesn't move.

He stands there for a long time, hand on the glass, staring at your door. Waiting for you to come back out. Waiting for something to happen.

Nothing does.

Your light clicks off. The window goes dark.

Damien stays where he is.

The room is cold. He doesn't notice.

[nightwriter357]

Don't mind me. Just wanted to post the video on it's own. Make sure to read chapter 8 of a window into us if you haven't since the video contains spoilers.

[nightwriter357]

A window into us - Chapter 9: Not for you

Chapter 9 of window is here. Your pov and a bit different from the previus chapters. I'm in a writing groove so chapters are coming a bit faster right now. hope you don't mind ;)

The coffee shop apron is still tangled in your bag, the smell of espresso clinging to your sweater even after a full shift. Summer is ending the same way it always does. Slowly, then all at once. The air has that particular edge to it now, that coolness that isn't quite cold yet, but will be soon.

Your feet know the way home without you telling them. Left at the corner, past the old oak, down the familiar stretch of sidewalk that's been worn smooth by years of this exact walk. You've done it a thousand times. After school. After parties. After Ryan. After that night.

Tonight, you pause at the driveway.

Not yours. His.

The window is closed. Of course it is. It's summer, not winter, and you haven't given him a reason to leave it open for you in six months. 

His light is on. You can see the glow through the curtains, the same blue curtains he's had since he was eleven. He's in there. Packing, probably. Boxes of books and Pokémon plushies and that stupid Bernard the dinosaur. Getting ready to leave.

Tomorrow.

The word sits heavy in your chest. Tomorrow he drives away. The window becomes just a window, and his room becomes just a room, and Damien becomes a boy you used to know. Just the guy you lost your virginity to.

You haven't seen him since that night.

Not because you didn't want to. Not because you were too angry or too hurt or any of the clean, simple things that are easy to explain. It was the opposite. You stayed away because you wanted to see him too much. Because you knew you would break. You would tell him everything. You would beg him to love you back, and he would look at you with those soft, confused eyes and say something kind and gentle and completely devastating like We're still us, right? 

So you stopped climbing. You stopped texting. Stopped smiling at him in the cafeteria.

And he let you.

That's the part that still aches, even now. He didn't fight it. He didn't show up at your window or demand to know why you'd gone quiet. Maybe he was relieved. Maybe the night meant to him exactly what you'd feared it meant. A good time with a friend. A box checked. 

We're still us, he'd said. He might as well have said "Please don't be inlove with me."

You force your feet to move. Past his driveway, up your own. Your key scrapes the lock the same way it always does. 

Tonight, it feels different.

Because tonight is the last night you have another place to go to.

They're on the couch. Your mom and your little sister. Curled up under the same blanket, heads bent together over a notebook. Your sister is talking fast, gesturing with her hands, and your mom is laughing at something she said. Her head is thrown back. Her eyes are crinkled at the corners. She looks young. She looks happy.

She never looked at you like that.

"Oh, you're home," your mom says. The laughter doesn't stop, but it dims. Like you've ruined the vibe. "Work was fine?"

"Fine." You drop your bag by the door. "What are you guys working on?"

Your little sister looks up, still smiling. "Just some writing stuff. For English."

"She's so talented," your mom says, and her voice is warm in a way that makes your chest tight. "Her teacher said her last piece was one of the best in the class."

You wait for her to ask about your shift. About the coffee shop. About anything. She doesn't.

"That's great," you say. "What are you writing about?"

Your sister hesitates, glancing at you. "Just... I don't know. A girl."

"It's very funny," your mom adds. "You wouldn't believe it."

"I'd love to read it sometime," you say.

Your sister smiles, small and uncertain. "Maybe. It's not done yet."  She gets up from the couch and goes to fix her hair in the hallway mirror.

"She's going out ," your mom says, already turning on the tv. "Will you keep an eye on her?"

You stop and turn to your sister. "When are you leaving ?"

"Couple minutes." Your sister checks her phone. "John's picking me up."

You turn back to your mother and whisper. "And what's her curfew?"

"Curfew?" Your mom laughs, short and dismissive. "She's seventeen. I'm not going to police her. I want her to want to come home."

"So who's making sure she actually does?"

"Aren't you?" She doesn't look up from the tv.

