The thump jolts Damian out of his haze, the sound snapping through the quiet house like a shot. His heart stutters in his chest, his first thought — always, lately — Jason. But then he hears her voice, sing-song and unmistakably Pilar’s, and the tension bleeds out of him, replaced by something softer, wearier. He closes his eyes for a beat, exhaling through his nose. Of course she’s here. Of course she found her way in through the window. The door’s only there for decoration, as far as Pilar’s concerned, surely.
“Pilar,” he calls, stepping into the hallway, his tone caught between disbelief and something closer to fondness. When his eyes land on her — dusting herself off like she didn’t just catapult into his house uninvited — he can’t help the small, tired smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s her. Really, truly her. The physical sight of her might signal a twenty-five-year-old woman, but all Damian sees is the little girl who’d grip his hand so tightly while crossing the street he’d tease her about her strength.
“You couldn’t just use the door?” he asks, his voice gentler now, no bite to his words. He gestures vaguely toward the window she undoubtedly crawled through, shaking his head — less disbelieving, more relenting. Not something he’s unused to, when it comes to his youngest sister. “What if you broke something? Like your face? Or, god forbid, my floor?”
There’s an edge of exhaustion in his words, but it doesn’t quite dim the warmth in his eyes as he watches her. It’s been too long since he’s seen her. He knows that. And despite everything — the constant suffocating presence of Jason, the relentless weight of keeping it all together — there’s a small part of him that’s relieved to have her here.
The part that’s terrified to have her anywhere near Jason, however, is less relieved.
“What are you doing here, Pilar?” he asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, his posture casual but his gaze sharp, scanning her for any sign of what might have brought her here. “Shouldn’t you be in Chicago? Or, I don’t know, not breaking and entering?”
The words are laced with affection, and there’s a flicker of something lighter in his tone now, a hint of the big brother he used to be — the one who’d tease her endlessly while secretly pocketing snacks to make sure she always had her favorite. But it’s muted, dampened, as if the weight of the last few months has hollowed out some essential part of him. Still, she’s here. And, despite himself, despite everything — his fear, his worries — that matters.
The sound of his voice quieted something in her, like background static gone suddenly silent. She knew she'd been worried about Damian— of course she had! She'd dropped everything to be here— but it wasn't until he existed in the same space as her that she realized just how much.
Pilar had to lock her knees to keep from running to him, recreating the visions in her mind of tackling him to the ground and hugging him so tight that he'd have to beg her to let go with the last bit of air in his lungs. Instead, she took the moment to look him over, to take stock of the brother she loved more than anything else in this world.
He looked tired. And not in the I didn't sleep very well last night kind of way. He looked tired in a way that made her heart quicken and a flush rush into her chest and up into her neck and cheeks. Concern eclipsed everything else she felt in the moment, rendering her uncharacteristically still and silent.
A beat passed and she blinked, stepping back into her own skin as she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Nice to see you, Pilar! How was the drive, Pilar? Can I make you an elaborate four course dinner to celebrate you, Pilar?" Her voice was pitched deep and low, a teasing and exaggerated emulation of his own. "God. Whatever happened to chivalry?"
And then she didn't hold herself back. Her blank face slowly began to blossom into a wide smile as she launched herself towards him, arms wrapping around his middle so tightly she hoped it squeezed out all his air. "It's nice to see you, Damesy." Her voice, muffled as it pressed into his shirt, wobbled.