The words land like individual stones in your chest. This is your role now. The enforcer. The bad cop. The boring, responsible one who makes sure dinner is eaten and homework is done and doors are locked while they sit on the couch and bond over stories you're not invited into.

"That's not parenting," you say quietly. "That's delegating."

Your mom's face stills. Her smile tightens. "Excuse me?"

"You're not giving her boundaries. You're making me be the boundary so you can be the fun one."

"I'm trying to build a relationship with her." Her voice is cool now. Controlled. "Something you've never been interested in."

The room goes quiet. 

It's all you've ever been interested in.

Your sister looks between you, she's stepped back into the room without you noticing.

"Hey," your sister says. "I'm just"

"Stay out of it," your mom says, and her voice is sharp in a way you recognize. The mask slipping. "This is between me and her."

Between me and her. Like you're equals. Like you have equal power in this dynamic. Like she hasn't spent years perfecting the art of making you feel unreasonable for wanting to be seen.

Your sister backs up slowly, carefully. She gathers her bag, her jacket. "I should just go wait outside."

"Have fun," your mom calls after her, her voice warm again now that the audience is shifting.

Your sister pauses at the door. She looks at you, something flickering across her face. Guilt. Frustration. Love. All the complicated feelings you didn't want her to feel.

"Text me when you get there," you say.

She rolls her eyes. "I will."

Then she's gone. The door clicks shut.

And then it's just you and your mom, the silence thick and immediate.

"She's sixteen, not seventeen." You say.

She shakes her head. "I know how old my daughter is."

"She's sixteen and you gave her no curfew. No rules. No support."

Your mom sets the remote down slowly. When she looks at you, her eyes are flat. "I'm not having this conversation with you again."

"You've never had this conversation with me. You've just waited for me to stop talking."

"Maybe if you stopped attacking me, we could have a real conversation." Her voice is calm. Reasonable. The voice of someone who has never once apologized and doesn't intend to start now. "But you're so angry all the time. You always have been. It's exhausting."

You're exhausting. The unspoken subtext. The sigh you've heard a thousand times, finally given words.

"I was fourteen years old," you say, and your voice is shaking now. "Fourteen. And you left me alone in this house for days at a time. You put some money on the counter and you left. Do you know how many nights I ate cereal for dinner because you weren't there to teach me anything else?"

"I was not always away, I worked."

"You worked. And then you came home and sighed when you saw my shoes by the door and sighed when I asked you questions and sighed when I existed in the same room as you. I learned to be quiet because my voice annoyed you."

"That's not what happened."

"It is. I was there. You weren't."

She shakes her head slowly, a small, pitying smile on her lips. The smile that says I feel sorry for you, living in this fantasy world where I'm the villain.

"I don't know what you want me to say," she says. "You were a handful. A very moody hard to control teenager. It wasn't my fault, you were so difficult to be around. "

"Maybe I was, but not for you."

Tomorrow, Damien leaves.

You swallow and turn away from her, "I need some air."

She scoffs and raises the volume on the tv. "Always so dramatic."

Your neighbors' houses are dark. The street is quiet. His window glows soft blue through the curtains, just like it always has. You wonder what he's doing in there. Packing, probably. Folding shirts and rolling cords and putting his life into boxes.

Tomorrow he leaves.

You pull out your phone without thinking. Your thumb finds the music app the way it always does when you don't know what else to do with yourself. You haven't shuffled a song since that night. His game. His stupid, perfect, universe-believing ritual that you pretended to mock but secretly clung to.

You press shuffle.

The first piano notes hit, soft and familiar. A woman's voice starts to sing, and you know it immediately. You've heard this song a hundred times on the radio, in waiting rooms, in the background of your life.

I will not make the same mistakes that you did

Your mom's face flashes in your mind. Her flat eyes. Her calm, reasonable voice. I did the best I could. If that wasn't good enough for you, that's not my fault.

I will not let myself cause my heart so much misery

You think of all the nights you waited for her to come home. All the mornings you made your own breakfast, packed your own lunch, drank away your dinner money. All the ways you learned to need nothing so you couldn't be disappointed when nothing was all you got.

I will not break the way you did You fell so hard

Your throat tightens.

I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt.

That's what you did, isn't it? You left before he could. You built a wall out of six months of silence and called it self-preservation. You told yourself it was better this way, cleaner, easier. You told yourself you were protecting your heart.

But you were burying it.

Because of you I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me

Because of you I am afraid

The truth hits you like a physical weight.

You are afraid. Not of Damien. Not of what you feel for him. You are afraid of becoming her. Of loving someone and then waking up one day and not feeling it anymore. Of making promises you can't keep. Of sighing when the person you're supposed to cherish walks into the room.

You are afraid that love is conditional, because she taught you it was.

You are afraid that people leave, because she did, over and over, even when she was standing right in front of you.

You are afraid to trust, to need, to want. Because wanting has always, always led to disappointment.

She did this. Not maliciously, not deliberately. Just by being who she was. Just by failing you in all the small, cumulative ways that added up to a lifetime of learned caution.

You never thought of anyone else You just saw your pain And now I cry in the middle of the night for the same damn thing

That's the part that breaks you.

Because you promised yourself you would never become her. You would never be cold, never be distant, never make someone feel like they had to earn your love. You would love openly, fiercely, without conditions.

But here you are. Fifteen feet away from the boy you love, and you can't climb his window. Can't reach out. Can't let yourself want.

You learned to play on the safe side.

You learned it from her.

And the cruelest part? She doesn't even remember teaching you.

The song fades. The night is quiet again. Your face is wet.

You sit there, and you let yourself cry. Not the silent, controlled tears you perfected in this house. Real, ugly, heaving sobs that catch in your throat and shake your shoulders.

You cry for your twelve-year-old self who just wanted her parents to stop yelling.

You cry for your fourteen-year-old self who just wanted someone to hold her.

You cry for your sixteen-year-old self who just wanted to be loved no matter who it was by.

You cry for your eighteen-year-old self who just wanted Damien and still left the moment you had him.

You cry for tonight, for the fight you knew you'd never win, for the sister who is out there that will resent you for trying to parent her. For all the relationships your mother had destroyed for you.

And you cry for him. For Damien. 

Because of you. Because of her. Because of all of it.

And still, his window glows.

The tears stop eventually. They always do.

You sit there long enough that the stars start to show on the sky, no dinosaurs though. Not long enough that the light in his window turns off though. He's still awake. Packing. Thinking. Maybe wondering where you are, or maybe not. Maybe he stopped wondering months ago.

You think about climbing.

Your feet could carry you across the lawn, up the trellis, over the sill. You've done it a thousand times. Your body remembers the way even when your mind tries to forget.

You could be in his room in thirty seconds. You could say his name. You could let him hold you and pretend the last six months never happened.

But then what?

He leaves tomorrow. He packs his boxes and his books and his stupid lava lamp into his dad's car and he drives away to a life you chose not to follow. And a piece of him stays here, tangled up in you, wondering if you'll be okay, worrying about whether you're eating enough, checking his phone for texts you never send.

You've already taken so much from him. He's the only person who hasn't taken more than he's given to you. So you just kept taking.

His time. His energy. His first time. His friendship.

You cannot take his future too.

Damien deserves to fall in love with someone who isn't afraid of it. Someone who doesn't flinch when he says her name. Someone who can look at him and say I love you without chickening out.

He deserves passion. Excitement. A girl who climbs into his bed because she wants to, not because she's hiding from something.

That girl exists. She's out there, waiting for him. She'll meet him in a lecture hall or a coffee shop or a party where he's standing awkwardly in the corner. She'll think he's funny and smart and kind, and she won't have years of complicated history tangled up in every glance. She'll love him simply. Freely. Without the weight of everything you've carried since you were a kid.

She'll be good for him, good to him.

She won't be you.

You look at his window one last time. The light is still on. You wonder if he's standing at the glass, looking out at the night. Looking at your house. Looking for you.

You hope he isn't.

Because if he is, and you see him, you don't know if you'll be strong enough to stay here.

So you close your eyes. You breathe in the cool summer air. You let the tears dry on your cheeks.

Go, you think. Be happy. Fall in love.

Forget me.

The window stays lit. You stay on the porch.

Tomorrow he leaves.

Tonight, you love him enough to let him go.

You stand up slowly, your legs stiff from sitting too long. You don't look back at his window. You don't trust yourself to.

The door closes softly behind you.

[nightwriter357]

Texted some friends they could park outside right next to my porn. Clarified I meant porch. Clarified once more that I absolutely do NOT keep my porn outside.

Still think they're coming?

[nightwriter357]

A window into us - Chapter 8:We let our lips do all the talking

Chapter 8 of my Damien Haas x reader story: a window into us, is already here. This is a big one.. This chapter contains smut AND ANOTHER SIMS VIDEO at the end of this chapter. I really hope you enjoy both the chapter and the vid, I had a blast making them. Remember to not watch it until the end if you don't want to get spoiled.

Tonight's the night. In a totally not serial killer Dexter kind of way.

Damien sat down on the edge of his bed with his hands pressed against the mattress, staring at the window. The glass is cold, rimmed with frost at the corners. Outside, the world is quiet. You're not on your way yet, he's certain. He can always hear you well before you set your feet on the ledge outside his window. But he keeps looking, wanting to be ready.

You are going to come. He knows you are.

That is the problem.

He runs a hand through his hair and exhales slowly, grounding himself. He decided months ago, lying awake dreaming of this night.

He is not going to do it.

Not because he does not want to. Not even close. Because he wants to too much.

Because if this happens, if he lets himself cross that line with you, he will only love you more. Damien does not think there will be a way back to who he was before. He does not think he can survive that version of loss.

He presses his lips together and nods to himself like he is sealing a deal.

He will tell you. He will finally say it out loud. That he loves you. That it's okay that you don't. That he cannot have you in this way and then not have you at all.

Then there is a soft sound at the window. Somehow his thoughts were loud enough to drown out the sounds of your climb here. 

The window slams all the way open.

Cold air spills into the room, sharp and clean. Damien's eyes are glued to the window when you appear, half hidden by darkness, one leg already swinging inside.

Your fingers curl around the sill, pink from the cold. Snow clings to the ends of your wavy hair, already melting.

And just like that, his resolve starts to fracture.

You land softly on the floor and straighten, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. You look at him, and there is something fragile in your expression, something tired and familiar and unbearably you.

"Hey," you say quietly.

His chest tightens. "Hey."

He stands without thinking, closing the distance before his brain can remind him of the speech he rehearsed. The room feels smaller with you in it, warmer, like you have always belonged here and the room has just been waiting for you to come back.

Your hands fumble with the belt on your coat as you  glance at him, chewing on your lip. "So..." You hesitate. "Has anything changed since the kiss?"

The question lands directly in his chest.

This is it. This is where he is supposed to stop everything. To say he doesn't want the thing he's been dreaming about since he was old enough to has those dreams.

Damien had words prepared and practiced. He had reasons. He had a line he was not going to cross.

But then he really looks at you. At the way your shoulders are tense, at the look in your eyes, at the way you are bracing for an answer.

Nothing has changed.

Not really.

He loved you before the kiss. Before the window. Before any of this.

Saying no would be the lie. Saying that the kiss made him love you would be the lie.

So Damien swallowed and was honest. "No. It changed nothing."

Relief flickers across your face so fast it almost hurts to see. You smile at him, small, and let your coat fall to the floor.

And just like that, the decision is gone. If he couldn't stop this before he sure as hell can't do it with you in that thin lacy piece of fabric.

Damien feels it happen in real time, the moment he chooses you over self protection.

There is a second where he almost speaks again, almost reaches out and stops you, almost says your name. But you are already there, already close enough that he can feel the cold clinging to you, already looking at him like this is the only place you want to be.

So instead of stopping it, he walks up to you and places his hand on your cheek.

If this is what you need tonight, he will give it to you. Even if it breaks him later.

He leaned in. The kiss was soft. Just a press. Your lips were cool, then warm. You made a small, broken sound against his mouth, and Damien felt it in his gut.

He pulled back just enough to see your face. "You okay?" His voice was already wrecked.

You nodded, eyes fluttering open. "Are you?"

"Terrified," he whispered, because it was the truth.

"Me too." You smiled up at him and took a deep breath.

Your hands settled on his bare chest. They were freezing. He jerked at the shock of it, then covered them with his own, trying to warm you up. Your fingers curled against his skin, your nails lightly scraping.

He kissed you again. Deeper. Your mouth opened under his. This was the part Damien had imagined so many times. But the dream was a lie.

The real thing was so much more. It was the shaky catch in your breath when his thumb brushed the inside of your elbow. It was the way your pulse hammered under his palm. It was the soft, desperate sound you made when he kissed you again and you kissed him back just as hard.

That was the other thing his imagination got wrong. The passion.

In his head, it was always slow and sweet. But this was real. Your hands weren't gentle anymore. They were in his hair, gripping, pulling him closer like you were afraid he'd leave. It was hunger. It was the same wild, frantic feeling he had been carrying for years, finally reflected back at him.

It was terrifying. It was the best thing Damien had ever felt.

He had imagined touching you. But he had never imagined the way your back would arch under his hand, pushing into his touch. He had never imagined the way his own careful control started to fray at the edges because he could feel you wanted this too.

Damien broke the kiss, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours. He could feel your eyelashes brush his skin when you blinked. He could feel your heart racing against his chest. Or maybe that was his own.

This was it. This was the girl he had loved since before he understood what love was. The first face he had ever pictured in the dark. And you were here, pulling him closer, your breath hot and ragged against his mouth.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his voice rough, cracking on the words. It was a last ditch effort. A plea for an escape hatch from this feeling that was too big for his body. "Any time. For any reason. I mean it."

You shook your head. Your nose brushed his. "Don't stop."

So he didn't.

Instead he guided you backwards, one slow step at a time, until the back of your knees hit the mattress. You sank down, pulling him with you. Damien followed, bracing his weight on his arms above you.

Now you were under him. On his bed. The bed where you'd laid a hundred times but never like this. The sheets were cool. Your skin was now hot through the lace.

Your legs shifted, and one of your knees brushed against his hip. The touch, through his sweatpants, felt electric. He gasped into your mouth.

His hand, which had been braced by your head, drifted down. He traced the line of your collarbone with his fingertips, then slid his palm down, over the lace covering your chest. He felt the shape of you, the soft weight fitting perfectly against his hand. His breath hitched. You arched into the touch with a quiet sigh.

This was really happening. You were letting him touch you like this.

He broke the kiss to look down at where his hand was. The white lace, his tanned hand against it. The sight was going to burn itself into his brain forever.

He looked back at your face. Your eyes were dark, watching him. Your head nodding before he could even ask.

"Can I..." he started, but he didn't even know how to finish the question. He just moved his hand under the lace to your breast. You sucked in a breath as his thumb brushed your nipple, making him want to do it again. 

He was touching you. You were letting him. He slid his hand lower, his fingers skimming the top of your panties. Your skin was so soft. You shivered.

Damien felt dizzy. He dropped his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard. "You're so..." He didn't have the word. Perfect. Real. Everything.

Your hand came up and cupped the back of his head, your fingers sliding through his hair. "Damien," you whispered.

"I'll be gentle," he promised softly, his voice rough. "I don't want to hurt you."

He hesitated for a moment before cupping you through your panties. He could feel the heat of you through the thin fabric. It made him groan low in his throat.

"You're so warm," he murmured, rubbing slow circles with the pad of his finger. "And soft."

He looked up at your face, wanting to see your reaction. Your eyes were dark and half closed, lips parted slightly as you breathed heavily.

"Is this okay?" Damien asked quietly, needing to hear that it was what you wanted too.  "Tell me if I'm doing something wrong."

You looked at him and nodded while forcing your mouth close.

His fingers continued their slow exploration over the damp lace covering your center. He wanted to push the fabric aside and touch your bare skin but held himself back for now.

You cupped his cheek, " I'm glad it's you. I couldn't imagine doing this with anybody else"

Damien's heart swelled at your words. The idea that he was the one you wanted, the only one you would give yourself to... it made him feel dizzy with happiness and desire.

He breathed out, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, pouring all of his feelings into it. When he pulled back, his eyes were shiny.

"I promise I'll make this good for you," he whispered against your mouth.

His fingers slipped under the edge of your panties then, finally touching your bare skin. you were slick and hot against his fingertips. He groaned at the feeling.

"You want this too don't you?" he murmured approvingly as he stroked through your folds." Want me to touch you here?"

Damien circled your clit slowly with the pad of his finger, watching closely for your reaction.

"Oh my god," you muffle your sounds into his neck and let your nails lightly mark Damien's skin on his back.

Damien groaned into the kiss as you pressed against him, your nails digging into his back. The slight pain only served to heighten his pleasure. "You feel so good."*

He continued to stroke your clit with one hand while the other slid down to grip your thigh. He urged it up and over his hip, opening you up more to his touch.

He slipped one finger inside of you then, groaning at how tight and wet you were. He pumped it slowly in and out while rubbing circles around that your clit with his thumb.

"Good good," he encouraged softly as you started rocking against his hand. "We need to get you ready."

Your kisses grew sloppier as the passion increased. Damien could barely think straight, all of his focus centered on pleasuring you. "But Damien, it's not just about me."

He tried to ignore his own arousal, wanting nothing more than to make this perfect for you. Damien shook his head quickly, his dark hair falling into his eyes. "No, no. This is about you right now," he insisted softly. "I need to make you feel good."

He pumped his fingers faster inside of you. His other hand gripped Your hip tightly, holding you in place.

"You're doing so good," he praised breathlessly. "Wow, you feel amazing."

He added another finger inside of you then, stretching and filling you up. His thrusts were fast and deep now, determined to push you over the edge. You feel you clench around his fingers.

Damien groaned deeply as when your body tensed as you came. He continued to stroke you through it, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

"That's it," he encouraged breathlessly.  His fingers gentled their movements but didn't stop completely.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your skin.

You kissed him quickly. Pushing onto him until he was on his back. You straddled him. Pressing against the bulge in his pants. " Thank you," you smiled teasing.

Damien gasped sharply as you grinded down harder against his erection. His hands flew up to grip your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"Oh god," he groaned, head falling back against the mattress.

Damien was so turned on right now that it was hard to think straight. All he could focus on was the pressure of you rubbing against him.

He needed to focus. He needed to last.

Yet he lifted his hips up off the bed, seeking more friction. "I want you so badly," Damien confessed shakily. "Want to be inside of you."

You kissed his again, pulling back just an inch. "Then what are you waiting for."

Damien's eyes widened at your declaration. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly, needing to hear you say it again. "Because once we do this, there's no going back."

His hands slid up from your thighs to cup your face gently. He gazed into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt but found none. Only desire and trust shone back at him.

You let your face sink into his hand. "I'm sure, Damien."

"I just," Damien murmured. "I want it to be good for you."

You met his eyes, "This is as close to perfect as I'm ever gonna get."

He leaned up then to capture your lips in a slow, deep kiss. His tongue stroked against yours  as he poured all of the feelings he couldn't share into the embrace.

I love you he thought when they finally parted for air. I've loved you for so long now.

"I'll go as slow as you need me to," Damien promised softly. He reached over to the nightstand drawer and pulled out a condom. 

You nod and take the condom from him, "I'm on birth control, we don't need it."

Damien's cock throbbed painfully, straining against the confines of his sweatpants. He quickly shed his clothes before settling back between your thighs, the blunt head of his erection nudging against your slick entrance.

"We can stop if you want." he said one last time, even as every fiber of his being screamed at him to just take you already. 

"I know," you smiled, wrapping your legs around Damien's waist and pulling him closer. "I need you inside me. Now. Please."

Damien complied stopping just shy of entering you. He rubbed the swollen head of his cock up and down your slick slit teasingly, coating himself in your arousal.

"Like this?" he asked huskily, locking eyes with you as he continued to tease you both mercilessly. "Are you sure you ready for me?"

"Yes," you gasped out needy, your hips bucking up to chase more friction. Making the tip of him enter you, causing you both to groan.

He groaned at the desperation in your voice, his own desire spiking higher. Damien pressed a little bit so an inch more of him was nestled inside you before pulling back again and rubbing along your folds once more. You pressed against him and whined.

"I love how much you want me," he murmured.

Damien kept up the torturous teasing until you were both panting with need. He didn't want to hurt you, hw just wanted you to feel good. Only then did he finally thrust forward slowly inch by agonizing inch. He gritted his teeth against the urge to thrust into you , wanting to give you more time to adjust.

He gazed down at you intently as he slowly pressed forward, sinking into you fully. He held your gaze the entire time, wanting to see every emotion play across your face as Damien finally filled you up fully.

Your eyes were glossy, "Oh god, Damien. Please don't stop."

He leaned down to capture your lips in a deep kiss before starting to move within you. Damien kept his thrusts slow and steady not wanting to hurt you, but also wanting to last longer himself. It was hard, you were incredibly sexy.

"Fuck," Damien swore shakily as he held himself still above you, rolling his hips in slow circles that gradually built up speed.

Your hips buckled against him. "God. Damien, your gonna make me cum again. I can't hold.."

Damien groaned at your breathy words, his own pleasure spiking higher at the thought of making you come undone on again. He gripped you hips tighter as he thrust into you harder and faster, thinking about you squeezing around his cock.

"That's it," he encouraged huskily. "Let go... I want to feel you cum all over me."

Damien reached down between their sweat-slicked bodies to rub tight circles around your clit with his thumb, determined to push you over the edge. Damien could feel his own release building fast but he held back, wanting nothing more than to watch feel this.

You met Damien's eyes, panting. "Cum with me, in me. Please."

Damien let out a guttural moan as your pussy clenched and spasmed around his cock, He felt your orgasm crashing over you in intense waves. The feeling of you shaking around him pushed Damien past the point of no return and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and let go.

"Fuck yes," he groaned out loudly as he came hard, filling you up. 

Your eyes rolled and you pressed you forehead against his, "Damien, thank you"

He let his body fall carefully next to yours. Damien still just wanted to be close. Immediately, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his side. Your skin was slick with sweat, hot. He kissed your forehead, a soft press of his lips, and held his breath. Was that okay? Was this allowed?

For a moment, it seemed like it was. You melted into him. Your hand came to rest on his chest, right over his pounding heart. You sighed, a deep, content sound. He could feel the tension leaving your body. His own muscles began to unclench. This was it. This was the after. You were here, together. It was quiet and perfect.

He nuzzled his face into your hair, breathing you in. He wanted to say something. Something to match the enormity of what just happened. Something that would make this moment permanent.

"So," he murmured into your hair, his voice rough and full of awe. “How do you feel?”

You were quiet for a long moment. He could feel you thinking. He just waited, smiling into your hair.

Then you spoke, the word soft and heavy in the dark. “Different.”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer into the familiar, perfect fit of your body against his.

“We're still the same,” he murmured, his lips moving against your skin. “We're still us, right?”

He felt you freeze.

The hand on his chest stilled. The soft, relaxed line of your body went rigid against him.

In the space of a heartbeat, the warm, tangled intimacy of the moment vanished. It was like someone had opened a window and let in a blast of winter.

You pulled your hand back from his chest. Slowly, you untangled your legs from his. You didn't shove him away, but the movement was deliberate. 

Damien's arms loosened automatically, a cold dread seeping into his stomach. "Hey," he whispered. "You alright? Did I do something wrong?"

You sat up, pulling the sheet around yourself. You didn't look at him. "No," you said, but your voice was flat. Distant. "You did everything I expected you to. I just need to go home."

"What? No." He pushed himself up on one elbow. The room felt too cold suddenly. "You don't have to go. Stay. Please."

You were already swinging your legs over the side of the bed, your back to him. "It's late," you said, and it was just an excuse. A flimsy, terrible excuse. "I have to go."

You always stay here and after a night like this. After what you just did to each other, gave to each other. He was sure you'd stay. "Do you need something? I'll help you. " Damien sits up, confusion threading through his voice. "Angel?"

"You already did," you say.

It makes sense. Enough sense that he does not push the way he should.

He puts sweatpants on and drapes your coat over your shoulders. He wants to beg you to stay but he walks you to the window anyway. The room feels wrong now, too quiet, too empty, like something has already been taken out of it.

You hesitate at the sill, one hand braced against the frame. For a second, Damien thinks you might turn back.

You do not.

"I'll see you," you say with an almost unnerving big smile on your face.

"Yeah," he answers automatically. "Of course."

He watches you climb out into the winter night, the same way you always do.

Only this time, when the window slides shut, the sound feels final. 

Damien does not move for a long time.

The bed is still warm where you were. The sheets still smells like you. Everything looks exactly the same, and yet it feels irreversibly altered, like the trajectory of his life has shifted without his permission.

It slowly dawns on him that you are not coming back, maybe not ever.

That whatever this was, it did not mean the same thing to both of you.

His chest tightens, breath catching on something sharp and unfamiliar. He presses a hand flat against the mattress, grounding himself in the only proof he has that you were really here.

He does not cry.

Not yet.

He just sits there in the quiet winter room, staring at the closed window, absolutely certain of one thing.

He just let you go.

Damien falls back on the bed, reaches for his phone and presses shuffle. Then he lays there as the song plays.